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"Loren Angle, for your crimes against the Dominion and its citizens, I sentence you to death."
Judge Greene glanced at the eyebot hovering beside him. The Watcher drone was recording his procedures and concluding sentence. It had been assigned to him as part of a new plan to improve public trust in the law, expand transparency, and aid judges in their field-work. Every judge had one now, though that didn't mean everyone liked the idea of being watched while being on the job 24/7.
Greene wasn't comfortable about having one, but he had little choice in the matter. Judges held a considerable amount of power in the Dominion, but they were not above the law themselves. Every judge was a public servant, first and foremost to the law. Everything they did on the job was to protect and serve the Dominion, and they were accountable for every action committed in the line of duty.
Justice without Force is powerless. Force without Justice is tyranny. Those were the guiding axioms of the Justice Department, judge and peacekeepers included.
To ease the inclusion of these new drones, Dominion engineers designed the Watcher Mk-1 to not only act as a deterrent for extra-judicial activities but also as additional fire-support for combat scenarios. Judge work was dangerous work, and they needed all the support they could get.
"If you have any last words, now is the time to speak."
Loren Angle lifted his tear-stained face to look up at the gun aimed for his head. He couldn't speak, Sgt. Esperanza broke his jaw when they dragged him out of the interrogation room. All he could muster was a timid whimper before Greene pulled the trigger. The witnesses to the deed, Sgt. Esperanza and Greene's partner Diaz, watched as the condemned criminal fell backwards into the dirt.
Greene holstered his sidearm and declared the case closed. Sgt. Esperanza, however, couldn't let the matter go especially after hearing what the judges learned from interrogating Angle. The traffickers were receiving their supplies from outside the Dominion's borders, and while the source was still at large, criminal elements like Angle's gang would continue to operate with impunity.
"It isn't over just yet, judge." The sergeant said. "Not while those bastards are still in play."
"We know." Greene curtly replied, remaining tight-lipped about what he was planning to do next. "This court is adjourned. You're dismissed, sergeant."
Esperanza glared at the judge but said nothing. He grew up knowing that judges were very thorough in their investigations, and if there was a trail, he could be sure that Greene would follow it through. Still, he hated having to sit this one out. His company had been recalled to the front after news of the attack on a frontier outpost reached the capital. Not everyone in the Dominion knew about it, but the rooks of the 13th Regiment did.
They were going to war.
The sergeant saluted the judge out of respect for all he'd done, then left the scene with his men in tow.
"That guy had me worried for a second." Diaz remarked.
"His sister was drugged, raped and murdered by those animals." Her partner defended the rook, "Most guys like him are liable to snap under those circumstances. If you should feel anything for him, it ought to be pity."
"So, what do we do now?"
"We head up to the Supreme Court. Chief Justice should have reached a decision by now."
"And him?" Diaz jerked her head in the direction of the corpse lying on the ground.
"Hey, Watcher." Greene said to the drone, getting its attention. "Notify the clean-up crew to hurry it up, would you? Thanks."
The drone emitted two chirps to confirm its affirmation. Fifteen minutes later, a clean-up crew arrived to bag the corpse for recycling. Loren Angle caused the Dominion a lot of pain, but in death he would at least contribute to the country he betrayed. His nutrients would feed the hungry soil to, in turn, feed a thousand hungry mouths.
With the last of that sordid business done, the judges left the execution grounds and headed for Elysion.
The capital city was abuzz with excitement, its citizens given much cause for celebration as the newest batch of Dominion Army and Air Force graduates were parading the streets. People flocked to the sidewalks, leaned out of open windows and railings to wave and cheer for the brave men and women who'd go off into the Wasteland to fight for them. Some streets were sealed off for the occasion, with Elysion peacekeepers directing traffic to detour around the parade ground.
In another age, city-folk would either toss flowers or confetti to show their support. In this age, neither were resources the Dominion could afford to waste. Only those of the Old Blood, the generation who lived from before the Great War, could tell the difference. For the people of the new age, they were none the wiser.
