Chapter 47: The Eighth

Around 2 Weeks Later

Narrative Continued by Nathan Porter

3 notebook pages full of chicken scratch.*

…

Notebook page full of chicken scratch and indiscernible words appearing to have been written by a toddler.*

…

Notebook page half full of indiscernible words. Discernable words appear to have been edited at a later date.*

… So that's about all I can say regarding my leave with Alyana and the Panguitchu. I really hope she takes what I told her seriously.

But I think I know why she'll never do that no matter how much I wish she would.

On another note however, I'm certainly getting the hang of writing with this pencil holder attachment for my makeshift hand. Steve was right, the clamp he put on the side makes writing so much easier than the "swap-out" thing he made to replace the hook. I'll let him know that the closer the lead point is to the wrist, the easier it makes writing… that should be obvious, but you don't really think about that until you lose a hand, I guess. I find it also helps to move the paper as I write as well. You wouldn't really think that would work, but it does, at least for speed. I guess balance is the name of the game.

Anyway, I know I could go on and on about all that happened during my time with Alyana, and everything that went down with her tribe that will impact the rest of my life and hers, but… the reason I write is because of what happened on my return trip.

After arrival in 89 City, I made my way to the Salt and Sand Caravan depot just to check in and see if there was anyone going north back to New Canaan. I sure as hell would never make that trek alone again after learning my lesson a few years back. Luckily, I ran into Greer and Vaughn of Herbein's detachment before I even reached the caravan depot as they were exiting the general store. I know it goes without saying, but they were of course overjoyed to see me, but they looked like they were a little unsure when I asked if I could head back with them the next morning. They refused to say why they were acting weird by such a normal request but explained that it was just them in 89 City when I asked where the rest of their team was. All they said was that they were sent down to 89 as part of a simple caravan escort job, the rest of the team headed back yesterday, but the two of them were told to stay behind and await an order from the Constable.

I guess the assignment they were going to execute on their return trip was of a more secretive nature. I guess this explains why I learned that the two were left with a radio each before the rest of the escorts departed. Once we were all caught up, Vaughn stepped away and radioed the Constable to ask if I could head back with the two, and when he returned, Constable said that I could! We had a nice night in 89 City, and then headed out first thing in the morning.

The assignment they had to perform for the Constable almost immediately slipped my mind along the return trip, but the fellas and I had a nice time along the way. The whole leave in general turned out pretty alright after a fantastic start, but there really was nothing like evading patrols of Levanoan cannibals and tiptoeing around battles between them and Nephis to take the mind off of the new troubles I learned about at the end of my time with Alyana. I already wrote too much about that in the previous pages, so I'll drop that for now… Might hit up Mr. Mathers or one of the other Deacon counselors for some advice on the situation though.

Anyway, eventually I remembered the assignment Vaughn and Greer were supposed to do on their return home when we were about a day or two out from the gates. It really wasn't fair that I told them all about my private business with Alyana, yet they refused to say a word about the secret covert ops they were doing for the Constable. With plenty of patience, and plenty of charisma, we were camped off the caravan road about a day out from Provo when they told me that they were leaving me on my own when we reached Provo, and that was when it occurred to me that the Constable wouldn't have let me come with them if the big man himself didn't think I was at least somewhat familiar with the nature of their work. When this didn't sway Vaughn or Greer, a sudden idea struck me over the brain, and I told them how their work must send them to somewhere not far out from Provo if they were going to leave me there to walk the rest of the way on my own. Vaughn was all;

"Whatever Nathan, we're leaving you at Provo because it's only a half-day walk from New Canaan. That doesn't mean our confidential assignment is anywhere near Provo."

Then I couldn't help myself from smiling as I was all;

"Let me guess. After you leave me in Provo, you're going to head back south?"

Vaughn kept his composure, but I saw the look Greer shot at Vaughn before saying, "Most things are south of Provo and New Canaan, Nathan."

I smiled wider, "Let me guess again. Your business for the Constable is sending you to some coordinates about 8 or so miles south of Provo? Perhaps to some place that rhymes with, Vanish Cork?"

Their silence certainly made me haha, but I really wish I didn't laugh looking back. At the time, I answered their silence;

"No way! Are the techs done with the power armor or something? I heard the Elders approved to send them out like the day before I left for my week with Alyana! That's so cool. You guys are definitely going to need me there if Hanshaw's having you fetch some of the suits. Tell you what. You guys head all the way to Provo with me before turning right around and heading to Spanish Fork to learn how to work the power armor suits, or you can radio Hanshaw first thing in the morning and tell him how Nathan offered to train you on the suit operations, and we can fetch all of them in one go on the way back… How does that sound?"

