Old Glory Once Again! (Modern US in Fallout)

t99_2020 · Jul 1, 2024

Her Dad always told her that Rohead was supposed to be a small settlement, not like one of the bigger ones up North.

But to Sandra Connor, the activity of merchants selling their wares, alongside the bustle of town, was almost deafening, in comparison to the small farm that the Connor had always lived on. One where it was possible to never see another human for months.

Which made this meeting all the more intimidating.

"And what exactly do you bring to the table?"

Beneath his white Stormchaser hat, Marcel Hoovers had a skeptical look in his eye, looking her over with a raised eyebrow. One that made Sandra Connor want to wilt slightly. With a grizzled face, Marcel's look was complemented by the rough and weathered leather armor he was wearing.

But she was made of sterner hide. No member of the Connor family would ever back down from a job that needed to be done.

Especially a job that paid this much. A stupid name, Devil's Deliveries, but that didn't matter. Thirty caps a day, half up front, half on return. Alongside the pay, a hefty bonus if they managed to reach their destination.

The money wasn't just money anymore. Not after the final raid killed the last of their brahmin. Without money, the Connor Family would die a slow death.

This job wasn't just her best hope.

It was her only hope.

Burying her grief, Sandra looked up to the caravan leader, with what her father called a "face of steel."

"This gun ain't for show." Sandra responded coldly, gesturing to her trusty hunting rifle on her back. "One shot, and they'll never even hear the bullet."

Marcel didn't seem to be too impressed, clucking his tongue.

"All good in all, but I've seen your type before." Gesturing to her clothes, Marcel continued. "Farm girl, right? You may have dealt with them small critters, but the sons of bitches out there ain't going to just let you aim down the sights."

The almost casual dismissal at her skills, clashed with the memories of the attack.

Of the laughter as the bullets punctured the walls, her baby brother screaming.

Of the bullet ridden bodies of their brahmin, their way of life extinguished.

Of the headless corpses she created.

"Trust me…" Sandra growled. "There will be no hesitation from me. The raiders rotting near Path 19 can attest to that."

Evidently, something in her tone must have revealed that she wasn't lying. Marcel's face morphed into a frown. "Shit… they're getting bolder by the day." He muttered under his breath, before turning back to Sandra. "How good are you with Brahmin?"

"Good enough, I suppose. I can wrangle them if needed."

For a brief moment, Marcel remained silent, the Connor Family's fate in his hands. Finally, Sandra got her answer.

"Fine. You're in." Marcel offered his hand. "But you carry your own ammo and food. If we're to survive intact, we'll need to make detours into the Wild Lands. That means more days traveling."

It was as if a Brahmin had been lifted off of Sandra's back. Trying hard to not show any tears, Sandra unsteadily shook his hand.

'Hang on Josiah. Your big sister is coming back with the brahmin steak.'

Being a caravaneer, as Sandra was finding out, was significantly different to taking care of the family farm.

With the farm, Sandra had learned from her Dad that the surroundings always had a familiar rhythm, one that was easily broken by the many dangers from the Wasteland. Brahmin becoming skittish? Radscorpions on the edge. Raiders nearby? The jury-rigged shotgun would blow away both them and their secrecy.

Here? Sandra couldn't help but feel lost. She was constantly on one's feet, on the lookout for any raiders. Already, they had been set upon by several groups, trying to add to their scalp collection.

On the bright side, Sandra figured she had more than enough .308 for the round journey now. A bit grimy, but bullets were bullets. That was all these raiders were good for: extra supplies.

Chewing on the iguana on a stick, Sandra couldn't help but observe the other caravaneers sitting in front of her around the campfire. While there were others, her group had the luck of being the first to eat.

There was Jose, a burly man from the South, judging by his accent. While he was quiet, he was a great shot, keeping the raiders off of Sandra while she lined them up. Also a great cook too, with these iguanas.

To Jose's right, was Marcel, the caravan leader. The skepticism that had once been on his face, had morphed into an uncertain trust. Not great, but considering he was her employer, uncertain trust was better than nothing.

Finally, there was Crunell. A former prospector out West, he was the most talkative, discussing his experiences scavenging in Pre-war ruins. They sounded more like tall-tales from a Jet junkie, but Sandra couldn't help but be curious. Curious about the world outside of the little farm the Connor family had.