The soldiers of the 22nd Regiment marched in first, clad in their new uniforms with new desert camo patterns. The band was playing the Dominion's anthem, and the sound of the marching rooks in tandem with their instruments inspired nationalistic zeal among the crowds. They cheered even louder when they saw the hundred M2 Black Bears from the 37th Armored Company, all fresh from the factories and rolling in from around the corner.
Then came the Air Force's 1st Paratrooper Infantry Regiment. While they almost looked the same as any ordinary rook, the paratroopers were a special operations force. They could be told apart from the rest of the armed forces by the distinct six-color desert camo pattern, whereas the rooks had the multi-terrain three-color pattern.
They were followed by the roar of vertibird gunships and super-carriers, with A3-1 Bloodhound strike fighters performing exhibition maneuvers in the skies above Elysion.
High Marshal Roman Stern, along with his cabinet, stood at the balcony of the Obsidian Keep to watch the display. He saluted the soldiers when they marched into the keep courtyard, filling the large enclosure from end to end, so much so that the civilian onlookers ascended into the rooftops so they could watch the High Marshal give his speech to commemorate the event.
Danik Brand was among the soldiers at the assembly area. In all the time he spent training to become a rook, it was the first time he'd ever entered the capital city. He never thought he'd see it so soon, and he was in awe of all the Dominion had built in the years following the apocalypse. The air in Elysion was cool, clean and good to the lungs. And the dome encompassing the city, as Brand hated to admit, was a remarkable work of engineering.
It wasn't just the towers and the bustling living quarters that impressed the paladin, it was the beautiful groves of trees growing all over the Elysion central park. He'd never seen so much green in one place before.
"You've all come from different walks of life, but today you share more than just matching uniforms. You are now part of a brotherhood of sentinels, the Dominion's bulwark against the horrors of the Wasteland. Whether you're a rook, a tanker or a flyboy, you stand among thousands who would gladly call you brother or sister."
Stern paused before adding, "I was waiting to share this bit of news until after the party's done, but...to hell with it. Some of you may have heard the rumors, about the attacks along the frontier. Let me put those rumors to rest- they're true."
His words were met with a stunned silence from the crowd, and a stoic hush from the soldiers.
"Less than twenty-four hours ago, three of our outposts were attacked by a hostile enemy force calling itself 'The Brotherhood of Steel'. They've made none of their intentions known, but neither have they shown any signs of stopping at the frontier. It won't be long before they reach our virgin cities. They will come, but they won't take another inch of Dominion land. You, our brave soldiers, will drive the enemy back from our borders and hammer the message home that the Dominion is no foe to be trifled with!"
"HOOAH!" The rooks said in unison.
"And I've got some good news for you. I know most of you've signed up for this job to serve the standard five years to attain citizenship. Let it be known that I'm changing that law. From this day forward, service truly guarantees citizenship. Every man or woman enlisted in the Dominion Armed Forces, along with their immediate family, has earned their citizenship today. Effective immediately!"
The soldiers couldn't believe their ears. Suddenly, all those months of training proved to be worth all the hard work. Five years, cut short to thirteen months! And all it took to nudge the High Marshal in the right way was a declaration of war.
"Take the rest of the day off. Bring your families over and hold them close. Tomorrow, we're going to war."
Magney Karter turned the knob on the television and switched it off.
While waiting for Paladin Brand to join them, she and her contact from the Brotherhood watched the High Marshal give his speech at Elysion Square from the upstairs room Karter rented in Carlon City. Once it was over, she couldn't tolerate watching the program when it started decrying the Brotherhood's actions. The Dominion's government-sanctioned television network, known as GMD or Good Morning Dominion, functioned mainly as a propaganda platform to galvanize citizens into contributing for the nation's efforts in colonizing the Wasteland.
Karter's contact, a senior scribe by name of Hector Ibram, remarked on her apparent disgust. "Why bother? While you're here, you'll be hearing that everywhere you go. Even more so now that we're at war with the Dominion."
Karter snapped, "If I can avoid having to listen to these people blinding themselves to the righteous path the Brotherhood's trying to show them, I'll do it!"
"Calm down." Ibram said, "I'm just saying, you can learn a lot from people by viewing things from their perspective. You have to know how your enemy thinks. It's how wars are won."