Greer finally slammed his head back down on his pack in the dim moonlight before saying, "Fine! I'll radio the Constable if you can come with us on the job in the morning, but just shut up and go to bed."

I leaned back on my own pack, already thinking about how awesome it was going to be to walk around in that armor again when Vaughn, still sitting up slightly and with his rifle across his lap, said to me through the slow cold winds,

"Just so you know though. Neither of us know what we're supposed to do at the armory. All Constable said was for us to investigate the place. He didn't say anything about the power armor, but said we're supposed to radio him when we get there… now go to bed."

Without anything else, Greer and I went to sleep out there in the wastes while Vaughn stayed up for his hour of watch.

Greer did radio the Constable that next morning. The Constable did allow me to accompany them to the armory. Vaughn did check in with the Constable when we reached the armory. I don't know what the Constable was Going to have Greer and Vaughn do at the armory, but whatever it was must have changed entirely when Vaughn reported what we found out in front of the sealed armory doors.

I know I've talked a lot of crap about him over the past few years. I know I wasn't always that kind to him. I know I've stolen a great many of the girls he tried to date for no other reason than kicks. I know I totally kicked his ass in so many barracks competitions including eating and marksmanship competitions, and I know I was always so much better than him in just about everything he ever attempted to do except for maybe weightlifting, but I loved him like a brother. Seeing Salgado laying there dead in the sands before the blast door to the Spanish Fork armory bunker made a tear run down my cheek when we learned it was him.

Vaughn immediately relayed the situation and asked a lot of questions during the Constable's silence after the initial news.

Suppose there's a lot more I could say about everything the Constable said and everything Vaughn said, but Greer began looking around the area, keeping whatever he might have found to himself, while all I could do was look at that calm but ugly face laying there face up with his hands bound behind his back…

Who am I kidding? Salgado was handsome as all hell… Even in death, he looked like a Latino version of that old Captain Cosmos comic book character. Even with one eye thanks to that stupid exit hole, that only made him look cooler since I knew his lifeless self would be adorned in the most badass eyepatch during his wake…

In the end, Vaughn got off the radio with Hanshaw and took a knee beside me over the corpse of Salgado. He and I said a prayer I'm still a little too upset to write out, but afterwards, he asked me to check the man's vest and pockets for one of the key cards to access the bunker.

It may not have been too big of a surprise, but when neither Vaughn or I could find the key card, our hearts froze, and the man had to report back in with the Constable.

A group of Camden's men were on their way to our position. They weren't bringing one of the spare key cards, so when Greer finally returned to us after his sweep around the area, we gathered around the terminal and followed the Constable's encrypted instructions for bypassing the physical card access. The terminal computer retreated back into the bunker wall, the 20-ton door creaked open, and we went down the stairs as the lights turned on and the door shut behind us. I'd only ever been inside the Spanish Fork Armory probably 2 other times before the job where I wore the power armor, but it may be worth mentioning that the interior door at the bottom of the steps had a little window in the middle. The door was about 3 feet thick and made of solid steel, while that window was made of some extremely thick layers of plastic glass or something. I guess my point is that everything in the interior stairwell appeared fine, the blast doors were fine, and so we didn't even notice that the window to the armory interior was completely blacked out. Stepping through the interior door, none of us had any idea what to say or do.

Of the near 200 submachine guns of .45 and 9mm and 10mm, dozens of semi-auto rifles in .308, hundred .30-30 bolt-actions, hundreds of handguns of various calibers, thousands of rounds of ammunition, hundreds of magazines, and so many other articles of equipment and various heavy weapons we'd collected over the centuries and stashed in this armory, almost ALL of it was either gone, broken and scattered across the ground, or sitting in a burnt wreck in the center of the facility between Bay 02 and Bay 03.

The flame had died, but the smell of smoke and gunpowder and sulfur remained, and the metal walls of the bunker interior were blackened beyond anything we'd ever seen. Every inch of the interior was black. The crates smashed, the reloading stations and workbenches and tool chests along the walls were so unbelievably black and destroyed. And past the pile of blackened wreckage, were the blackened and broken maintenance cranes holding up the equally destroyed frames of two remaining power armor suits.

Whoever did this didn't take the power armor. I learned from Canady's men when they arrived at Spanish Fork that Nelson from Roth's detachment came here a few days after the techs were done and fetched one of the suits. Constable sent Salgado on his own to fetch one more under the cover of night, but never made it inside before getting killed and having his card stolen.