"And that's how I managed to evade them zombies. Nearly lost my head there, but them critters didn't take ol' Nell's head off." Crunell chuckled, clearly pleased with his story. "Got myself some pretty caps from those fission batteries."

"And what did you get for your troubles?" Jose asked. "You don't seem that much richer from last time."

"Oh-hoh my good amigo. Contrary to what you see, I actually did get something nice." Finishing his statement, Crunell ruffled through his sack. "Something like this iron!"

At first glance, it didn't look like any gun that she was familiar with. No magazine, a short barrel, alongside a bunch of exposed wires.

Then, it suddenly hit her. It wasn't familiar, because she had only heard of these weapons before.

"Is.. is that what I think that is?" Sandra slowly asked, observing the polished surface that shone in the campfire.

"Yup. That's definitely a laser pistol." Marcel took a closer look. "And not one that explodes after one shot. Looks really fucking new." He glanced up at Crunell. "Where the hell did you get this piece?"

"I got this from a trader up North. Fairly certain she was former NCR, and get this…" Crunell gleefully spoke. "... This thing of beauty came from Navarro, from them Enclave folks."

"Eesh… you may want to put that away, never know if Legion or Brotherhood is nearby."

"Yeah. Yeah. I know, especi-"

"What's the Enclave?"

In that instant, every head was turned her way in bafflement. Conscious of her attention, Sandra couldn't help feeling that she had stepped into some brahmin shit. "I mean… I've heard of NCR and Legion from my Pa, but he never told me about this Enclave…"

Marcel was the first to unfreeze. "Fair enough. Most people out here don't even know NCR exists. But it's best that you know who they are…" Marcel paused for a second. "Or were, to be more exact. Saves you a lot of trouble with people out West."

And so… Marcel told her a tale of a tribe, unlike anything she had ever heard before. The remnants of the Pre-war Government, hell-bent on killing off anybody who was a "mutie". So powerful that a laser pistol was a mere trinket to them. A group that should have been invincible. Who should have controlled the Wasteland.

But against all odds, they simply hadn't. Scattered to the four winds, the Siege of Navarro was the last straw that broke the brahmin's back. All that was left… was their toys, and the scars that they had inflicted, figurative and literal.

"And that's why most people are touchy in the West." Marcel concluded. "Lot of folk lost family during those years. Even a slight mention of the Enclave will send them into shivers. If you're lucky, you'll simply be decked in the face. And if you're not…"

"You don't have to tell us Marcel." Jose replied. "The precios on those Enclave heads… there's enough dinero in there to last you a lifetime!"

"What Jose said. Bounty hunters, the really scary ones, will jump you if you even have the slightest info on those bug-eyed bastards. My advice?" Marcel looked into Sandra's eyes with an intense stare.

"Don't talk about them to anyone out West. You'll live longer that way."

"But… what happens if I see one of these… Enclave?" Sandra slowly asked, trying to digest the meaning of this one word. A word that seemed to send shivers down these experienced caravaneers. "It sounds like they're still out there."

"Trust me… pray that you never see them."

"Si. By the time they're done with you, you'll be wishing you were dead sooner."

But despite all these warnings… Sandra couldn't help but wonder…

'What would it be like to have such power? More than enough power to make sure the raiders never came again?'

That night, her dreams were filled with beams of light, cutting down the raiders one by one.

AN:

For anyone on the West Coast, the Enclave are pretty much the fucking boogeyman. You thought you were safe? You fucking thought wrong.

Song of the Day:

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUjI8EsORdk&list=RDVUjI8EsORdk

t99_2020 · Jul 1, 2024

Twenty people, ten brahmin, and enough supplies to last Two-Sun several months.

Overall, a large caravan by the region's standards. Which made it an appetizing target for the raiders lurking on Path 19. Even with the numerous guards that the caravan had, pushing any further up through was a death sentence. All the more important that they navigated through a different route.

Enter the Wild Lands.

The Wild Lands. A region that Sandra's father always spoke of with a cautious tone. Not much was known about the tribes that lived in the region, with only tall tales filling the gap.

Which made the canyon in front of the caravan all the more imposing.

