Fallout: Boneyards (Chariots of Steel playtest / New Vegas Sequel Quest!)

"...Brick, head back and get some supplies and get your chest seen too," you say.

"Yang, I-" Brick puffs up, and you can tell he's about to be stubborn. You'd known Brick for almost twenty-five years now. He had basically taken you under his wing and helped to keep you alive in that first, awful year, when you hadn't spoken American and had worked a dozen insanely dangerous jobs just to stay alive. You knew, immediately, what he was going to do: He was going to insist he was fine and keep pushing things until he had to be kicked in the jaw by the world.

Except here? Here, being kicked in the jaw and brought down to size wouldn't involve getting fired by a racist boss, or forced to leave town for a few years until heat had died down.

Here, being brought down to size would involve a Legion heavy machine gun.

"Sergeant," you say, firmly. "I'm not going to let one of my best get killed because I couldn't be without him for ten minutes to get a stimpack."

Assuming they have stimpacks, you thought. The war had been pushing everyone's supply lines to the utter limits. Brock flower and xander root could make stims, if you had the right chemical processes to finish the job. But there were so many wounded. So many people who needed a hit. So many stims…and even with the stims they could salvage from Legion supply, the NCR usually had way, way, way more wounded than dead. The worst culprit was Legion mines, not just the prewar salvage that'd blow off a leg or foot, but their new stuff too. Their worst was the directional frag mine that only blew shrapnel outward, around the pressure plate. The guy who set it off would feel nothing but guilt at having filled his friends with steel.

All of that flashed through your head in the time it took Brick to set his jaw, sigh, then say, "Yes. Sir."

The distant rumbling of artillery filled the air and you got on the radio to report in your forward progress.

"Understood, Sandman-2," Captain Wu said. "We need your platoon at the I-28 Interchange as soon as possible."

You nodded.

It was going to be…a long day ahead of you.


You never thought this would be possible…but battles started to blend together. Ten kilometres of city, even if most of it was road, with Legion every step of the way meant a lot of fighting.

A lot of moment by moment decisions.

A lot of work.

You were never at the front of it again, always in a supporting role, but that was still a lot. At the I-28 interchange, you and your tanks rolled up the massive ramp that had been built by the old Americans to carry those absurd atomic-powered oil trucks to the highway. The highway was collapsed, but the ramp gave you a perfect place to park your tanks, hull down, and rain shells down on entrenched Legion positions while a spearhead of Lawnmowers and infantry dashed - or, well, waddled - towards them.

Three anti-tank guns tried to elevate and fire up at you, but they overshot three times, their sights not calibrated for their barrels pointing so high, leaving you plenty of time to sight…

Aim…

"On the way!"

The AT gun's ammo went up like fireworks, blooming into the air. A chunk of a Legion officer's leg landed on your hatch and you had to shove it off your tank with a disgusted groan.

At the intersection of two old streets called 45th and Hollenbeck, your platoon linked up with three others in a massive brawl with six Testudos that were backing up inch by inch, their machine guns keeping any infantry from getting close, while their forward and side armour stood strong against your cannons. A lucky shot from Uranium Fever-5 blew one Testudo and as the others tried to cover for the hole in their line, three light tanks roared past, got into their asses, and started to pop them one after the other as their crew tried to scramble out with their Rockwells and grenade.

Dora machine gunned maybe…twelve people in a space of thirty seconds as the field of battle filled with tracers and bullets.

What felt like a year and nine kilometres later, the sun started to set and the battle…didn't stop. But it did wind down.

Drives Fast was already asleep, curled up in her position. Trudy was as chipper as ever, despite the bruise forming around her eye. Mask? You had no idea if he was even still alive, he was sitting so still in his part of the tank. Dora was a robot.

You?

You felt like death warmed over.

Morales jogged over to where you and the other tanks were parked - by an old RepCon storefront that had been only mostly shot to hell - and spoke, hushed, quiet. "We've got watches set up, we'll keep you guys safe," she says, then gave you a little flash of a smile. "You've kept us safe long enough."

You nod, rubbing grit from your eyes. "Thanks," you say. "Any word on Brick?"

"Shit, sir, I haven't had word one from HQ since that fuckup with the Testacles," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "But we're pushing and Legion's dying, so…" She shrugged one shoulder.

"Good work, Morales," you say.

You settle back into your tank, looking at your crew. Trudy has settled back into her seat. "Wanna know something, sir?"

You nod.

"The Master was right," she says.

"What, because…if he'd won the Unity War, then we'd all be mutants and none of this would be happening? We'd have a peaceful society of transhumanist perfection?" You rubbed your jaw with your hand, hissing as you felt a flare of pain and realized that at some point during the battle, a piece of metal had whipped past your jaw and scratched you. How had you gone this long without noticing? You sighed as your face began to throb, continuing: "I don't fucking buy it. There'd be mutants who were greedy or short sighted or just plain fucking stupid - if you want me to think a world of Bricks would be a world without conflict, I have another fucking think to tell you, Corporal."

Trudy nods.

"...I mean, sir, I don't get back pain no matter where I sleep," she says, looking up at you over her shoulder. "It's the regeneration factor."

You sit in silence. In the time it took you to say all that, the sun had set and everything was black now.

"...goodnight, sir," Trudy says.

"Goodnight, corporal," you say, quietly.

Then both of you start laughing.

"You are wrong, though," she says. "Master never said there'd be a world without conflicts. They'd just be new conflicts." She closes her eyes, sighing as she does so. "Not fighting fucking Romans again."

She settles.

—
You're the only person who can't really sleep in a tank comfortably.
[ ] Try to sleep in the turret (safe, but uncomfortable)
[ ] Risk Sleep outside (less safe, but…less uncomfortable)