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The Brotherhood never anticipated that their superweapons would fail so quickly after production, due in no small part to the rushed nature of their implementation. Having grown accustomed to the impeccable skill of their development teams through the years, the early failure in the superweapon's debut came as a shock to the lancer crews. The super-laser cannon, upon priming for a second shot, overheated due to the inadequate cooling system and caused a catastrophic power-surge throughout the Liberator flagship.
Electrical fires led to entire sections going up in flames. Fearing that the airship's magazine and hangar could be next, Lancer-Commander Maxson ordered that they both be sealed off until the fires were put out. The unexpected catastrophe very nearly brought the whole airship down, if it wasn't for the quick-action of the scribes stationed at the reactor room. With the worst scenario averted, efforts were focused on repairing the flagship and consolidate its position over the valley south of Riverside.
Things weren't that much better with the Brotherhood's ground troops. They had suffered heavy losses in the first attack on the citadel's walls, with many more wounded or missing in action. Knight-Commander Marko was one of those casualties, and his injuries proved too much to allow him to continue leading from the front. His second-in-command, Knight McKenzie, took the Knight-Commander's place while he was transported away to the Basin for surgery.
The Brotherhood lost a total of twenty captured Dominion Centaurs, six vertibirds and ten armored transport trucks. Two dozen knights and nearly a hundred initiates were killed in action, while the Dominion defenders barely even felt the sting of the first attack. A few destroyed sentry towers, some dead or wounded rooks here and there. It was enough to erode whatever confidence the initiates had for the Brotherhood's strength.
The shock of the failed first assault on Riverside's walls forced the Brotherhood commanders to rethink their strategy. The Dominion, however, did not allow them the luxury of a moment's pause. Two days had passed, the Dominion ferried six heavy artillery guns to Riverside along with the support of the Air Force's daily assault on the Brotherhood encampment.
Meanwhile, just thirty miles from Riverside, the 13th Regiment was on its way to join the defense in preparation for a counterattack. Six armored platoons, each made up of four M2 Black Bear MBT's, rolled out together with the 37th Armored Company's light armored Centaurs. The Air Force provided much of the regiment's vertibird transporters, which were dispatched directly from the White Bastion to take them to the frontlines quicker than the much slower armored attachment.
News of these new developments in the Mid-Texan theatre drew great concern from Elder Larsson, and he immediately ordered the fleet heading for the Corpse Coast to redirect its support and manpower for the siege of Riverside. Determined to break the deadlock forming so early in the first stage of the war, the Elder gambled with the idea of overwhelming the citadel's defenders before reinforcements arrived. He ordered Knight McKenzie to surround Riverside and impose a blockade on the twin rivers, to disrupt supply lines and prevent evacuations.
In the mean time, Landfall busied itself with entering the threshold of a new kind of warfare.
Mech warfare. Before his predecessor's death, Larsson along with the late Elder Corvinus discussed the possibility of improving on power-armor designs to better prepare against heavily armored foes, such as the Dominion's tanks or heavily fortified positions. The plan involved in the creation of new weapon rigs was a closely guarded secret in the Texan Chapter, one that Elder Larsson begrudgingly shared with the Council of Elders in exchange for more resources. His call for additional support was denied, as many of the Brotherhood chapters faced their own enemies on multiple fronts. He did, however, gain the approval of the High Elder and so proceeded with implementing the first designs.
Operating under existing power-armor frameworks, it was far easier for Landfall's scribes to put together the first generation of combat mech-suits. Getting them to work flawlessly, a little less so.
The Shieldbearer Mark 1, for example, was an overengineered rig with an oversized pilot cockpit too top-heavy to be supported by its flimsy exo-skeleton framework. Head Scribe Harper had to scrap the design and redraw the schematics from the ground up. The Mark 2 was a significant improvement to its predecessor, but upon field testing was found to be inadequately protected against high-caliber weapons. Harper noted that a simple T-45 suit of power-armor would have better chances of resisting a .50 cal armor-piercing round than the Mark 2.
Driven by time constraints and mounting pressure, Harper was forced to put the Mark 2 into mass production after making a few adjustments to the Shieldbearer's armor, sacrificing a significant amount of power-armor reserves to implement his designs.
