Chapter 2: The Other Players
A/N: Thank you for your interest in further pursuing the story. I know I can drop these things rather quietly, and my other stories may have indicated that I was done with this particular tab, but inspiration strikes whenever it wants and I may have some characters I wanted to return to. Oh, and also; if you have any offers to make this or any of my stories into a webcomic, but you don't have a ready portfolio of prior work or even a wholly original pitch script, I don't want to fucking hear it :D
NCR Arizona Outpost
As the son rose from the east, the men below readied themselves for another round of recon and combat patrols. Standing atop the makeshift lookout, a stern military officer took a sip of his coffee while his subordinate stood by him as they oversaw the day-shift of the camp spark to life.
"…No word from the survivors?" the officer in charge asked his second.
"My contacts within Los Cabos indicated that they came in contact with five survivors who were intentionally released unharmed. They'll be extradited back home, once they accept the settlement offer from the company," the second replied.
Colonel Howard Bennigan could not fight back a scoff. "Got to love wasteland capitalism," he muttered as he took another sip. Captain Coleridge waited as his commander mulled over the information. "…A bunch of penny-ante terrorists suddenly get their hands on all that kit. Not to mention whatever information those prospectors didn't destroy. No doubt they have a general idea about where to look for the other caches, and of course the means to secure them in record time."
"You really think a bunch of ex-Legionaries are going to learn that quickly?" Coleridge asked.
Bennigan winced at memories of the Mojave War. "The primary reason we're in the position we're in is because our superiors could not stop underestimating the Legion. They're as resourceful as they are psychotic, and these defectors are doubly so in both regards. Especially when considering their commander."
"You really think the stories are true?" Coleridge asked, his expression bemused.
"Just as well, if you ask me. The man has exhibited tactics and know-how that don't exist outside of maybe some Brotherhood archives, and his won-ton disregard for tech-sanctity kind of rules him out as a member. That leaves us two options, either he's an exceptionally talented Hubologist or he's telling the truth. Which sounds more fantastical?" Bennigan replied rhetorically as he polished off his mug.
"Point taken," Coleridge conceded. "So that's our priority one, then? Manhunt?"
Col. Bennigan grimaced. "It'll be the most good we've done since we got here. Most maneuvering that we've done so far is political, we don't have the men to plant our flag in all this turf and we've seen neither hide nor tail of Legion activity. Maybe they really are gone," Bennigan mused wistfully.
"Bummer," Coleridge concurred. "The only enemies we have left are the Brotherhood of Steel, and lately those who defected to our side have gone east. Peace in our lifetime," the captain groused.
"Guess you aren't one of those "California First" types, then?" Bennigan grinned. "No grand speech about the "Stolen Mojave" or that kind of shit?"
"Just because you lost something don't mean you got stolen from," Coleridge groaned. "Two tours in Vegas and Oliver fucks us at the end by giving all our chips to the Courier. I don't know if we deserved to lose, but I absolutely blame Oliver for costing us everything."
"Glad we can have a civilized conversation about this," Bennigan sighed. "All the welching from the brass gets aggravating after a while. If given the choice between bitching and doing, I'd rather do. Thank Cali for Operation Constrictor."
"…Operation Constrictor?" Coleridge asked, confused.
"…You didn't hear that," Bennigan immediately replied, his tone brokering no argument.
"Sir," Coleridge nodded, understanding. Colonel Howard Bennigan was the top commanding officer of the Independent Commando Battalion, a specialized unit of the NCR military that operated within the Unclaimed Wastes, lands ceded to the fledgling Mojave Nation in the wake of the Legion's ultimate retreat from the lands of its founding. While technically Unclaimed despite technically belonging to the Mojave Nation, its inability to properly settle and consolidate the territory enabled a highly competitive free-for-all to any interested parties. The NCR contained many of these parties, both in the government as well as private interests.
