I don't remember sleeping all that well after the Battle at Fiddler's Green. I kept thinking back to just how sudden everything had been. I guess having a hundred guys spring an ambush on you in your own backyard will do that.
In the morning we got our new orders, and some news about who had attacked us. The Confederation of Dixieland, a nation built on slavery, just like their rebel forefathers. In response, we were temporarily put under the command of Captain Angela Sherman, a woman everyone in the Enclave knew, feared, and respected. I happened to be a bit more familiar with her than most though... but my squad didn't need to know that.
Angela wanted the Rebels dead just as much as Autumn did, and we were eager to go out and do our duty for our country. Well, most of us were. One of us was in mourning.
North of Radcliff, Kentucky.
Before the Great War, there had once been a mighty network of highways that stretched across the whole of the North American Continent. It had allowed the people of America a way to travel to nearly every inch of the American mainland. When the atomic bombs struck, however, the highway system was torn asunder, and commuters who had once only dealt with potholes were now confronted with massive craters and pools of radioactive sludge. The plant life on either side of the road hadn't been entirely exterminated, but like with the mutated black grass, it all still looked dead.
Despite the heavy damage, Route 65 remained a vital part of Enclave Logistic and Combat operations. Traveling south from the Ashville Air Force Base, it offered the Enclave a relatively convenient path southwards for their vehicle fleet. On most days, it served to trade with settlements to their south, namely Checkpoint and the Schoolyard, which had both gone silent.
At the moment, Route 65 was host to the bulk of the Eleventh Armored Cavalry Regiment, along with a handful of elements from Autumn's own 69th Infantry Regiment, including the beleaguered Bravo-One Charlie. The fact that they were expecting to find more enemies at their destination only heightened his need to stay awake.
Preston let out a heavy sigh from the back of the squad's M151A1D Utility Vehicle, trying to rub his eyes clear of the exhaustion that weighed on him. He'd slept terribly, and coupled with the powerful painkillers he'd been put on for his freshly-treated injuries, he was feeling more than a little lethargic. He wanted nothing more than to pass out in the back seat, but unfortunately, the drive down to the Schoolyard was just short enough to not justify a nap.
Preston and his team had all been to the Schoolyard before to provide security during some trade deals, and met with the predominantly Ghoul population there. Some of the Enclave's soldiers generally viewed the Ghouls a bit more favorably than others, but Preston personally still found them quite unnerving. Most people who discriminated against the Ghouls did so for their decayed, zombie-like appearance, but Preston's concern was a bit more reasonable.
An unfortunate part of Ghoul biology, as many had learned the hard way, was that they could suddenly turn feral at any moment, and become a bloodthirsty monster. The uncomfortable part was that it wasn't even a conscious thing for them, and there was nothing they could do about it. Just a slow unknowing countdown to the inevitable.
With his skin now crawling, Preston sat up in his seat and looked at the rest of the convoy ahead of them. Mercifully, their vehicle was towards the back of the convoy, so in ideal circumstances they would get some warning before they had to fight. Of course, circumstances in the Wasteland were rarely ideal, and unfortunately, the reason that they were in the rear was because their car was carrying a nuclear bomb.
More specifically, their tiny car mounted a comparatively large M29 Davy Crockett Nuclear Recoilless Rifle, which could launch a nuclear warhead about the size of two footballs put together a little over four kilometers, with an explosive force equivalent to twenty tons of TNT. It was without question the most powerful weapon that the Enclave still had access to, and Preston had to come to terms with the fact that it was hanging ominously over his head.
The recoilless rifle, on top of the two Power-Armored occupants, left their absurdly old vehicle creaking under their shared weight. If any of his friends were concerned about their vehicle however, they did not show it, as they had other matters to discuss.
"They took my gold, Sweets! My gold!" Haggard miserably complained.
Sweetwater buried his face in his hands, and Preston didn't blame him. Being stuck in a car with Haggard for half an hour was an ordeal in itself. The fact that he had been given something to freshly complain about only made things worse.
"It wasn't your gold Haggard, it was the Army's gold," Redford sternly replied. "Now shut up and let me drive!"