I would stay the night in the stairwell of the bunker interior with Vaughn, Greer, and the six men of Camden's group. It was almost impossible to breathe for too long in the destroyed and blackened storeroom. When we allowed Camden's men inside, we reported to the Constable what me and Herbein's boys found inside. I've never heard the Constable that upset before. He only told us to get Camden's men to help us count up whatever could be salvaged, whether that was working bolts or receivers that might just need a thorough cleaning and new part, or whether it was a stray round.

We all did what the Constable asked, picking through the wreckage and setting what looked like might still work aside. There was absolutely no weapon fully intact, and even though we found a few working bolts and receivers, a few possibly usable bullets, and even the occasional spare magazine for a 10mm submachine gun, whoever did this to our main armory outside the walls knew what they were doing. They wanted this gone, and so it was.

Camden's guy, McKay said it looked like lots of the stuff was stolen. That appeared to be true since most of what we sifted through looked like the remnants of our old bolt actions. Nobody came across a single remnant of one of our surplus .45 submachine guns. No blackened stocks for those SMGs, no barrels, no nothing. After everything, Greer guessed that whoever did this took out all the good weapons and ammo, the stuff we use, stacked all the surplus ammo and rifles from 1903 or whatever and probably detonated a charge or something to set off the ammunition. I could only imagine what it might have been like inside the storeroom when so much ammunition was detonated… I imagine that was probably what the Great War of 2077 looked like, but everywhere.

They didn't take the armor. They must have not had any use for that. They must have also not had any use for the heavy .50 caliber machineguns, the anti-material rifles, or even the majority of our .45 pistols if so much black dust, metal fragments, busted wooden rifle stocks, and remnants of springs for magazines said anything.

Before leaving the obliterated interior armory or storeroom after so much time sifting through so much wreckage, I took one more look at that row of items that might be salvageable. Not a single magazine or receiver or nothing for our stock of .45 submachine guns. The ones who did this must have really REALLY wanted them, and I suppose didn't want to trade with us for some. I turned to the terminal beside the door to the storeroom… The shattered screen and wires hanging out of the pitch-black monitor said there wasn't that good a chance of checking, even if the thieves were kind enough to update the armory inventory before they left.

I shut the door behind me, and rolled out my sleeping bag on the ground level beside Greer and Vaughn, not sure what to think about anything, and still thinking about that lifeless man outside. The man we leaned up against the wall of the bunker outside.

We carried Salgado's body back home with us. It didn't take that long for us to get there after an early rise.

I've been back for four days now. I'm still taking some time off from scav… That's actually not really true. I've done two half-days. Life goes on, nobody in Scav really knows what happened, which is understandable.

Part of me doubts the Constable is going to tell the Elders what happened to our armory at Spanish Fork.

I just started helping Salgado's family prepare for the funeral after I got off, but there's just been so much happening lately. Life goes right along with everyone across town, I see the smiles, and I try to smile back, but there isn't much more I can do. Everyone I talk to throughout the day seems just as fine and normal as usual, save for Naomi… I heard she took the news of my pal's death pretty hard, and I must be too since I don't even feel the urge to try and charm her myself… not even in Salgado's honor.

It's like the tragedies still happen to the normal people of town I interact with, but I feel like it wouldn't change anything even if the Constable was to tell everyone that there is something seriously strange and dangerous going on out there lately.

But then I get back to the barracks. Then I see those boys in the towers. I see the Constable speaking to Paul, and I see Doyle rounding up his best men. I don't even have to ask to know why Doyle is rounding up his boys, and I don't even feel the urge to join the barbeques outside. I don't feel the urge to play ball with the boys outside in the light of the streetlamps, and I don't feel the urge to head to the community centers or volunteer groups. All I feel like doing is trying not to think about all that is happening out there, all that I'm avoiding with Alyana, and all I feel like doing is writing some of this shit out, maybe that will help… and maybe?

Maybe I can get Steve to make me a gun holder for this hand replacement contraption… then again, maybe I can just practice lefty more… Maybe I can join Duncan at the range east of town if I get off early and practice lefty. I hear he's still taking Hannah Young out there once or twice a week.

But how could I possibly reload a pistol with only one hand?! Dammit! I can't do anything! OH AND! Duncan was selected to join Doyle's group when they leave tomorrow morning!

I feel so useless!

Alyana needs me and I can't be there, the Scav trade barely needs me to even hold the toolbox, I can't help look into shit like what happened to those mercenaries or what happened to Spanish Fork, I can't load a handgun, and I only JUST got the hang of writing with this thing! And I'll be damned if I go back to typing stuff like this out! That last entry took for freaking ever!