To safeguard both, the ICB was founded to monitor and protect the Unclaimed Wastes on behalf of the New California Republic, and Colonel Howard Bennigan, a veteran of two decades in both the Rangers and greater military apparatus, was privy to all manner of dirty secrets, a fact that he could occasionally forget when talking to troopers of less clearance. Whatever Operation Constrictor was, it was above Coleridge's paygrade at this particular moment.
"So, we're taking the boys out on a run?" Coleridge asked, changing the subject.
Grateful, Bennigan turned to his adjutant. "Not quite yet. We got a source on a possible cache nearby worth investigated, and some people of interest sighted in the area, but we're going to have to await some specialists before we commit to anything. I requisitioned a particular unit stationed near Dayglow to assist us about a month ago.
"Particular unit? How wou-" Coleridge stopped as the realization of where the unit had been stationed dawned on him. Dayglow was a city that, by its nature, didn't allow for troop garrisons to be maintained for long, save for select few Ranger units and one particular battalion in the main military. Bennigan hid his expression as Coleridge let out a groan.
"Sir, incoming unit has requested entry into the base," a sentry announced over Bennigan's personal radio.
"I'll be down," Bennigan answered. "Want to join the welcome committee?" Bennigan smiled.
"Do I have a choice?" Coleridge muttered under his breath.
"You'll be sharing command in the field, so make sure you give him the best possible first impression," Col. Bennigan offered.
"…AND HOW THE FUCK IS CHOW THIS SHIT THIS FAR OUT FROM CIVILIZATION?! YOU'D THINK MESS WOULD LEARN TO GET CREATIVE!" Captain Rathmore screamed as his large mutant senior noncom followed after him as he tore into the state of the camp. By nature, the native tongue of most ghouls was complaining, and Rathmore took no issue with publicly vocalizing his every displeasure. Bennigan and Coleridge walked alongside him, taking in all the verbal abuse.
"NO, AIN'T NOTHING HERE BUT CALIFORNIA'S BEST AND BRIGHTEST! HOW I FUCKING WEEP!" Rathmore finally finished.
"…You done?" Coleridge asked.
"Yep," Rathmore lied.
"Good, now that you're both here," Col. Bennigan looked to Rathmore. "I assume you've been briefed?"
"Didn't have anything better to do," Rathmore snorted. "Still, that's quite the catch we're going after. The Governor's old baby-momma, hm, that might be interesting if we catch her. What do you think the Governor will pay for her? A ransom or a bounty?"
"I'm more concerned about the area she's holding up in. Recon indicates she's guarding something. I want to know what it is and get my hands on it first. That's where you two come in. Pick your platoons and head out by 1500. And watch the skies."
New Vegas
The two made their way down the road as the bus behind them filled the gap. As they strolled through the city, they both spared a glance at the sandstone fort resting in the middle of the city, clashing against the revitalizing architecture of the town. For the longest time, the city had been known as a lawless and dangerous stretch of urban squalor, but lately, the introduction of multiple stabilizing influences had calmed down the dangerous streets. It was a pity that some of those stabilizing influences weren't as scrupulous as others.
A young medical student stepped out of the fort, sitting on the ground alongside the walls as she pulled out a book and opened her lunchbox. As she ate and the two strolled by, no eye contact or recognition was made between them, though one of the newcomers did recognize the smell of the food, however briefly.
Making their way further up the road, the two took a sharp left before continuing up towards the Strip proper, passing by the Kings clubhouse. The Kings and Followers of the Apocalypse were two of the three biggest reasons Freeside hadn't stagnated into a hellish free-for-all in the wake of the independence of the Mojave. Unfortunately for the two, they were going to meet the third. As they approached the businesses, the Silver Rush and the Atomic Wrangler, the male looked to his female partner.
"Which one is the meeting taking place at?"
"Gavino runs the Silver Rush. The meeting was called by his son, and he runs the Wrangler," the female relayed.
"What do you know about the kid?" the male asked.
"Not too much. Might be a good thing, all things considered. Why are you asking me?" the woman replied.