Haggard kept his eyes on the road ahead as he grumbled. "...I didn't see the Army in any hurry to pick it up before I did…"
Sweetwater and Redford both sighed, but Preston's attention was instead directed to the nuclear bomb resting just above his head, which jostled and shuddered as their diminutive utility vehicle traveled along the bumpy road. Logically, he knew that it was perfectly safe, but a part of Preston's mind couldn't help but nervously imagine it falling off of its launcher and falling on top of him, where it would then detonate and atomize them.
"Why are we bringing this thing?" Preston asked aloud, the thought suddenly dawning on him. The Enclave typically used Davy Crockett's for obliterating Wanamingo Nests, not hostage rescue. "Aren't we trying to save those people?"
Sweetwater shrugged, a motion that was almost comically exaggerated by his power armor. "Eh, maybe Captain Sherman wants to keep her options on the table. I just hope we don't have to use this thing..."
"Speak for yourself! You really tellin' me that you don't want to be the one to set off a nuke?!" Haggard asked, his voice rich with disbelief.
"Have you seen all of these craters we've been passing Haggard? Do you really think we need to keep making them?" Sweetwater somewhat sternly replied. "Tell you what, if we've got to fire it, I vote that you do it."
Haggard wickedly cackled and ignored Sweetwater's questions. "Now that's more like it..."
Their conversation was interrupted however, when a radio call went down the convoy, ordering everyone to halt. Sergeant Redford hit the brakes, and their nuclear-capable car ground to a halt as the trucks, and other utility vehicles ahead of them began to dismount their troops. Some were equipped with combat armor, like Preston and Redford were, but a lot of others were kitted out in the various models of Power Armor that the Enclave still had access to.
"Everyone, dismount!" Redford ordered, and Preston followed along as the squad piled out of the vehicle.
"Are we moving up with the others?" Preston asked.
Redford was unable to answer however, as he was already on the radio, and held up a finger to tell Preston that he needed to wait. "Roger that ma'am." He said before addressing the rest of the Squad, "And no, we're staying here with the nuke. Captain Sherman's going on ahead to scout things out first."
Haggard nodded. "I sure ain't gonna question her, that woman scares me. She's got the same look my ex had, like she's gonna tie me to my bed and set my house on fire."
Preston did his best to keep a straight face and remained silent. He knew his friends well, and he also knew better than to tell them that he'd been dating Captain Sherman for months. There would be no right answer, no correct thing to say. They'd find a way to make fun of him, somehow, and then he'd have to convince Angela to not kill them in turn.
Thankfully, Sweetwater had just the right comment to draw everyone's attention away from Preston. "You sure have a way with women, Haggard."
"Say's Mr. I married the dispatch officer because she sounded cute. " Haggard pointedly and mockingly replied. "How's she doing by the way?"
"She is cute, and I didn't marry her because of that!" Sweetwater argued, before his tone considerably calmed as he answered Haggard's question. "Oh Juliett's doing fine, she was real' worried about us though. I told her we had it all under control."
The duo continued their conversation for a few more minutes, but their casual chatter belied a quiet competence. Their weapons remained just a flick of a switch away from firing, and their helmeted heads scanned the treelines beside them for any approaching hostiles. A handful of other soldiers were also keeping watch over the vehicles, namely the bigger trucks which carried ammo, parts, and energy for the tanks.
Sergeant Redford stayed beside them as well, occasionally communicating with the rest of their unit over the radio, before finally turning back to face the three of them. "Okay, we're moving up. So far they haven't found anybody, and the Captain wants to talk to me in person."
Preston felt a sinking feeling in his gut, they'd all noticed the lack of any gunfire, but they also didn't want to believe that they had been too late.
"They find anybody?" Sweetwater asked, his trepidation carrying even through the speakers of his helmet.
Redford shook his head, and led the way as the four of them walked forward towards the settlement. Under ideal circumstances, they would leave a portion of their own squad to watch over the vehicle. However, with the Enclave's manpower restrictions, they were already understrength for a squad at only four men, and as a result, they left their car with a contingent of Captain Sherman's soldiers for safe keeping.