"I know. I apologize. I guess the silence from Landfall's gotten to me. These past months, the wait has made me restless."
"Well then, take comfort in the fact that you won't be left idle ever again. We'll need your help now more than ever."
There was a knock on the door. Karter and Ibram immediately took positions next to it, laser-pistols at the ready. Karter demanded for the visitor to identify himself, unlocking the door only after they learned it was Brand.
"Sorry I'm late. Took a damn while for me to give the others the slip." Brand explained, giving each of his comrades a good shake of the hand. "Ibram, good to see you again. Karter, how you holding up?"
"Nice." The woman stepped back to admire how her commander looked donning their enemy's uniform.
"I believe congratulations are in order." The senior scribe said, "Just heard from the news, you're officially a Dominion citizen now."
"Tell us, how did the city look?" Karter asked, "Is it truly as the Dominion advertised?"
"That and more." Brand replied with a smile, "In truth, I kind of like the place. Damn shame it's an enemy citadel."
"If we play this right, it might just fall into Brotherhood hands." Ibram pulled up a chair for the paladin to sit on. "Please, take a seat. This business will take a while."
Ibram brought out a briefcase, as did Karter. First, they studied some documents and files pertaining to Dominion production centers. Refineries, factories, workshops, farms and water-purification plants- anything and everything the Brotherhood spies have infiltrated during their time in the Dominion mainland. Refineries were responsible for providing the Dominion with raw materials for processing and mass-production. Most factories were purely for the military industry, providing their armies with their weapons and war machines, while others focused on providing for the civilian sectors.
They also discussed the current state of the Brotherhood's campaign. So far, it seemed like they had the momentum, although it was fairly obvious that it won't stay that way for long. Ibram explained that the Brotherhood needed to cripple Dominion supply lines. Cutting supply routes could only do so much. This could only be truly accomplished if Brand's team could sabotage, or destroy, their main production centers.
"That's... doable." Karter said after the senior scribe finished, "I managed to secure a position as an assistant manager in Ridgewell."
Ridgewell was one of the largest military factories in Carlon City, responsible for pumping out the largest amount of produce daily in the Dominion. If a rook held a firearm or drove a combat vehicle, it most likely came out of a Ridgewell assembly line. It also had the largest work force in the country. There was so much staff involved that the chances of discovery were slim at best. It was the perfect setup for sabotage, "By your estimation, how would you rate your chances?"
"People trust me there, I made sure of it." Karter replied confidently, "You can count on me."
"Good." Ibram nodded, "And the initiates?"
"Gathering intelligence, as always." Brand informed him, "Little chance of errors on their part, that way."
"Are they reliable?"
"Yes. They are."
Ibram opened his briefcase and turned it to face the two spies, showing four stealth-boys fitted snugly behind a false panel. "I personally built these stealth-boys for our infiltration and reconnaissance teams in the field. They are self-sustaining, and are now at your disposal."
Among the stealth-boys was a long-range communicator with an encrypted channel directly linked to Ibram's. "And this, this will be your only means of staying in contact with me. Communications between us will have to occur during the midweek and weekends, always at midnight. Apart from that, I advise you to maintain your cover and avoid getting the attention of our enemies."
"Will do." Brand acknowledged, "And Ibram? Is it true?"
"What is true?"
"That Elder Corvinus is dead?"
"Oh." Ibram nodded, "I forgot, neither of you have heard. The Elder's dead, heart complications. Head Paladin Larsson took his place. If it weren't for your mission, I believe you're up for candidacy for Head Paladin."
"This mission is no less important than vying for that position." Brand replied, "I'm content with where I am."
"That's good to hear. I might even recommend they put it off until after we bring you in." Ibram packed up his stuff and prepared to leave for the final time. After the meeting, neither of them would see each other again unless one of two things occurred. The mission was compromised, or they won the war.
"Be safe out there, scribe." Brand cautioned.
"You too, paladin. Ad Victoriam."
"To Victory." Both Karter and Brand returned his farewell, locking up the door after Ibram left. Once they were alone, they made their preparations for their assigned tasks.