"You're the "worldly one" after all," the male responded as they approached the door. The woman pounded her fist just under the eye-level slot, and the two stood back and waited. The eye-slot slid open as a pair of eyes looked out at the two Mormon Guards.
"…What do you two flatfoots want?" the girl asked.
"We're here to talk to Jimmy," the male spoke up.
"Names?" the girl asked.
"William Ramos and Hannah Young," the woman responded.
The girl's eyes narrowed as she mulled over the information. "…Hang on." She turned to face behind her. "YO, WE GOT CHURCHIES INBOUND! HIDE THE SHIT! BRANDI, PUT A SHIRT ON! FRANCIS, GO HIDE FISTO IN THE BASEMENT! STAY DOWN THERE WITH HIM, WHILE YOU'RE AT IT! AND SOMEONE CHECK TO SEE IF JIMMY'S SOBER, HIS SISTER'S PEOPLE ARE HERE!"
The girl then turned back to the two Guards. "…He'll be with you in just a second." And with that, slot closed, the door unlatched, and the two Guards walked in. As they did, the girl picked up her stool and strolled back over to her table while a woman on stage complained about her act being interrupted while putting on all the clothing scattered throughout the stage.
"…Hey, kid, aren't you a little young to be in a place like this?" Ramos asked the girl as she resumed her spot at her table.
"What are you, my dad?" the girl looked over her shoulder as she grabbed a drink Hannah was going to assume was ginger ale. "I'm just doing some honest work at a reputable business," she recited.
"And where is your father, young lady?" Hannah asked.
"Probably laying pipe in some floozy, for all I know," the girl responded as she turned to face the stage. "Jimmy is waiting for you upstairs," she pointed upwards with an unorthodox choice of finger.
"Don't be rude to the customers, Rosa," Jimmy scolded as the young crimeboss made his way down the stairs.
"Customers?! You know they ain't gonna buy shit!" Rosa scoffed as she downed her drink.
"Even so, there's little difference as far as I'm concerned," Jimmy turned to his guests apologetically. "Don't mind her. She's having a bit of a family spat and is staying with me for the moment. Anyways, please come with me to my office, Constable."
Ramos nodded as Hannah kept giving the little girl the stink-eye. Not that she hadn't been a bit of a brat every now and then when she was younger, but she really hoped for the girl's sake that she would mature a bit when she got older. She put the thoughts to the side as she climbed the stares with her Constable.
They entered a small and warmly decorated office. Hannah was almost surprised to not see any evidence of the vices she normally expected from Central Vegas, as she couldn't smell any drugs or… scents that would indicate certain proclivities of the neophyte mob boss. The kid was barely out of his teens and already he had a club and crew running security in Freeside while his father oversaw the Three Families in the Strip. It was an intricate system of strategic corruption, as far as Hannah was concerned, but it was working at stymying the rest of the excess the city was known for.
"So, Constable Ramos, Lieutenant Young, I'm glad you took my invitation seriously and came to this meeting. Despite our philosophical differences, I am happy to share common ground whenever possible," Jimmy smiled as his guests seated themselves before taking his own chair behind the desk.
"What are you asking for, Mr. Bishop?" Hannah began, bluntly. "I figured you would ask for your typical liaison if you wanted a dialogue with the community."
"But that's just it. This isn't about the community. I'm actually looking for a… volunteer," Jimmy explained.
Ramos and Hannah shot a glance at one another. "…The Bishop family asking for help? That's a new one," Ramos almost chuckled.
"I'm in the market for something of a… specialist," Jimmy replied. "There's been a bit of a… development in the Unclaimed Wastes that requires some finesse on the part of the parties I represent."
"Parties?" Ramos and Young said, simultaneously.
"…The big news story going around right now is the story of those Enclave caches being found all over the Unclaimed Wastes. Naturally, since its Vegas territory, on paper, those caches should belong to us. However, because the NCR and whoever else have been given free reign to do whatever they want in the territory, that means that all that tech is up for grabs for God knows anyone, if you'll pardon my language," Jimmy explained.
"So you want to claim them for yourself," Hannah scoffed.