"So these Wind Spirits..." Crunell tersely spoke, his laser pistol at the ready. "You sure they ain't going to cave our skulls in?"

"Relax. I've been doing business with them for the past few years, and they haven't steered me wrong." Marcel replied, motioning Crunell to drop the pistol. "They control one of the few routes into Two-Sun that haven't been blocked by raiders, and they know it."

"If you say so, mi amigo." Jose glanced left to right at the mountains on both sides. "Night is coming, and we can't afford to camp out in the open like the previous dias. Not if we want to get picked off…"

"Which we won't." Cupping his hands together, Marcel bellowed out to the people behind. "Alright, folks! I know your feet hurt, but we're going to have to move quickly if we want to reach shelter tonight! So let's get a move on people!

With that command, Sandra coaxed the lead brahmin into moving, all the while looking around at her surroundings. Her father's words continued to echo through her mind.

'Member', Wild Lands up North are a mixed bunch. Some will treat you right, and some will just put you six feet under. If you ever find yourself in that God-forsaken area, your eyes better be on a swivel. And whatever you do…'

Jagged and narrow, the canyon entrance was barely wide enough for the caravan to get through, forcing the brahmin to navigate the pathway with limited space. Add in the rocky walls that reached up to the skies, and it made the brahmin skittish.

"There, there. It's not that bad. We'll be out of here in no time." Sandra gently patted the Brahmin on its side, the poor thing laden down with crates and supplies. The rest of the caravan slowly moved behind her, the sounds of echoing Brahmin bells echoing throughout the canyon.

Traversing the canyon, the few yellowish-green bushes and vegetation gave way to brownish-red sand and rocks, the only sunlight coming from the canyon heads above.

Sandra didn't mind it though. The shade was a welcome change of pace; a stark contrast to the merciless heat that bore down upon the caravan for most of the trip.

But despite the comfort from the heat, she didn't let her guard down. Even if Marcel was correct, his last contact with this tribe had been a year ago; plenty of time for conditions to change on a dime.

'… Always find a way out, no matter what.'

Twisting and turning, the path forwards became a maze of sorts, as Marcel led the caravan deeper into unknown territory.

Several times, the caravan leader seemed to pause at the multiple directions the canyon seemed to offer, before directing the others to follow him on a certain path.

But whatever was behind Marcel's thinking, Jose's prediction had come to pass.

The canyon had fallen into complete darkness. No lights, for fear of giving away their position. Instead, the almost ethereal moonlight illuminated the path forward, revealing what Sandra already knew.

'Rocks and sand, and yet not a single soul in sight. Great.'

Not even the howl of coyotes was present. It was a silence that was menacing in itself, a place where time seemed to lose meaning.

If she didn't know any better, Sandra would have assumed that these lands had been untouched since the Great War.

But if Marcel was correct, they were well into Wind Spirit territory. Lands that the tribals had known for their entire lives. As such, they should have already been in contact with them long ago. Which brought about a single question:

Where the hell were the Wind Spirits?

"I don't like it…" A man by the name of Krusoe nervously spoke two Brahmins behind. "We've been walking for half a Sun now, and they haven't even shown their faces yet. Where the fuck are these Wind Spirits Marcel?!"

"We'll have a better time finding them if you stop broadcasting our location to everyone out there." Crunell coldly let out, glaring at Krusoe with as much spite he could muster. "Now shut your mouth, we'll be out of this rut soon enough."

But turning his head back, Sandra could overhear the hushed whispers.

"What's going on? You said they would have already greeted us?!"

"I know. There's supposed to be patrols on the outskirts. Should have normally encountered one of them." Marcel murmured. "Something's wrong, and I don't like it."

"What do we do?"

"As much as the Wind Spirits don't like people knowing where their home is, I managed to memorize the route. We should be getting close to the actual camp."

Marcel explained, gesturing to the path snaking to the right. "Worse comes to worse, we'll set up defensive positions inside, and continue during sunrise."

Sandra quietly gulped, gripping her brahmin's rope tightly. Looking behind her, none of the other caravaneers seemed to have overheard the conversation.

This was not the situation she wanted to be in. Not at all. Her imagination started to conjure up scenario after scenario, each worse than the last.