The final result was a towering 8-foot tall combat rig, protected by a personal kinetic shield-emitter built into its upper torso. Its fully dexterous arms were capable of carrying and operating a jury-rigged vertibird minigun, while a 20mm assault-cannon was mounted onto an omni-directional third arm built into the rig's back. An anti-armor smart-rocket launcher was also added to the rig's arsenal, which was in-theory capable of penetrating the hull of the toughest Dominion tank.
The shield-emitter on the Mark 2 was a miniaturized version of the emitters installed on the Brotherhood airships, and was therefore capable of extending its shielding parameters to form a protective barrier to wherever the rig was facing. The concept of this design was to allow Shieldbearers to provide cover for Brotherhood infantry while breaking through enemy fortifications.
It was clear that the Brotherhood would never have its own tanks, but proved to be more than capable of compensating for what they lacked.
With his work at Landfall complete, Head Scribe Harper distributed his schematics to the engineering teams and prepared to leave for the front line. Without his help, there would be no improvement to the faulty super-lasers and the war would largely end in a stalemate. A breakthrough had to happen soon, before the Dominion consolidated its position at Riverside, which would only lead to a swift and brutal counterattack that would drive the 1st Fleet back to the Basin.
Brand squinted as the early morning sun's rays flooded his vision.
The low-flying vertibird transporting him and his squad across the Texan desert had him facing the sunrise, which gave him a good view of the Wasteland for miles around. Between that route and Riverside, it looked so peaceful. As soon as he and the other gunships passed the twin rivers and followed the water snaking a clear crystal blue path through the face of the earth, the scenery changed drastically.
The rivers were blocked by ferry wrecks, and the bridges extending across them were crawling with Brotherhood knights. Charred and limb-split trees stuck out of a blackened landscape like hair-tufts on a dying man with radiation sickness, torn apart by repeated shelling or bombing runs. Half-buried dead soldiers were scattered among the vehicle carcasses, which were still red from burning overnight. The walls on Riverside were chipped and riddled with bullet holes, or covered with soot from laser-fire residue. Brand embraced the familiarity of the horrifying sight, as he'd been practically raised on the battlefield.
The vertibirds performed a brief touch-and-go to drop off the rooks, then headed back inland to make more pickups. The 13th Regiment's commander, Col. Gannon Fox, met up with the garrisoned troops at Riverside and assessed the situation. Brand and the other NCO's went with him, leaving the rest of the rooks outside to wait for orders.
"Colonel." The officer in charge of the Dominion garrison, Lt. Nate Wesley, saluted the colonel upon entering the headquarters. He shook hands with him, showing great relief through his façade of formality as he did so. "Damn good to have you here. Welcome to Riverside."
Col. Fox ignored the lieutenant's little slip-up with his address, "Thank you, lieutenant. If you'd be so kind as to give us a sit-rep, I'd like to get started on giving these invaders what-for."
"Of course, colonel. This way, please."
Brand never met Fox until after Parade Day. Back when he was at Camp Forge, the colonel's name had been just a part of his identification papers. A short briefing with the colonel and the NCO's provided all the information Brand needed to know about him.
Fox wasn't of the Old Blood generation of citizens, but was part of one of the first communities assimilated by the Dominion. A little village in the hills outside Carlon, which he and a small band of desert warriors protected with an assortment of salvaged Pre-War weapons and jury-rigged dirtbikes, with welded walls of steel and glass gave them a relatively secure hold on their land.
When the Dominion met them, they were suffering from a worse enemy than scav raiders or wasteland critters. Famine struck the community. Mutated pests killed their crops and spread sickness through the village livestock. Faced with starvation, the reluctant village elders opened up trade with the Dominion out of desperation but refused to be assimilated initially. The issue was never forced by the Dominion, but over time the next generations grew to understand that it was far better to live as citizens than to remain apart from the Wasteland power growing right next door.
The Dominion allowed cultural identities to exist in its lands, as long as their traditions and customs remained non-threatening or inspired sedition.
Stubborn as he was with his faith in the Creed of Steel, Brand couldn't help but admire the Dominion's willingness to allow certain liberties among its citizens. But that meant that there would be little to no chance of a peaceful coexistence between the Brotherhood and the Dominion. One's belief was the antithesis of the other, and the Dominion's callous disregard for the sacred technologies of the past was an unforgivable flaw that they could not abide for long. The war was inevitable.
The colonel didn't have Fox as a surname until after he was ordered to choose one for his application for citizenship. Ten years later, he joined the Dominion Army and rose quickly through the ranks when he served with distinction in the Dominion's earliest campaigns for expansion. If he and his regiment were chosen to be sent to the front lines, it could only mean that the Brotherhood was in for a tough time.