"…The Followers of the Apocalypse approached me and asked for protection while they confiscate and catalogue any medical supplies and information we can get our hands on," Jimmy elaborated.
"Because the Enclave is famous for its medical tech," Ramos snickered.
"And we intend to destroy any Enclave weaponry we come across."
Ramos and Young both stared at the mob boss. "…Do you really think the wasteland needs another fucking arms dealer?" Jimmy sneered.
"…So why not have the Judicial Marshals go out and secure it?" Ramos asked.
"Now that's a great question!" Jimmy beamed. "Remember how I said the NCR has a bunch of its fingers in the Unclaimed Wastes? And you know how our beloved Governor has been trying to get into bed with California so the wasteland can have security guarantees and a real economy? Having Judicial Marshals going out there and countering NCR interests isn't going to benefit those goals going forward. However, a handful of interested Mojave based parties going on a mission of mercy isn't going to kick up nearly as much fuss."
"Handful?" Hannah asked.
"Aside from the Followers, we have members of the Kings and local militias joining us. I'm going along with to keep my men in line, which brings me to you," he looked at Hannah, specifically.
"…I don't care if it was your birthday last week, I'm not stripping for you," Hannah shook her head while Ramos buried his face in his hands to hide his laugh.
"You have spent more time in the Unclaimed Wastes than anyone outside the Marshals, Lt. Young," Jimmy corrected. "I've seen the trade records, and I know how highly requested you are as a caravan guard and a guide. We need the best pair of eyes and ears if this operation is going to resemble anything successful. So that's why we're asking you, Lt. Young. Do you want to help us make the world a better place?"
"…Thank you for your time," Hannah said as she got up from her chair, surprising Ramos. "But I'm not interested his helping the mob sanitize its image."
"Fine, then don't do it for me," Jimmy replied. "Do it for your people. You really want a bunch of plasma-wielding dipshits to get the jump on some of your merchants or missionaries?"
Ramos pursed his lips together as Hannah came to a stop. "Touched a nerve?" Jimmy continued.
"…Who told you?" Hannah asked, her voice level.
"My sister attends the meetings. And you church-goers are in the running for the worst gossip queens ever, I mean really," Jimmy continued to goad. "Feel bad for David, but we don't choose our origins, do we?" he kept going as Hannah clenched her fists.
"I think I really don't appreciate you bringing up my family's trauma when trying to get me to do your bidding!" Hannah snapped.
"And I would like to do whatever it is I can to make sure that what happened to your family doesn't happen to anyone else, so long as it's in our power to change it while we have that opportunity," Jimmy continued.
An hour later, Will and Hannah left the Wrangler, Ramos looking at his lieutenant as they walked down the street.
"…I'm sure he meant no offense, he was just trying to get his point across," Ramos suggested.
"You're defending him?" Hannah scoffed.
"I understand where he's coming from, which is further than I thought I would get when I heard about what he wanted, if you can believe that," Ramos replied. "Look, the Followers wouldn't have signed on if it wasn't on the up-and-up, don't you think?"
Hannah didn't say anything. Ever since her people had made their way to New Vegas, she had watched as her proud and righteous community was forced to compromise itself to adjust to their new earthly masters. New Canaan had been independent and self-sustaining, practicing virtue in a wasteland that never made it easy. Then it burned and she lost half her family. Ever since, she had to stay strong for what was left. When they arrived in Nevada, at the tail end of the War of the Glorious Cause, the Governor had rewarded what was left of her people with parcels of land just outside the walled-off city to begin anew.
Once things settled, Hannah realized that things weren't ever going to go back to the way they had been. For starters, the Bishop and Elders powers were greatly reduced from what they had been during New Canaan. Even if it hadn't been a paltry few survivors, her family was at the mercy of a larger and seemingly uncaring entity that they now depended on for protection. While they were still free to practice their religious customs as they saw fit, it seemed like a losing battle for the ministry when they had no power over the bars and brothels that a few blocks away from their homes. Not that things were all bad, as her people had friends in the Followers of the Apocalypse and, thanks to a marriage, the Bishop Crime Family, of all people.