If there was one known fact about the tribals, it was that they were as tough as radscorpions. Savage or not, one had to be high on chems to think of attacking tribals in the Wild Lands.

For an entire tribe to have disappeared…

All of a sudden, the jingling of caps didn't feel like a reassurance that what she was doing here was right. Now, they rang the dinner bell for any of the critters lurking in the dark.

From yao guai, to cazadors…

To raiders…

With those thoughts in mind, Sandra didn't take notice of the arm shoving her back, catching her by surprise. The rope she held jerked back, forcing the Brahmin to grind to a halt. Soon, the entire caravan did the same, various caravaneers conveying some colorful curses.

"What the fuck!" Sandra glared at Marcel. "The hell was that fo-"

"Careful." Marcel hissed out, holding his hand out for the entire caravan to stop. Subsequently, he jerked his head to the ground. "Crunell, flashlight!"

Some fumbling later, and the prospector turned the flashlight on, illuminating the path forward.

As well as the numerous rusty bear traps littering the ground.

'Oh. That's why.'

Everywhere the light shone, bear traps littered the floor like pre-war landmines, their teeth ready to sink into flesh. While some looked like they hadn't been used since the Great War, others had a fresh coat of crimson red, dripping ever so slowly.

"Just as I thought. I was wondering what that glint was." Marcel muttered. He crouched down to observe the closest one. "If blood loss doesn't kill you, the infections will."

"So… what now?" Sandra nervously stammered out, considering just how close she had come to losing a limb. "I- I mean… we- we can't go this way. R-right?"

"Which is why we set those traps for a reason."

If the near miss with the bear traps had taken Sandra by surprise, the unfamiliar figure that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere sent her jumping, as the rest of the caravan hurriedly moved to aim their weapons at the man.

That was before Marcel intervened.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" He yelled out loud, as Crunell directed the flashlight at the unknown person.

At first glance, the man didn't look like a tribal whatsoever. Rather than wearing animal skins and rags, the man wore a black pre-war vest, the words TPD on.

A bullet-proof vest, if she remembered correctly. One that would have cost her two months of wages back home. Weathered blue jeans, alongside black boots complimented the "civilized look".

In addition, no spear or bow was present. Instead, a bolt-action rifle was slung over his back. One with a polished scope, compared to the iron sights she had to use.

Back home, and he would have fit nicely in Rohead, possibly as a guard for one of them big-shots. However, it was clear that he wasn't from the South.

A feathered cap adorned the bald man's head, an assortment of white and brown, swaying in the wind. More prominently, was the paint etched onto the man's face.

Black and red lines ran from head to chin, a piece of art on the chiseled canvas. One that turned the man into a vengeful ghost from her younger years.

Overall, an intimidating figure. One who was squinting at the caravaneers with a disinterested look.

"Close, old friend." The tribal spoke directly to Marcel in an unknown . "But your memory is not as clear as you may think." A smirk emerged on the man's face. "Still, you are lucky that you only encountered the bear traps. Could have been crushed by boulders, for instance. Now then…"

Within a few seconds, the previously dead hills came alive, more indistinguishable figures spontaneously appearing out of the darkness, various bladed and ranged weapons in hand, wearing nothing but animal pelts.

More prominently, red dots emerged onto the brahmin, aimed straight at their heads.

"Let us lower our weapons, and we can discuss matters like civilized people, shall we?"

When the caravan arrived at the edge of dawn, Sandra couldn't but marvel at what she was seeing.

At the bottom of the valley, the Wind Spirits had made themselves a community. Numerous houses, made out of gecko and brahmin skin, dotted the center, some larger than the Connor family's house.

A river, flowing downhill from the mountains above, replenished the lake nearby. Crops, green and yellow against the rocky red background, grew tall and proud, promising a gorgeous bounty at harvest season. Potatoes, corn, squash, even those tato plants that produced a crop that tasted like puke.

There was even a small pen with brahmin, several babies following their mothers around.

A community that was almost dream-like, in comparison to the raider-infested highways that Sandra had recently encountered. Except… there was one tiny problem with that image:

The Wind Spirits were preparing for war.

The tribals made no attempts to hide the activities of what they were doing to Sandra and the others.