Maybe Steve can create some kind of contraption to help me reload one handed! That's it, I'll ask him about it tomorrow. I really do appreciate Steve for giving me this tool for writing, but I'm not sure how much writing I'm really going to be doing in the coming days. I'll still be writing Alyana. I'm still terrified about that entire situation, but again, I already know I wrote far too much about that already.

The Next Day

To: My Future Children/Grandchildren/etc.

Sorry that was a lot, and a bit all over the place. Things were pretty stressful, but I don't need to tell you why if you read the first 3 pages! Imagine hearing wild news such as that the day you show up to visit the woman you love for the first time in two years, going through all that, heading home, learning your best friend/worst enemy was killed and that one of the most secure places in the wilderness was raided, only to return home to a dull life where your disability keeps you from doing almost anything!

Anyway, I'm feeling a bit more hopeful now and will give an update when I got more to say! I know exactly how to handle all of this! I owe Mr. Mathers so much!

Around 3 Days later

Narrative Continued by Lt. Gideon Doyle:

…

"What did you do to piss off Lt. Young, Parrish?" asked Kajatz.

They weren't being too loud, so I allowed it.

Parrish said, "Nothing… I don't think… Why? Did he say I pissed him off in some way?"

Some of the others smirked when Lockwood said, "No, we're just wondering why you're the odd man out on this one."

"I thought Duncan was the odd man out?" said Parrish, something that made me smirk instinctively. I looked to the kid. He was fine. I doubt he even heard as he looked out into the dark wastes;

"I didn't know you were quick like that, Parrish. Ha. Seriously though, why'd Lt. Young send you out here with us?" said Hendry.

"Not sure," said Parrish, before pausing, thinking for a long moment, and then going on, "Probably has something to do with the language program I've been taking."

"What languages?" asked Kajatz.

Parrish sat back on his bedroll, "Theres some language courses about tribes around the GSL I've been taking run by Deacon Elson. He used to be a missionary to some of the tribes out there. Before they got destroyed by the Whitelegs or run off some years back."

The rest of the boys sat in silence for a moment after Parrish was done.

"So that's who Constable's thinking did that to Spanish Fork?" asked Cornwall.

Another silence ensued, the only sound being the men around the small fire adjusting in their places as they looked to one another. After another moment, I felt a few of the eyes go to me as I thought. I thought about what the men and I saw just two days ago.

The Constable's brief was short before we set out, but there just wasn't much to say on the matter when Greer and Vaughn reported what they did backed up by Nathan and the guys under Camden. I almost didn't believe it at first, figuring that whoever stole access to the Spanish Fork armory and killed Salgado stole some equipment. Things changed when we saw firsthand what was done to the inside. It didn't make sense, but there it was, so much equipment destroyed.

We were able to verify what was reported, it looked like the majority of items in that inventory were destroyed, and after sifting through the blackened wreckage in that armory, there didn't appear to be a single one of the .45 submachine guns in the destruction. It was frankly shocking to see, but if there was any upside at all, it was that it narrowed down our search. Even if those tracks we followed in the past 2 days disappeared with the winds, at least we knew to start a hunt for anyone with a .45 submachinegun. I began to think of what I saw on my last trip out into the wastes with Paul, and the likely culprits sat in the forefront of my mind when I was brought back to the moment by all the men's eyes on me as Lockwood asked from across the flames;

"What say you, LT? You think it was them?"

There wasn't a doubt in my mind, but I still couldn't indulge in fireside speculations as I told them all;

"I don't know. Some of you boys saw what happened to those mercs. Doesn't seem outside the realm of possibilities for it to be them if they were capable of doing something like that."

Just then, Hudson asked from between Lockwood and Ray;

"How would they have gotten in though?"

Before I could answer, Hendry said, "Salgado had his keycard taken off of him-"

Hudson jumped in before I could, "No, I mean, how did they know when to find him when we'd send someone there?"

I'd been wondering that too, so has the Constable, and so did Paul. But then I remembered the Constable's face that evening after he told us the news and Paul offered Parrish to my detachment for this scout. I knew the answer, so did the Constable.

"They could have been staking the place out. Just waiting for someone to show up and try to access the place." Offered Ray.

There was another silence after that. It was close to what the Constable, myself, and Lt. Young figured to be true. Then Cornwall offered what the Constable arrived at on his own;

"I'll bet they saw it when the techs left. Doubt that they left as stealthily as those of us who usually get sent there to fetch things."