"Here and here." Lt. Wesley pointed to four positions on the map, indicating the Brotherhood forces blockading the twin rivers. They looked like two pincers, clamping down hard on Riverside's supply lines. "The Brotherhood skirted around our perimeter and dug in on these four choke-points. They've taken control of the bridges and set up some kind of mobile gun platform. Been causing all kinds of hell for the ferries delivering supplies from the mainland."
"Hmm..." Col. Fox mused as he analyzed the map, "If they're still holding those bridges by the time the armored company gets here, counter-offensive operation's fucked. That's ETA eight hours from now. Gotta get in there and dig 'em out before they get a chance to solidify their defenses."
"Colonel, my men are eager and ready for orders." The lieutenant offered, "Got a lot of boys itching to get some payback."
"I appreciate the offer, but no. I'll need fresh troops for the raid. When the tanks get here, your boys will have plenty of action on their hands once we push the enemy back off the frontier. We'll handle it."
Wesley didn't look at all disappointed with the colonel's decision, "Yes sir."
"Brand." Fox said, "Get out there and assemble two squads at the West gate. You'll be making the main assault."
Brand nodded, saluted stiffly and headed outside to gather his men. All the while, the Brotherhood spy started thinking up a plan of his own. He knew it was a matter of time before he'd have to face his own people as part of his cover. But all the scenarios he had running about in his head took a backseat once reality hit him. He was right there, right smack in the middle of the war.
But right there, he had the best chance to give his people an edge over the Dominion. If Riverside was the only thing keeping the Brotherhood from advancing further inland, he had to help them capture or destroy the citadel. To do that, he needed to link up with the Brotherhood covertly to let them know they had a man inside.
From there, he'd have to carefully plan his next move, which was to weaken the Dominion's defenses.
Blue-Eyes glanced around nervously as he guarded the Equalizer SPG's flank with all due vigilance.
Covering the silhouette of the tank-destroyer was a netted canopy with odd branches and dead leaves tied to it, which served as good camouflage for the crews operating the massive 8.8 cm gauss cannon mounted onto the steel pedestal in the rear of the half-truck. The initiates were taught in advance the basics of loading and firing the weapon, while a specialist scribe was in charge of operating the targeting computer installed into the gun.
In the past few days since they set up so precariously close to the bridges leading into Riverside's backdoor, the Equalizer had racked up a few kills when it intercepted two Dominion ferries intent on delivering supplies for the citadel defenders.
Recently, they took a few hits from Dominion mortars and had to move a little closer to the riverbank. Only a small hill served as the wall between them and the Dominion sentry towers. Heavy artillery couldn't hit them from that close to Riverside's walls, and small-arms fire would only be soaked up by the hill. The only real threat to them were the Dominion's planes, which strafed and bombed the Brotherhood's positions non-stop since the siege began.
Blue-Eyes, and his friend Arnem, held the flying war machines with a mix of dread and awe. The Dominion was surely a powerful nation if it was able to send so much against them, perhaps powerful enough to be greater than the Brotherhood itself. In the past weeks, the initiates saw nothing but the worst of war. The Mid-Texan theatre felt like a gigantic meat-grinder, intent on gobbling up fodder like them and spitting them out like mince-meat.
The best the little guys like them could do was move a little down the queue line to keep themselves from getting served up next. Guarding a gunbus like the Equalizer didn't help at all in that regard. At the very least, they could dish out some damage with the thing and give the dead a little peace.
"I wonder what's behind those walls of theirs." Arnem thought out loud as he peered over the hill to look at the mighty walls of Riverside, "What are they hiding back there that's so important that they're willing to kill to defend it?"
Blue-Eyes pointed to the river flowing between their concealed position and the citadel. A hundred meters wide and miles and miles long across the Texan desert. Clean drinking water, purified by Riverside's detoxification plant. And there were warehouses worth of goods and material inside that the Brotherhood would benefit greatly from. Supplies, weapons and ammunition vital for the Dominion's plans for expansion.
"Oh, no wonder they've got it locked up tight." Arnem nodded, "But if we take that city, those walls will be protecting us in the long run."