Young men and women alike, each in pairs, sparred with one another, spears and daggers in hand. Near the tents, the elderly carefully polished the metal blades, ensuring that they would not fail in battle. Even children meticulously fletched arrows, small piles being collected in reserve.

Then… there were the sharpshooters.

Three men, and four women. And yet they displayed a level of accuracy that put her to shame.

As the sharpshooters fired off another volley at the human-shaped targets down range, Thunder-That-Trails, the man who had established first contact, continued to talk to Marcel and Sandra, the only two who had followed him up the hill. The rest of the caravaneers remained in the Wind Spirit town, resting for the journey ahead.

"Magnificent, are they not?" Thunder asked, a bright smile on his face. "They are what you outsiders would call the best of the best. I have personally trained them since childhood, and they rarely miss their shots."

"You can say that again…" Sandra said, mesmerized by the skill on display. "Pa taught me how to shoot, and even he wasn't this good."

"I would not insult your creator's skill. Hotoru ensures that even the most hopeless cases are capable of rising to greater heights, young one."

"T-thanks, I guess?" Sandra replied, remembering the warning that Marcel had made about the Wind Spirits. About their religion.

While she wasn't religious herself, it was important in the Wasteland to know how to interact with religious people, ranging from those kooky New Caananites, to the shoot-on-sight policy for the Vipers.

Fortunately, the Wind Spirits tolerated outsiders well, so long as you didn't intentionally insult the Spirits of the Sky.

Glancing to her right, Sandra noticed the frown on Marcel's face, as he observed the sharpshooters reloading.

"Impressive work, but how much ammunition have you been going through?"

Immediately, the brahmin in the room came to pass. Thunder's friendly face morphed into a frown, before sighing deeply.

"I see that nothing gets by you, Marcel."

"Don't give me that crap, Thunder." Marcel tersely replied. "A year ago, there wasn't this level of mobilization. And I sure as shit would have remembered the bear traps. Raiders have been getting bolder, but this is more than just raiders…"

Marcel used his left hand to gesture to the other activities. "Who are you planning a fight with?"

Thunder briefly glanced at Sandra with some wariness. "Are you sure you want to talk about this in front of her?"

"Hey! I know when to keep my mouth shut!" Sandra responded, a brief glimpse of annoyance masking her uneasiness.

"Not to worry, I'm planning on informing the rest."

"Very well." Thunder gestured for the two to walk with him. "We have always had interlopers that seek to take what isn't theirs, our way of life since the Great Calamity. But they were few in number. Even the Hidebarks are not foolish enough to try and attack us."

"I'm sensing a but in here…"

"Indeed." Thunder stated. "For the past few months, the interlopers have become more numerous. Traps that would have deterred the most foolhardy, have not dissuaded them. In fact, it seems they are becoming more daring with every passing day. And the caravans? Well… you are the first we have seen in months."

"That's troubling, to say the least…"

"Indeed. While we are isolated from the savage world outside, we have heard…" Thunder went silent, looking over his shoulder, as if someone was out to get him. "Tales."

"What tales? You seem like you folk can take yourselves." Sandra said.

"But not if the tales are even close to the truth. A red plague of sorts."

'Red… plague…'

'Oh shit.'

All of a sudden, Sandra the uneasiness morphed into a chilly numbness.

"Legion." She stated, small chills through her body.

Ever since she was a small child, Pa always told her to never EVER, go beyond the Wild Lands. All because of Caesar's Legion. A fate worse than death, for any woman that dared to go into Legion Territory.

But they simply had been an afterthought in her mind. Too bogged down fighting inside their own territory against some folks called the Rangers. Too busy, and too incompetent.

Until now.

"Aye, young one." Thunder affirmed her guess. "The more they advance, the greater the number of interlopers that flee before them. Even I would not blame them, if the tales of this Legion are correct."

"Fuck! That explains why there's so many raiders. Marcel muttered under his breath, before turning his attention back to Thunder. "How bad is it up ahead?"

"We have cleared out the surrounding areas up ahead, but after that? Even Hotoru doesn't know. Which brings me to our ammunition reserves."

"Wouldn't say they're low, considering the amount of practice that your students are getting." The rifles let out mighty roars, illustrating Marcel's point.