At those words, I thought again about that look on the Constable's face when he relayed the news and remembered the look in Young's when he said he wished he could join me if it wasn't for his promise to his family. I began to feel anxious, and found myself tapping my foot in the dirt again as I thought of that destroyed armory, the pile of burnt mercs, and the sight of Constable Hanshaw's expression that evening when Hudson asked;

"Why didn't the Constable just relay the encrypted access codes to Salgado when he got there?"

If there was anything in the Constable's face when he saw the men under Camden and Herbein bring in the body of Salgado after that defeat and pain, it was "woulda," "coulda," "shoulda," "but if I just…"

"I don't know. Maybe…" said Ray before the tapping of my foot became a little to much to control as I snapped at the men;

"Stop. Speculating."

The men froze. Silence ensued beneath the crackle of the small flame and slow winds of night. There were too many "what ifs" and they were all pointless in the here and now. The Constable was considering all of these things, so was I, and if the look in Paul's face that evening when we heard the news said anything, it was how anyone in leadership of the Guard already had enough "what ifs" and "I should haves" on their shoulders without further speculation by their men.

At last, I brought all the downcast eyes to me again as I told them, "Constable got a good man killed by mistake, but I don't want to hear another word about what could have been. Got it. Hanshaw's beating himself up enough about it, so he doesn't need your help..." I was going to go on when I saw the words on some of their tongues and let Kajatz say what he clearly wanted to for the rest of them;

"It isn't like that, LT… We're just sorry is all..."

He trailed off, and then Hendry added, "We're just trying to make some sense out of this…"

He too trailed off, many of them looking into the fire and nodding slightly. I felt my leg stop tapping. They were just looking for what I was looking for, the reason we were out here after the trail in the wilderness vanished earlier in the afternoon.

I looked to all the faces staring into the small flame, remembering an almost universal truth about New Canaanites, even amongst those of the guard. New Canaanites, even when asking questions, never blamed. These men, some of the few in the guard to know what happened to Spanish Fork didn't blame the Constable for what happened. Nobody in town blamed the trade boss for getting the mercs killed in their trip around the north GSL. New Canaanites were unique to almost everyone else out there whether they be from the wilderness, 89 City, NCR, Hanksville, or even Legion. New Canaanites don't blame, they pity. Their questions to make sense of the situation we saw at Spanish Fork and in the lifeless body of Salgado were not a judgment against the Constable, they did not blame him for what happened, they pitied him, which was something I did as well…. I did this all the way out to Spanish Fork and felt the shift that differentiated us guardsmen from the rest of the New Canaan populace over the past two days of tracking. I was done pitying the Constable, and I think the men around the fire were too as I watched their faces shift in the firelight. Pitying time was over. Blaming time was never on the radar. But now it was time to start to act, and I could feel the shift in their souls as well when I finally answered the silence;

"Still, we're in this situation now, so there's nothing to do but move forward."

The men again sat in silence at that. I saw the nods, I saw the eyes narrow, and I saw the new thoughts enter their heads as the fire burned. There was no more speculating required. No point in blaming anyone or asking what should have been. We were in this situation now and there was no changing it. All there was left to do was to orient minds towards what was coming, and I was more than happy to be the Constable's spearhead even if the Elders would certainly disapprove.

The silence went on even longer, and I felt the smile grow across my face. I knew Young was of a similar disposition, but he made promises to his family he had to keep, and he asked one request of me before I gathered my men to set out and he returned to regular duty. I knew where I could find his request, and I took his magazines for use. I patted the extra cartridges in my belt and thought of what was coming before remembering that kid when at last the silence broke.

"Any of you wanna guess who else is in my class on GSL languages?" asked Parrish to the group after enough internal change took place amongst the men around the fire.

"You know, this is the most I think I've ever heard you talk before, like, ever. Ha!" said Ray, something that made the others chuckle softly. I felt myself smile as well as Lockwood asked Parrish;

"Who?"

The quiet young man of Lt. Young's detachment said as he adjusted the .45 SMG across his lap, "Graham actually. Can you believe that?"

I felt that was my cue and got up, leaving the boys by the fire. I was young myself once, and knew that the change in soul they needed to make for tomorrow was a process that required a bit of amusement. This was such a common thing for men of New Canaan like those around the fire, but when I turned towards the darkness, I saw the faint outline of the black sheep in my scouts still leaning on a tree limb looking into the black of the wash.

I stepped up to Duncan Schmidt feeling my eyes adjust to the dark again as I patted his shoulder. He scarcely even noticed my arrival, a quick glance at me was all he did before he turned back to the darkness. After a moment, I could hear the others' low indistinct chatter and told the kid lowly;

"I'm relaying the Constable that we found nothing first thing in the morning. I plan on keeping us out here longer though, you alright with that?"