Still, someone had to protect their people from the wolves, big and small. Hannah had fought for what remained of her people in the following years, driving away dealers and predators eying the Mormons like naïve lambs. She had been well trained, after all. So much so that a few years into her tenure as a guard, she was approached by the Judicial Marshals and offered a place in the organization.
She refused. When asked for an elaboration, she told them to ask one of their founders why she would ever follow one of his orders, and that every day that passed where he didn't get a well-deserved bullet was a blessing that he should cherish if he knew what was good for him.
No, Hannah was not perfect. She still had her sins, mostly in the form of two people she could not forgive. One for taking away her home, and the other for leaving her when she needed him the most. When people asked why she always looked so grumpy, that was usually the answer she told herself.
"…You know who would have been a great guy to send on this mission?" Ramos asked. Hannah turned to look at her Constable, who in turn scratched a scar resting on the skin of his orbital bone.
"Funny," Hannah spat, her mood further soured.
"Look, I don't think he's expecting an answer right away. Just go home and pray on it. I'll hold the fort down while you're terrorizing those mobsters with His wrath, don't you worry," Ramos smiled.
"You already sound so sure of my decision," Hannah replied.
"You are a lot of things, Lieutenant Hannah Young," Ramos answered. "A homebody is not one of them. Try as you might, you got your father's wanderlust."
Hannah smiled. "…In that case, I might need to pick up my boyfriend."
"Yes, I suppose that's- I'm sorry, your WHAT?!" Ramos almost screamed, caught entirely off guard.
"My boyfriend. The one I've been spending countless red-hot passionate, mind-blowing nights with while the rest of you guys are asleep," Hannah continued, her expression unchanging. "You've met him."
"I have?!" Ramos balked.
"You know? Roland," Hannah finally smiled.
Ramos rested his face in his hands. "…I can't believe you got me with that again."
The two swung by the Gun Runners before they returned to their community. The vendor recognized Hannah on sight, going to the back and placing the weapon on the slider for Hannah to take. A .45 Thompson sub-machine gun, a typical yet pristine example of its make and model save for the word "Roland" carved into its stock. Hannah shouldered her weapon and she and the Constable returned to their homes. For all his many, many, many, many, many, many, many flaws and shortcomings, she had to admit, her instructor had fantastic taste in music.
San Tafe
Robert Hughes sat in his room right above the bar. His stay in this hovel had gone on a month longer than he had initially expected. Not helping matters were that his landlords were a rather prominent gang who went by the moniker of the "Waste Wolves" a collection of killers and other assorted scum who had enough numbers in the area to be a threat. Still, he had the money to buy some privacy. For a short time.
As he looked back to see the chair wedged in the doorway, sealed by his bedframe, he urgently began speaking into his ham radio as he heard the thumping on the other side of the doorway begin to pick up pace, followed by screaming and calls for assistance.
"Agrippa, do you read? I need immediate assistance," he hissed as the bounty hunters ceased their assault on his door.
"State your location, Didacus," the voice on the other end replied, unconcerned.
"Western outskirts of San Tafe," Hughes gritted. "Where are my brothers?"
"Driven out by the local bounty hunters or killed," Agrippa replied. "Caesar has recalled all elements to return to Dallas post haste."
"Damn you, Agrippa!" Hughes growled as he heard the bounty hunters begin to talk excitedly as someone began placing something on the other side of the door.
"Relax, Didacus, your reports have deemed you valuable enough to be saved. We dispatched a retrieval team from Taos yesterday to rescue you."
"TAOS?! YESTERDAY?! I'm going to be killed NOW!" Hughes shrieked as the leader set the charge. Looking back, Didacus gritted his teeth as he paused and went over his extremely limited options. The charge detonated blew smoke, fire, and debris into his room, but not before Didacus jumped through the second-story window and fell onto the broken asphalt and dust-covered road. Right as a series of waiting boots immediately descended upon him. Beating him to a pulp, Didacus was dragged up to his knees as the rest of the gang filed out of the bar he had lodged at. The ringleader, a dark-skinned man wearing a bucket hat and a duster, strolled out with a shotgun resting on his shoulder as the rest of his men trained their weapons against Didacus.