"Movement! We've got movement!" A knight announced, priming up his laser-rifle and aiming it down the bridge. All at once, initiates scrambled to get to cover and took positions behind the dunes and sandbags. Arnem manned the machinegun, while Blue-Eyes stacked up the ammo boxes to help with reloading. The gates of Riverside didn't open, four Dominion rooks chose instead to jump over the high wall and land on the riverbank.
They were power-armored rooks.
"Hole-ee shit." Arnem remarked, his finger gently brushing the trigger of his machinegun. "Look at the size of those guys! Puts our big boys to shame, don't it?"
"Shut your fucking trap, initiate!" The knight growled. "All of you, prepare to engage!"
'We should have blown this bridge', Blue-Eyes motioned to his friend.
"Yeahhh..." Arnem chuckled nervously, "Why didn't we think of that before?"
"HEY! TIN-MEN!" One of the rooks shouted, his voice amplified by his helmet's speakers. The rook's challenge carried itself clearly across the divide between him and the Brotherhood of Steel. In his hands was a whirling, whining four-barreled 15mm minigun. "SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!"
Suddenly, the rooks jumped and kept going over the water. On their backs were jetpack thrusters, the first the Brotherhood had ever seen mounted on power-armor. They lifted them to cross the river quickly, while they rained hell on the Brotherhood position. A hundred meters of water, and they were zipping across quicker than a vertibird. Explosive rounds the size of a 12 year old's fist blasted the hill into dust, blinding the initiates as the rooks flew in closer and closer. A few of them struck the knight and sent him staggering back, although they didn't kill him as the armor held.
The rooks landed on the opposite bank successfully, then marched ever so confidently forward to overwhelm and destroy their enemies. Only then did the gates open, and out came two squads of Dominion rooks. These soldiers, in particular, wore combat armor and carried the standard Reckoner rifles.
Blue-Eyes tapped Arnem on the shoulder to signal him to begin firing, and so the initiate squeezed the trigger on the machinegun. The entire ground beneath the tripod shook as the barrel spat round after round at the approaching rooks. The bright muzzle flash of the weapon and the rain of bullets coming their way alerted the rooks to where the gun emplacement was dug in. It was another captured weapon from the Dominion outpost's arsenal, and those were Dominion bullets being fired at them.
For every four bullets, there was one armor-piercing round. The rooks caught on to this pretty quickly, but had nowhere else to go except forward. So forward they went, right into the fire just like Arnem, Blue-Eyes and all the other Brotherhood initiates did in the first battle. Only difference was that these guys were part of a professional army, trained in the tactics of Old America.
"Arnem!" The knight roared as he got out of cover and fired his laser-rifle, "Suppress the ones not in power-armor! Keep them from storming our position!"
"Yes knight!" Arnem answered, his voice a frightened squeal as he tried to shout above the thunder of his weapon.
The machinegun fire focused from the riverbank to the bridge, where the rooks were crossing over to get to the Equalizer. Arnem pinned them down beneath the hail, but that only meant that he wasn't covering the riverbank where the power-armored rooks were advancing from.
The knight bent down, knocked open the lid off a crate and pulled out a bundled stick plasma grenade. He got his hand shot off before he could finish priming it. So there he stood, free hand clutching a smoking stump where blood started to squirt out like a leaking pipe, obscenities stumbling out of his frothing mouth while the bundled grenade sat on the ground waiting to be armed and thrown at the enemy.
"Blue! Get the fucking stick and throw it at 'em!" Arnem yelled in between bursts, "NOW! Before those assholes get too close!"
Blue-Eyes grunted, then dove for the stick bomb. He fidgeted a bit for the safety pin with shaky fingers, then drew his arm back for a nice little arc throw. The bundled grenade spun through the air silently, then buried itself into the sand of the riverbank. The rooks saw the thing coming and tried to fire up their jetpacks to get clear of the blast, but Blue-Eyes cooked it just right to blow up as soon as it hit the ground.
There was a big explosion of bright green burning plasma, leaving a corona of radioactive energy in its wake that scrambled electronics within a five yard radius. Enough to impair their armor and slow their movement.
Through the pain, the knight managed to keep his commands flowing. "I want fire superiority! Keep them pinned down, gunner! I need a rocketeer, finish those rooks off!"
"Knight, you need help with that wound." One of the initiates, a guy who knew his way around chems, offered a tourniquet and some stimpaks. "You'll bleed out."
"Be quick about it, then!" The knight snapped, getting to cover so he could get out of his suit. The initiate tended to his injury while the rest kept up the fight. But then, so did the rooks.
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