I saw the kid nod, his face emotionless beneath the wide-brimmed hat and dirty slicked blonde hair, "Yeah. But why are you telling this to me?" he said in that direct and semi-bored tone I knew was normal for him.

Turning to him, I leaned on the dry bush beside him and answered, "Because we may not have been able to find any leads on who specifically raided Spanish Fork or where they went, but things are going to get fuckin messy before I take you boys back."

The kid glanced at me with a subtle smirk before fishing something out of his breast pocket. I couldn't quite see what it was in the dark, but I could recognize the clink of a lighter opening before seeing the little flame as he lit up a cigarette between his lips with the plain words, "That so?"

"Why the hell are you smoking?..." I instinctively said to him, forgetting what I was going to say, "Don't you know how bad that is for you?"

He took a drag, pocketed the lighter, and blew the smoke into the dark before saying again in his normal emotionlessness, "Don't you know how bad it is for you to take your men out looking for an enemy?"

He took another drag, his answer and tone and smoking making me simultaneously furious and strangely proud as I said, "Out here, you don't have to look far for that, but I don't need to tell you."

He glanced at me, his face only barely visible in the glow of the lighted cigarette, "You looking to blow off some steam or something, Doyle?"

There was something I was going to say, but I had to pause, and his question made me think of something else when it sank in during the brief silence. I heard the low chatter back by the fire and glanced back at them before turning back to the kid who perhaps didn't "enjoy" the darkness, but perhaps "found some solace" in it. Leaning back on the thick branch and hearing the others by the fire, I said to that kid;

"Blow off some steam? No…" I gestured back towards the men around the fire as the kid took another long hit off his cigarette;

"Look at those men…" he went to look, but ended his turn when I added, "… Don't look at Them, though." He exhaled into the dark, one eye on me and another on the dark, "… Think about the girls they're sweet on back home. Think about their mothers, their fathers…" he raised an eyebrow, and inhaled again before I added, "… Have you ever seen Mr. Stillman at the bakery on the west side of the town square?..."

The kid exhaled into the night again, his face still somewhat puzzled as he said, "Leslie or Lisa's husband? Yeah, why?"

I joined his look into the dark, feeling his questioning look half focused on the side of my head as I heard the low jovial chatting behind us; "Doesn't he have a smile on his face every time you've seen him?"

I saw him smirk in my peripherals as he let some of the cigarette burn, "Most people inside the walls do, but yeah, why?"

Leaning even more into the thick branch of the bush, I said simply, "They get to smile and laugh because they forget what it's like out here. Everyone inside the walls, many in the guard, and a whole lot of the wasters, people, and tribes out here are starting to forget what happens when they fuck with His people too much…"

Part of me realized what I was saying as I spoke, and a big part of me wanted to tell him to forget what I just said. But then I thought of that look in the Constable's face again when he learned he was part of the reason Salgado got killed. I imagined the funeral of that guardsman, knowing which people in the family were going to cry, which ones were going to put on a strong face, and which ones were going to only be able to pray. I thought of what Paul did that raider kid a year ago, and thought of what Graham did to Tom Cade as well. I didn't know if we would ever receive the Fallout from those incidents, or if what happened at Spanish Fork was part of it. I didn't know what to even think about the fate of Leonard's mercs, but based on recent events, I knew there were a lot of people, tribes, raiders, etc, that were on the verge of forgetting something very important when the kid asked me;

"You alright, Doyle?"

I turned to meet his eyes, "Look at what happened to those mercs. Look what happened to Spanish Fork…" He took a final drag on his cigarette in the cool night and stepped on it when I said, "… Mark my words, there's going to be something else when I radio the Constable tomorrow morning, and whatever that might be, I'm going to need your help reminding the men what it looks like to become a force to be fucking reckoned with out here."

He leaned back on his supporting branch again, twisting the cigarette beneath his boot as he said in his usual tone, "Shoulda probably brought Graham along for this…" he paused, crossed his arms, and peered back into the darkness of the wash, "… No idea why you're talking to me about that."

His words immediately made me chuckle. He looked back at me with a face of confusion and slight anger before I said; "Good one Duncan..." he must have still been thinking, but he turned back to the darkness and visibly strained to keep his attention away from me as I added, "… And who said we aren't meeting anyone out here?"

He only glanced at me briefly as I took my leave, but I left the kid in silence, knowing he was already at the place he needed to be. It was a place that took others in the guard a little longer to arrive at as I returned to the rest of the men around the fire.