Brand needed to keep up appearances, so he had to return to Elysion to his unit. Karter had to carefully plan her mission to sabotage the Ridgewell factory. Both of them had their hands full, but neither of them went about it complaining. If anything, they felt glad to finally receive orders from Landfall, and even more so when they learned that their people were giving the Dominion a run for their money.
Overall, it was good for morale.
"Good luck out there, Karter."
"Be careful when you're out in the frontier. Play your part too well, and some of our boys might mistake you for the enemy and take your head clean off."
Brand paused, remembering that come the morn he would be joining the 22nd in the fight against his people. Maintaining one's cover in the frontlines would be difficult, a lot more than being in the cities. "I'll figure something out. You know me, I'm nothing if not resourceful."
The paladin left Carlon for Elysion. By the time he reached the capital, the gates leading into the city were crowded with the families of newly inducted Dominion citizens, all of them looking for a chance to secure a home within the domed paradise. Although the gatekeepers anticipated the sudden surge in immigrants following the High Marshal's formal announcement, it became apparent that it went well beyond the proper procedure of instituting new laws. As a result, immigration offices became overwhelmed with petitioners.
Becoming a citizen was a lot easier now, but the cost of living within Elysion would remain high. Regardless, the benefits that came with the higher tier of citizenship were well worth getting. The Dominion government was known to keep its promises.
"Hey! Get your ass back in line!" A gatekeeping guard barked at a teenage boy escorting an old woman through the wrong aisle.
"B-But the woman at the booth back there said that this is the way towards Processing." The teen defended.
"No, this is the way to Processing!" The guard snapped, pointing to the line of petitioners the two just left. "Why the hell do you think there's a line? Didn't you read the sign?"
"Well... I can't read." The teen said sheepishly.
Exasperated, the guard uttered a long sigh. He wiped the sweat from his brow and waved him off, "Ugh... just get back in there and queue up like everyone else."
Brand watched the scene with amusement, then entered Elysion so he could catch up with Rush and the other guys. He found the rooks celebrating their newly acquired citizenships at a high-end bar in Midtown Elysion, which was a few blocks from the parade grounds. By the time he caught up with Rush and the boys, the rooks were already inebriated by the bar's generous offering of free drinks.
It was, in a way, a proper send-off for all the fighting men and women of the 22nd Regiment. Surprisingly, they weren't the only soldiers hanging around the bar. Aside from rooks, there were tankers, pilots and paratroopers. Rival divisions mingled together for the first time since basic training, and the new sense of esprit de corps instilled an inexplicable feeling of happiness among the rooks. The drinks certainly helped.
"Drive on 1st Platoon!" Rush sang.
"Drive on 1st Platoon!" Every rook in the room sang back.
"Drive on 1st Platoon! Drive on 1st Platoon!" Their voices joined together, camaraderie mixed with wine chasing away their fears of their deployment the next day.
"Someday you'll be all alone, someday you'll be all alone.
Way out in the combat zone, way out in the combat zone.
Bullets flying all around, bullets flying all around.
Better keep your head to the ground, better keep your head to the ground.
Don't you worry about being alone, don't you worry about being alone.
2nd Platoon will bring you home, 2nd Platoon will bring you home."
The song repeated for five more stanzas, each one reserved for five platoons. When it reached the end, the song made a poignant turn.
"Drive on 5th Platoon! Drive on 5th Platoon!
Someday you'll be all alone, someday you'll be all alone.
Way out in the combat zone, way out in the combat zone.
Bullets flying all around, bullets flying all around.
Better keep your head to the ground, better keep your head to the ground.
Don't you worry about being alone, don't you worry about being alone.
All your friends will bring you home, all your friends will bring you home."
It was an old cadence song, a United States Army song, written by some long forgotten soldier from a long dead age. The soldier who wrote it may be dead, but the essence of his work remained very much alive as the rooks sang it in that room. Suddenly all the rivalries and tensions between soldiers, platoons and divisions faded. That day, just before they would make the inevitable march towards hell, there were no rooks, no flyboys or tankers.
Brand witnessed them share a connection, the kind that he knew all too well. It was a sense of brotherhood, the kind that he thought up until then only existed among the soldiers of the Brotherhood of Steel.