"…W-what's the meaning of this?!" Didacus spat out. "I haven't committed any crime!"
"That's what the last three Frumantarii told us," the bounty hunter announced as he threw down a bounty poster with Didacus's face on it. The amount offered was rather paltry, but the wording got his attention, as it was in the language of the southern nations.
"…You trust those southern devils?" Didacus scoffed.
"Who are you to talk of devils," the bounty hunter sneered. "You should be grateful the bounty offers more for you alive and with your face intact. Otherwise…" the bounty hunter jammed the barrel of his gun into the face of Didacus. "…And even if they weren't, killing you Legion is a service to the rest of humanity," the bounty hunter grinned as the three barreled toward them.
By the time the posse noticed the thundering pads, one of them had turned to investigate, only to find a javelin lodged into his chest as he let out a silent scream. The rest of the posse turned to see three giant hounds storming towards them, with three riders pulling out their side arms as they strafed the gathering. Caught off guard, the posse wasn't sure whether to stand and fight or flee. The riders exploited this decision with well-practiced expertise. Dismounting the hounds as they chased after the scattered posse members, the three riders drew their weapons and engaged. The lead pulled out a gladius, his large partner drew two fire axes, and the tall and lean one drew a fancy spear. Breaking apart, the three cut through the posse, killing or crippling those who tried to fight. The lead bounty hunter managed to fire off a few rounds, but the one with the spear dove through the buckshot and pierced him through the leg, bringing the bounty hunter to his knees as he dropped his weapon. Before he could respond, the spearman threw an oddly angled kick, that seemed to barely graze the man who was now sputtering up blood from the wound in his neck. As the survivors began to scatter, the swordsman looked down at Didacus.
"You used to be better at maintaining your cover."
"F-Falco?!" Didacus exclaimed in disbelief. The swordsman sheathed his weapon and pulled the spy onto his feet.
"If I knew they were sending the literal cavalry, I wouldn't have taken such desperate measures so prematurely," Didacus breathed in relief.
"I would not feel so easy, Didacus. Caesar Lanius requested your presence personally, to answer for your fallen comrades," the big rider interjected as he yanked his ax from the gut of a fallen merc.
"I-I can explain!" Didacus began to stammer. "We were chasing after messages from the dissolute NCR. Apparently, they discovered a series of treasures and-" a gloved fist backhanded him into silence.
"Nephew!" Falco scolded. "Not until I give the order!"
"Apologies, uncle," the spearman bowed his head.
Falco then looked to the big rider, who then stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The dogs returned almost immediately, their mouths covered in blood.
"…You can debrief us on the way back to Taos," Falco stated as he mounted his hound.
"But California is already raiding those supplies. If allowed to continue unmolested, they could end up gaining…" Didacus protested.
"Imperial Dallas has no more appetite for bear," Falco interrupted. "That is an answer that requires no dead spies."
"California is not the only one going after the caches," Didacus continued. "In our absence, the enemies of the Bear grow, and they will be… vulnerable. A chance to regain the honor of our retreat a decade ago, don't you think?"
Falco eyed the spy wearily. "…You ask much of the canis equites. You would have us reveal our presence to California to sate hollow honor?"
"To ensure that dangerous weapons remain ever out of California's grasp," Didacus countered.
"…We will discuss this later," Falco offered his hand to Didacus. "Climb on. Keep your back loose, these hounds are far from the smoothest ride. Drago, Scorpio, on me, before more of these thugs arrive. HEY-AH!" he cried out as he snapped the reins, the hounds bolting away from San Tafe, leaving behind nothing but rumors and stories of giant hounds that would ultimately be dismissed as a wasteland legend the further it spread from the site of the incident.