I'll of course be leaving this out of my reports once the scout is over, but it's nice to have this for personal reasons. That day's going to come when I sit before the Elders and have to explain myself, but I'll be happy to face a temporary exile tribunal if I get to look the Elders in the eye and say,

"Look at what we've had to do to keep you all from getting slaughtered while you sit in your homes planning the next Hug a Raider Day event."

Taking my seat back on my sleeping roll, I saw the faces around the flames now bearing something they didn't earlier when they were busy speculating, when they were busy pitying the Constable. The only way to go was forward, and forward was going to be a pretty disgusting road if it meant teaching those who underestimate us a lesson.

When I was all situated and ready for a brief 4 hours beside the fire, I heard Parrish ask the group;

"Did you guys hear what's been going on with Lt. Young's boy by the way?"

I put an end to all the low chatter when I gave Hudson and Ray order to take the first hour of watch and told the rest to get to sleep. All of them immediately got ready to sleep or take watch, the flame was snuffed, and all I could think about the deal with Joseph Young was how that was just one more reason I preferred to be out here in the dangerous wild than driving myself crazy with the Temple Sect's pointless fascinations of the moment.

A Few Days Later

Narrative Continued by Duncan Schmitt

Don't normally write in this.

Sorta think writing is stupid honestly, but Doyle said I should and I thought I'd try it. Simple as that. Too think I could barely write my own name when I met came here. Suppose the schoolhouse isn't all that bad. Fucking hate it when the others talk to me though. Mrs. Pryor isn't horrible to look at, but I learned all I need to know to never go to that class again. If that idiot "Soaring Falls, Runs with Bighorn" or whatever the fuck tried to copy off my paper one more time I was going to kill him.

Hear he's working North Fields anyway, so fuck him.

Sorry. Bless his heart.

They say I'm not supposed to swear. That's fine. Whatever. Fuck'em and Bless their heart mean the same thing if you ask me. Still, they can't tell me what to write. Not like any of this is going to be kept. Unless I marry a girl in town. Then they'll get a picture of me and her and make a formal record in the archive for shit like this. Not likely. Only girl in here I'd consider marrying is probably Hannah. Still not likely. Told her to talk to me about it again in six years. And when her dad's dead.

Stupid girl.

Not sure why Doyle told me all that shit that one night. In the wastes. Sorta made sense later. He was right though. Check-in with Constable gave us something new. Sure enough, Constable asked if we could look into something Leonard told him about before we head back. Feels like most of the shit we do now is for Leonard. I hate him. He's annoying. Didn't mind the job though. Man loses track of some of his rangers when they got sent out to help escort a train to Provo then New Canaan. Rangers missed a radio check-in not far from our last location. Mercs missed a radio check-in a few weeks back. Seems like the man has a problem with getting his people to check in. And getting them killed.

Bless his heart.

Whatever. Few hours south, an hour or two west. We found them. Probably not like the way Leonard was expecting. Bodies of caravan hands ripped apart. Lots of bullet casings. Mostly .45s. didn't think that meant something at first. Found the rangers due west. Again. Probably not like Leonard was expecting. Wrists bound, legs bound, hanging from a tree. Two by the legs. Three by the necks. Armor stripped, jumpsuits ripped. Raider fucks were laying out the armor, going through pouches. I counted 5 of them. Optics showed they were White Legs. Couldn't really think about much else when we started firing. There weren't five. Six more came out of the brush at our volley. Stupid shits should have stayed in place or hid. Ran out of the brush into the open, tomahawks and guns at the ready. Killed six more. 11 total. 4 for me. Hudson missed both his marks.

Dumb shit.

He's normally better than that. We left the ridge, and then Doyle found it. We were going to stay out longer. 11 killed White Legs. 5 dead rangers. 12 dead caravan hands. 4 dead brahmin. No cargo. 10 tomahawks. 4 spears. 6 .45 Thompson submachine guns. White Legs broke into Spanish Fork. One survived. Parrish tried to talk to the survivor. Savage fucker couldn't talk with one of my bullets through his neck. Saved Parrish the trouble via handgun-based decapitation of survivor.

Honestly weren't expecting White Legs to have our guns. They were clearly ours, raiders took it upon themselves to fuck up the weapons with white paint and feathers and other stupid tribal shit like that. Constable wanted us to stay out there. Told us to leave the weapons with our friends at Nephi. Took us a solid day to get to Nephi. Been through Nephi lots of times, actually met the chief. Seems like a nice guy. No idea what kind of name "Watcher of Stars That Burns Above the Ashlands" is. I get why Doyle and the others just call him, "Chief Nephi."