Walking through the entrance to the village, Preston was struck by just how quiet it was. True enough to its name, the Schoolyard was built just outside a Pre-War High School, although the building itself was half-collapsed and full of radioactive waste, so even the Ghouls hadn't wanted to live in there. Instead, they had built a small village of shacks in the sports fields and the surrounding forests, repurposing Pre-War Victory Gardens to grow their own produce.
As Preston stepped forward into the village however, he only saw fellow soldiers occupying it, conducting a thorough search as to ascertain whether or not any of the settlers were still left.
"There's a lot of blood on the ground..." Haggard noted.
Preston hadn't missed it, and it would've been hard too, given that an awful lot of the concrete was splattered red. Whether it was the blood of the settlers or the attackers, it was hard to say, as no bodies had been left behind.
"Yeah, and not around any of the cover either, looks like the Rebels caught the people here by surprise." Redford said, doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face as he assessed the situation. He reached over to a passing soldier in Power Armor and pulled them aside. "Where's the Captain?"
"Right that way Sergeant," The soldier answered. "Careful, she's in a bad mood."
"Alright, thanks." Redford replied, before letting them go about their business.
"Hey uh, Sarge?" Haggard nervously asked. "You uh, don't necessarily need the three of us to come talk to her with you, right?"
Redford turned around and seemingly debated what the best way to ridicule him would be, before shaking his head. "You know what Haggard? That's some good thinking. Why don't you and Sweetwater go check out that shop over there and see if you can find any sign of where these people went."
"Great idea Sarge!" Sweetwater voiced his agreement, before he and Haggard began to hastily make their way over to the designated structure.
Preston couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You want me to stay with you Sergeant?"
"Yeah, if she's actually in a bad mood then maybe having you around will calm her down a bit," Redford explained before patting Preston on the shoulder. "Besides, I don't wanna get killed any more than those two do, so you're my shield."
Preston couldn't help but scowl, while Redford was merciful enough to keep Sweetwater and Haggard in the dark, he'd figured out what was going on between him and Angela almost immediately. "She's not that bad, you know. She's not going to make you do push ups in the field."
"Oh I know she won't, but she'll remember if I fuck up, and then she'll get me back later." Redford explained. Preston only sighed in response, not because Redford was wrong, but because he was right.
After a short walk, they found Captain Sherman standing beside a few other Enclave soldiers in a distinct tan officer's uniform with an M4A1 Carbine slung over her shoulder. At five-foot seven-inches tall, she was positively dwarfed by almost all of the soldiers that she commanded, particularly those in power armor. She had jet black hair cut in a tightly controlled bob cut, and hazel brown eyes that seemed to be fixed into a permanent glare.
"Sergeant, Private," She addressed them both strictly and professionally, and Preston felt his posture straighten up subconsciously. "Did you see anyone on your way in?"
"No ma'am, just a lot of blood," Redford answered, standing more casually than most would under Angela's glare. "Not much close to cover either, it looks like the Confederates caught the people here off-guard."
Angela's gaze turned towards the ground, concealing her eyes for a moment. Anyone else might've mistaken it for strategic thinking, but Preston knew her better than most did. Like him, she felt a great degree of remorse for having not arrived in time to save the people of the Schoolyard, even if most of them were Ghouls. She composed herself quickly however, with most of her soldiers likely having not even noticed anything was wrong.
"Damn shame. My men have found empty safes and stashes, it looks like the Rebels looted this place pretty thoroughly, but didn't leave any bodies," Angela explained. "It seems like they took the people here alive, but didn't leave any clues about where they've gone."
Preston felt a fresh chill run down his spine, and knew that everyone else was probably thinking the same thing that he was. The Confederacy was a nation of slavers, there would only be one likely reason why they had kidnapped everybody that they could. He spared a glance at his squadmates in the nearby shop, and saw that Haggard's typically jovial attitude was shattered as he held a child's doll in his power-armored hands.
"Preston," Redford said, mildly startling him out of his thoughts. "You've been down to Checkpoint before, is there any chance they held out against the Rebels?"
Preston gave it a brief thought. Checkpoint, as the name implied, was built out of an old National Guard Checkpoint. Preston had been present along with Colonel Autumn and Arcade Gannon for some rather tense negotiations, as the Colonel hadn't been thrilled with civilians occupying 'military property' for their own. Arcade had calmed him down however, and convinced him to let the settlers stay.