As he watched them, the paladin felt a pang of unease. As much as he'd like to remain hostile towards the Dominion, he couldn't help but admire the men and women that served under its banner. He felt that they would better serve a more glorious cause if they joined the Brotherhood.
Alas, there was only one way that could happen. The Dominion had to be defeated.
Brand took a seat and motioned for the waitress to pour him a drink. The day had been long, and he felt parched. As he waited for his order to be served, the paladin glanced around the room as he felt someone's eyes on him. He noticed not long after that a familiar face was watching him from across the counter. A woman with bright golden hair, in a paratrooper's uniform, smiled at him when their eyes met. Brand knew he saw her before, somewhere, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He quickly looked away, unwilling to play the flirting game. Unfortunately, him looking away just made him a bigger target, and the paratrooper left her spot so she could sit beside him.
"Hello again, rook." She said, "Congratulations."
"On what?" Brand asked.
"On becoming a citizen. That's what your here for, right? You wouldn't be out partying with your buddies if you weren't."
"Not exactly. I'm just here to keep my boys in check."
"That so?" The woman said.
Brand showed her the stripes he earned upon becoming an NCO. A few extra courses in Camp Forge earned him the rank of Sergeant First Class, much to the chagrin of his drill instructor, Sgt. Joker. "It's my job now."
"I'm Jane." The paratrooper extended her hand.
"Brand." The paladin shook hands with her, "Have we met before?"
"Yeah we did. Outside of Camp Forge, you saw me during a paradrop exercise."
"Ah yes. Good to properly meet you, I guess. Did you recently become a citizen too?"
Jane shook her head, "My parents were Old Blood. I'm a natural-born Dominion citizen, through and through."
Brand's order arrived just in time to kill the tension in the air, he received the beer bottle and flipped the lid with a casual twist of the hand. "I keep hearing that term. 'Old Blood', what does it really mean?"
"Oh, it means that they're part of the generation of vault-dwellers who were the forerunners of the Dominion people. I was born not long after my parents settled in the early days of Elysion."
"Really? That's interesting. I guess the Dominion's been around a while."
"Long enough to attract all kinds of attention, especially the bad kind. Cheers." Jane knocked bottles with Brand and took a long sip of her drink, "Same old story. The Dominion gets attacked by the Wasteland, it fights back. Now what about you, what's your story?"
Brand had told the same alibi over and over, it almost felt like it was his real life-story. "I wasn't born in Dominion lands."
"Really, you don't say."
The paladin chuckled, "The place I've come from, it's a shit-hole compared to Carlon. And that's saying something."
Jane nodded, an amused smirk on her freckled face. "I know, right? The High Marshal ought to do something about it, maybe build a dome just like Elysion."
"And then where's the distinction gonna go? Anyway, I lived as a scav for much of my younger years in the Wasteland, drifting from place to place. And then, I met some good guys, real reliable guys who gave me directions for a better life."
"Oh, they pointed you to Elysion?"
"Uhh... yeah, pretty much." Brand said, his lies mixing in well with the truth. "Before I knew it, I got signed up as a rook and was training my ass off with a hundred other recruits at Camp Forge. Could've stopped there, but I went on to get my stripes. Wanted to piss my DI off. Becoming an NCO was a lot harder than becoming a regular rook, but it was all worth doing just to see the look on his face when I marched into the barracks two days before parade day."
"Should've taken a picture." Jane laughed, "You got your family settled in?"
"I uh... I don't have one."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."
The two were interrupted by the noise of a scuffle between two rooks a few tables away. Brand started to get up to break the fight, but the MP's were quicker on the scene than he was. They dragged off the men to throw them into the guardhouse for disorderly conduct. The owner of the establishment, once the atmosphere calmed down, got things moving along with lunch and a show.
A jazz band set up at the dining area and started playing some music, to which the half-drunk soldiers started to dance to.
"Hey, you wanna get out of here?" Jane invited as she got up from the counter, "My place ain't far."
Brand, determined to prove Karter's accusation of him being a 'prude' false, decided against his better judgement and followed Jane out of the bar.
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