Stayed with Nephi, ate with Nephi. Chief Nephi asked to read my fortune. Said I wear a mask of no love and that there was a storm within made of a thousand rattling claps of thunder, more powerful and dangerous than a thousand bolts of lighting. No idea why I agreed to talk to Chief Nephi. Especially in front of the others. Maybe Chief Nephi could see what Doyle can see in me as well. No idea what any of that meant..

Bless their hearts

Met up with Graham at Nephi village that evening. Not sure what he was doing out here. Constable didn't send him. He wasn't here to take the recovered weapons back home, but said we're going to hunt for some more before we head back. Doyle caught Graham up on what we've been doing out here. Didn't hear most of the chat. Too busy wondering the point of Chief Nephi's sentries if they didn't even stop Graham on approach to our tent… Don't think they even saw him come out of the dark. Whatever. We set out. Graham talked with Parrish, told Parrish to take the lead on any talking.

Doyle told me not to kill our next captive.

2 days later, further south, further west, then a little further north. 2 more destroyed caravans. Pretty typical for the region. Killed 2 raiders picking through the wreckage of caravan 1. They were 80s. No survivors. Didn't look like NCR. Not many ways to tell. Looked like they were headed west from probably 89 City. Probably idiot Mojave traders. Everyone knows you stay away from the No-Man's in this region. No survivors at Caravan 2. Didn't have time to investigate before coming under fire. Cornwall hit, just in the arm, or so I heard later. Sharpshooter on the distant ridge. Lockwood stayed with Cornwall. Gave him a stim. Lockwood and Cornwall kept to shelter, under normal order for minor stim-correctable injury to follow along as the others and I leapfrogged toward the sharpshooter. Crawled up the ridge with Graham and Hudson and Kajatz.

Doyle, Hendry, or Ray covered our advance. One of them must have hit the sharpshooter because it sounded all clear. Stayed down for a while. Then stood from the rocks after a moment. Automatics in the brush past the ridge made me get back down.

Stupid move on my part.

Ricochet clipped my cheek. I was fine. Still fine. Pretty bruised though. Blood stopped an hour later.

Graham and others pushed gunners back. Moved up to the ridge to join advance with Doyle and Ray and Hendry. Found the sharpshooter. She was certainly hit alright. Certainly a White Leg. Eyes grew wide when she saw us. Too busy keeping pressure on her breast and losing too much blood to reload that rifle next too her. Doyle stimmed her, Hendry bound her. I probably shouldn't have kicked her in the jaw. Doyle snapped at me. I joined Graham's advance.

Bless her heart.

Graham and Kajatz and Hudson pushed guys back to the shack at the top of the hill. Nice place. Little shack built in a collection of shady dry cottonwoods. Nice view too.

Note to self: go live in that place in event I lose everything or get way too old, like 25 or something.

Doyle and Ray soon joined us. Raiders inside shack shot at us through the windows sporadically. Saved our ammo, only returned shots when necessary. Graham said he counted 3 go inside. One got killed back in the brush. Two submachine guns abandoned in dirt outside shack.

North clear.

East clear.

West clear.

South clear. Lockwood and Cornwall and Hendry and captive bitch staying low and moving up to join us.

No storms of dust approaching. Siege could last as long as needed. 2 minutes later, last gunner inside out of ammo. Just as predicted, savages come out tomahawks swinging.

Always forget how hilarious jalapeno datura defense spray is. Best tool for subduing anyone. Heard it was actually Chief Nephi who gave New Canaan the recipe for that "sacred potion" a while back. Forgot to thank him back at Nephi.

Nothing like watching a disgusting tribal raider savage giving his most "fearsome" war cry backed with all the might of his ancestors or some shit, get immediately blinded and fall to his knees blubbering like a child.

3 blinded and sobbing and gasping for air and kicking on the ground. Hard to stand 5 feet next to wherever that stuff lands but we bound them anyway. Good way to clear the sinus. I wonder if it really makes you hallucinate before it knocks you out.

Had a nice evening at that shack. Cooked a nice meal inside. Helped Parrish interrogate the four captives. Wish he wasn't so whiny about it. Made a good recording. After Doyle gets someone to edit the worst parts out, he said it could help missions coordination better understand the evolution of GSL languages. Not that such a thing would do any good for missions. Unless they're stupid enough to try to send missionaries to the White Legs. Could help in future interrogations though.

Anyway.

Then we pretty much just headed back. Got home about 3 days later.

Overall nice trip.

A/N: Special thanks to Xcom-Anders for help with the inspiration in writing this chapter!