That had been a long time ago however, and Preston already knew how a handful of poorly-armed, poorly trained settlement guards would have fared against large formations of Confederate soldiers, fortifications or not. "It's got some good fortifications, but they wouldn't have had enough men to hold the Confederates back... They're probably gone too."
There was a brief moment of silence as Preston returned his gaze to Angela. Her face was red with fury as she slowly breathed and pointed to one of her own men. "Corporal, take your team and set up an observation post here in the town hall. Call in to the Colonel and let him know what we've found, and notify us if the Rebels return. The rest of you, mount up! Let's see if the bastards decided to stick around for a fight."
A series of acknowledgements met her orders, and she and Preston exchanged a final mutual look as they walked away from each other. Preston tried to put on his best reassuring smile, and against everything he expected, it seemed to work, as the tension in her shoulders slightly faded, and she gave him a small smile in turn.
While Preston was exchanging unspoken words with his girlfriend, Redford turned to the rest of the squad. "Haggard, Sweetwater! Get back out here, we're movin' out!"
"On it Sarge!" Sweetwater replied as he and Haggard ran back out of the shop.
The walk back to their vehicle was brief, and the rest of the convoy mounted up and slowly began the drive further south towards Checkpoint. The trip was far more quiet than the last one, and Preston's exhaustion seemed overbearing, replaced instead by a dread for what they might find at their destination.
The distance between Schoolyard and Checkpoint wasn't nearly as great as the drive from Ashville had been. As such, it was only about five minutes before they were all startled and alerted by the sound of a cannon firing. It came from somewhere at the front of the convoy, probably one of Angela's tanks.
This time, Preston could distinctly hear Angela's voice come through Sergeant Redford's radio. "Convoy Halt! Troops in contact. All units disembark and proceed with your existing orders."
Once more, the call to halt the convoy came down the radio, and Redford swerved their jeep off to the side of the road and parked, as the rest of the convoy ahead of them did the same. In the distance ahead, the sound of gunfire began to ring out wildly, joined by more cannon fire and the distinctive reports of energy weapons. "Sounds like they're still here. Haggard, stay with the bomb, and don't use it!"
"Sarge, you clearly just have no respect for my self control." Haggard replied with the faintest undercurrent of levity.
Redford shook his head as Preston and Sweetwater climbed out of the car. "And you two, come with me! We'll try to hold up the rear and make sure the main force doesn't get flanked."
"Right behind you Sarge." Preston replied as he loaded his laser rifle.
The trio advanced alongside larger squads of Enclave soldiers, all equipped with a mishmash of equipment just like they were. The days of the Enclave being able to outfit every one of their soldiers with Advanced Power Armor might've been long gone, but the last American soldiers still moved with confidence.
This was the kind of battle that Preston was far more accustomed to. Far from a desperate struggle for survival against attackers that outnumbered them twenty-five to one, this was a proper armored offensive, with doctrine dating back as far as the World Wars. Admittedly a lot of the grander elements that Angela probably knew were lost on Preston, but he and his team had a very simple role to play.
"This looks like a good spot," Redford said, noting a small natural hill on the side of the road which had natural cover atop it in the form of large boulders. "Sweets, get your bipod set up. Preston, keep us covered."
As ordered, Preston found a good spot to watch over their team's flanks, and got a decent look at the rest of the battle. He could see Angela's tanks rolled into a firing line overlooking the old Checkpoint. Preston couldn't see much of what they were shooting at through the maelstrom of smoke and fire, but it was safe to say they'd found the enemy. He briefly caught sight of a single uniformed Confederate soldier stumbling out of the hellstorm, only to be cut down by fifty-caliber tracers from one of the tanks.
Angela's tanks consisted of a mix of old M41A3 Walker Bulldog Light Tanks and a handful of ancient M4A3E2 Sherman Jumbo Heavy Tanks. The latter vehicles were named in honor of one of Angela's ancestors, a great American general from the first Civil War. Despite their antiquity, both models of tank represented the Enclave's armored spearhead, proving to so far be more than a match for the Confederate Forces occupying Checkpoint.
While Preston watched the battle, Sweetwater had set up his gatling laser on an aluminum bipod, while Sergeant Redford used his radio and a pair of binoculars to figure out where they needed to shoot it at. Preston's part as a rifleman was to simply act as security for them while Sweetwater used the squad's machine gun to suppress enemy targets.
Redford spoke up, pointing out their first target to Sweetwater. "We've got a squad with a rocket launcher trying to flank our tanks on the left. Pin 'em down and we'll let the guys from Delta-Two take 'em out."
"On it!" Sweetwater confirmed, opening fire without delay and forcing the Confederates into cover with a withering hail of fiery red light. Sweetwater fired the weapon in short controlled bursts, ensuring that there was no break in the fire long enough for the Confederates to move.
This was the part of the doctrine that Preston did understand, largely because he played a part in it. Fire and maneuver, a tactic which was arguably older than the United States, but which had served it well against every enemy it had ever fought. One team would provide suppressive fire to fix the enemy in place, while a second team would maneuver to flank the enemy, and finish them off.
Befitting to what Redford had said, Preston watched as a second team of Enclave soldiers advanced from cover to cover towards the Confederates, before blowing them up with plasma and fragmentation grenades. The whole engagement took maybe five minutes, and was just one part of the larger battle around them. They were only called upon to suppress one other target, but after that, were left waiting for orders as they watched the battle unfold.
What had started as a slow advance for the Enclave quickly became a total slaughter for the Confederacy. Without the element of surprise, they were forced back into the occupied settlement, which Angela's tanks kept thoroughly suppressed. Ironically, the checkpoint that they sheltered in was still flying an American Flag from the checkpoint's flagpole, which had probably been there since the Great War.
"I hope there aren't any civilians in there," Sweetwater noted as the three of them watched the firestorm in the distance continue to rage. "Or else the Captain's just turned them to dust..."
Preston shook his head, feeling a need to speak up in her defense. "Ang- Captain Sherman wouldn't have opened fire if there were."
If Sweetwater noticed his momentary slip up, he didn't mention it. "I hope not... Sarge, I'm not seeing anyone else out here, are we moving in?"
Redford briefly repeated the question over the radio, before shaking his head. "Nope, we're stayin' right here. Better get comfortable."
"Fine by me..." Sweetwater noted. "Hey, wait, look at the flag!"
Preston followed his friend's gaze, and found that, sure enough, the American Flag was steadily being lowered down the flagpole and out of sight.
"What are they doin' in there?" Redford asked, his voice filled with the same disbelief that Preston felt. Were the Confederates seriously concerned with taking down an old flag while they were getting hammered by tanks?
Slowly however, a new flag began to rise up the flagpole, and a wild cheer rang out amongst the defenders as the Confederate Battle Flag took to the air. Their celebrations were loud enough that they could be heard even over the sounding of the tank guns.
"I guess they're not surrendering," Sweetwater noted. "Don't know why they wouldn't, it's not like they have a chance."
"Well said Sweets!" A familiar, decidedly rural voice spoke up from behind them. The three turned around to see Haggard joining them, plasma rifle in hand. "What'd I miss?"
"Goddamnit Haggard, I gave you an order!" Redford shouted in response.
"Hey, I'll have you know I got ordered to come up here!" Haggard defended himself. "One of Sherman's Sergeants said his guys would guard the cars."
Preston felt a familiar sense of sympathy for his Sergeant as Redford clearly weighed up the value of chewing Haggard out on the spot. Even if things were calm for the moment, it was still a battlefield. "I... fuckin'... goddamnit! Go pull security with Preston! We could use another set of eyes watching the flanks."
"Can do Sarge!" Haggard replied as though the confrontation had never happened as he settled into position next to Preston. "What'd I miss?"
Preston pointed towards the smoldering ruins that were once Checkpoint. "Well, they're all dying, but they still found the time to tear down our flag and raise theirs."
Haggard was silent for a moment, before he spoke in a low, seething tone of voice. "Preston, what's the range on that rifle of yours?"
"About half a kilometer, after that the light gets too dispersed." Sweetwater helpfully pointed out, before Redford grumpily told him to focus on keeping watch for more enemy soldiers.
"I see..." Haggard murmured, a plan clearly hatching in his mind. "You think you can make that shot?"
Preston gave it a moment's thought, it wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't like he only had one chance to shoot down the flag. "I don't see why not. Sarge?"
"Eh, fuck it. Why not?" Redford rhetorically asked. "If it means that damn much to them, let it burn."
With no optic, a still-injured arm, and the AER-9 Laser Rifle's infamously bad iron sights, Preston took aim at the distant target as best as he could. It was right at the edge of his weapon's effective range, but he sighted the flag of Dixieland and pulled the trigger nonetheless. The shot traveled at lightspeed, impacting the flowing rebel battle flag and setting it alight.
Haggard gave a triumphant cheer and patted Preston on the back a bit roughly with his power-armored hand. "Whoo! Look at that! Now that's a beautiful sight to see!"
"First try as well, nice shot Pres!" Sweetwater said.
"Not bad Marlowe," Redford calmly complimented, before his radio barked at him. "This is Bravo-One Charlie, go ahead."
Redford briefly stepped back to answer the radio call. While he was busy, Sweetwater prodded Preston's shoulder. "Say Pres', you almost sounded like you wanted to say something else while we were talking about the Captain."
Preston felt the color drain from his face, apparently Sweetwater had noticed. "Ah, no, I just misspoke."
"What'd he say?" Haggard asked Sweetwater, completely ignoring Preston's defense.
"It almost sounded like he was going to say Angela." Sweetwater merrily answered.
"...Is that so?" Haggard jovially asked. "How about it Marlowe, you think she's pretty?"
Preston groaned in irritation. "Shouldn't you be keeping an eye out for the enemy?"
Admittedly, they were all but safe, but he was still hoping for a way out of the conversation. Sweetwater pointedly ignored his question anyway, instead pointing out what Preston hadn't said. "He didn't say no."
"No, he didn't," Haggard shook his head disapprovingly. "Damnit Preston, couldn't you have picked someone less scary? A raider boss maybe? Or that Brotherhood Elder chick who chopped that guy's head off?"
"You'd know all about chasing Brotherhood girls wouldn't you, Haggard?" Sweetwater teasingly asked.
Despite having been found out, Preston couldn't help but laugh at Haggard's expense. Haggard had the misfortune of having developed a crush on one of the "good" Brotherhood of Steel Scribes during Operation Knightfall, only to be heartbroken when he found out she was a lesbian.
Haggard shook his head in sudden sadness. "You should've seen her Sweets, she was beautiful! I've never seen a woman punch a man's head off!"
"Oh yeah? Hey, you better watch out Marlowe, it sounds like Haggard's gonna fall in love with Captain Sherman too." Sweetwater jokingly warned.
Thankfully, Preston was spared from the conversation continuing by the sound of Sergeant Redford butting in. "Sweetwater, will you shut the hell up?! Are you a fucking high schooler or a soldier? All of you straighten up! We're going to clear out the town."
In the distance, the battle had all but ground to a halt. The Eleventh Armored Cavalry Regiment's tanks and power-armored infantry had cut down the Confederacy like they were ripened wheat. There was still some sporadic gunfire, but for the moment, it seemed like the battle was almost over.
They all stood up and began the walk towards the former town of Checkpoint. It was all but secure by the time that they'd arrived, with the broken bodies of dead Confederates littering the ground. True to her legacy, Captain Sherman hadn't spared them any mercy, but Preston felt little in the way of sympathy for them. The absence of civilians at the Schoolyard, and now here, made it clear that these men did not deserve it. A cold chill ran down his spine at the idea of where they could have gone, and whether or not the Enclave could rescue them.
Throughout the settlement, Enclave soldiers were making sure that none of the Confederates were playing dead, and that none were still hiding in the scrap huts and old military cubicles that lined the smoldering town. Weapons were collected, and the dead piled up in the streets. So far, Preston hadn't seen any Enclave losses, but that didn't mean there hadn't been any. The sound of gunfire could no longer be heard, although they did hear the sound of some kind of fight taking place in what had been some kind of makeshift courtyard.
Preston turned the corner first to find a fairly unusual sight. Two Confederate soldiers were somehow still alive, the first beaten to the point of unconsciousness, and being held by two power-armored soldiers. The other was caught in "fight" with Captain Sherman, who was using her rifle as a club as she ruthlessly beat him, swearing and spitting at him as he just wouldn't quit. Two more power-armored soldiers stood ready to intervene, but it was readily clear that she didn't need any help.
"Jesus Christ..." Sweetwater muttered. "Doesn't that violate the RoE?"
Admittedly, Preston had similar concerns, as while he knew that Angela was harsh, she'd never resorted to torturing anyone before. Redford however, was quick to speak up. "I don't think so, look closer."
With a heavy smack to the head, Angela knocked the man down to the ground again with the butt of her rifle, but still he attempted to stand up again. Despite bleeding and hyperventilating, his eyes were wild and wide, his hands trembling as he laughed. He lunged at her again and with an angry yell, Angela struck him right back down.
"Psycho." Preston said aloud, now noticing what Redford had.
Anybody normal would've long since been rendered unconscious, but the Confederate soldier showed all the signs of an addict to the Pre-War chem. As Preston had personally learned the hard way during the occupation of West Point, sometimes you really didn't have a better way to subdue that kind of chem addict than just beating them senseless. It was harsh, but when the alternatives were to either start breaking limbs or just kill them, it was about the most merciful option they really had.
"So they're drug addicts too?" Sweetwater rhetorically asked as Angela hit the soldier one last time, and he was finally knocked down for the count. She was breathing heavily, and gave the soldier one last kick before she got a better grip on her bloodstained rifle, and turned to face them, her wild, furious look steadily fading as she began to slowly calm down. "Sergeant."
"Ma'am," Redford replied. "Where did you need us?"
Angela gestured back towards the two bloody and beaten Confederate soldiers. "Have your two armored soldiers join mine and get these two back to one of the Humvees, make sure they live, Autumn's probably going to have questions."
Sweetwater and Haggard, no doubt sufficiently intimidated, silently complied with her orders as Angela turned her gaze back towards Redford and Preston.
"And you two, follow me," Angela ordered, before raising her voice. "Everyone else, fan out and keep looking, tear this place apart if you have to! I don't want any of these bastards getting away!"
Her soldiers complied and resumed their search, while she led Preston and Redford further into the settlement. Preston was admittedly a bit worried, not for his own sake, but for Angela's. He'd seen her mad before, hell, she'd even been angry at him, but never like this. Even so, their responsibilities as professional soldiers meant that he couldn't try to reach out to her, not here anyway, but he hoped he'd get a chance.
Finally, the three of them arrived at a familiar flagpole. The Confederate battle flag at the top of the pole was totally burned away, and the American flag had been cast to the ground, covered in bits of ash and Confederate bootprints.
"I need to get back to my men," Angela said, her voice tense, but somewhat quieter now. "But if you two don't mind, I'd like for you to put this flag back up. Someone was already nice enough to burn theirs during the battle, but we can't just leave it like this."
Preston felt no small degree of pride as he reached down to pick up the flag. "Sure thing ma'am. Sarge, can you hold the rigging while I get this fitted?"
Angela let out a long breath, and gave a small nod. "Thank you Preston. Sergeant, I'll have more orders for you once I call this in to the Colonel, but I don't think we'll be sticking around for long."
"We'll be waiting." Redford replied.
With nothing further to say, Angela left to return to her men, and Redford held Preston to get the flag back where it belonged. Once the flag was fitted, Preston hoisted the stars and stripes, which flew triumphantly over the destroyed battlefield.
I remember after we all left Checkpoint, there weren't any celebrations. Sure, we'd beaten the Confederates in a battle that was only a bit harder fought than a turkey shoot. But we'd also lost a little over a thousand people before the battle had even started.
I know the Enclave's got a… reputation, and if I'm being honest? We kind of deserve it. It's hard to admit it, but we did some terrible things, hurt a lot of people. But when I think back to that night, I remember being angry, right alongside everyone else.
Sure, the people of the Schoolyard were all a bunch of Ghouls, who could go crazy and kill us. And the people who lived at Checkpoint probably had a single-digit literacy rate. But even if they were a bunch of rejects, freakish mutants, and idiots, they were still Americans, they were our people.
And we were going to get them back.