"True. But I did not become war-chief by being foolish in the face of reality. They need all the practice that Hotoru can provide. And while our reserves have always been blessed by the Ancestors, Hotoru favors those who prepare for the unknown."

With that, Marcel and Thunder started to hash out an impromptu ammunition sale, utilizing some of the reserves meant for Two-Sun.

Sandra however, didn't really pay attention to the sale, focusing on the sharpshooters, who had ceased their firing drill.

Such a simple drill, yet it represented something so much more.

In the short time that Sandra had been in the Wind Spirit's camp, there was a thick aura of tension, threatening to break out from underneath the surface. The children were hurried by their mothers to sleep, their eyes glancing warily at them. And while Thunder hid it well, Sandra could tell there was another emotion in his eyes, other than projected calmness:

A hint of fear.

As the caravan started to move out of the valley, she could only hope that the rest of the trip went smoothly. After that, maybe she would find a less dangerous job, with the breathing space her family would have.

Maybe a courier. Less chance of being targeted by raiders. Maybe.

They were so close to Two-Sun, she could almost taste the shitty beer they offered.

Another twist of the telescope, and he couldn't help but smile.

The courier in Rohead had reported that a sizable caravan would be traveling to Two-Sun. Through the so-called "Wild Lands", where numerous tribes resided.

And here they were, exiting out of the canyon, thinking they had escaped the worst that the Wasteland could offer

A shame, really. Especially the women that were a part of the caravan. The barbarus in these parts were particularly nasty to the women they caught. A waste of a valuable commodity, and certainly not what Mars would want. A small comfort that these barbarus would know their place.

But for now, they served their purpose well enough.

Grabbing at his tunic, Hortensius activated the radio.

"Lupa. This is Frumentarius Hortensius. I have visual confirmation of the caravan coming from Rohead. Currently exiting out of the Wild Lands right now."

"Ten-four. Barbarus gangs nearby will be notified. Report if any other caravans come through. Over."

"Ten-four. Hortensius out. True to Caesar."

AN: If there's one part of the Legion that I would not want to deal with, it has to be the Frumentarii. From their disguises, to their sabotages, they are the one component that allows the Legion to be more than just an organized group of raiders.

Noticeably, what makes them more dangerous than the rest of the Legion, is the fact that they don't underestimate anyone. A Female Courier working as Legion will make them a bit confused, but they don't denigrate or deride the F! Courier compared to the other Legion members. They will utilize any tactic that will grant the Legion victory.

And that's what makes Frumentarii such a valuable tool to the Legion. Everybody expects the hammer that's being swung towards you.

Nobody expects the dagger in the back.

Thank you for listening to my TedTalk!

Also, song of the Day:

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEyDNTLlRgU

CaramelTheMoo · Jul 1, 2024

Skipped number 11. Chapters go from 10 to 12

Rockeye · Jul 1, 2024

Looking forward to seeing the wasteland start getting twisted by 2020!America

SnappingTurt3ls · Jul 1, 2024

Thanks for the chapter!

chriswriter90 · Jul 4, 2024

Media: Maps

Crossposting from SB. You know what's cool? Maps. Everyone likes maps, have some maps of Arizona.

Arizona General Map

Arizona Topographic Maps:

Arizona Highways

Arizona Rail Lines, I had trouble extracting them so have a whole PDF released by the Arizona Government

https://azdot.gov/sites/default/files/media/2021/03/state-rail-plan-update.pdf

Arizona Military Bases

t99_2020 · Jul 27, 2024

'Note to self: Black Coffee tastes like burnt shit.'

Sipping at the black liquid from her trusty tin can, Sandra couldn't help but grimace. Cleven, one of the caravaneers, had made the concoction from coyote tobacco leaves and some honey mesquite pods, and offered it to everyone.

A family recipe meant to mimic a popular pre-war drink. One that was able to keep them awake for the day's trip.

From the faces of her fellow caravaneers, they too thought the same of the "drink".

But it still did its job, regardless of the taste. Licking the inside for the last drops, Sandra placed the tin can in her sack, loaded onto the brahmin she guided. As the lead brahmin, it was her responsibility to be the earliest in position.

Overall, the caravan had developed a sort of morning routine that was both quick, yet thorough.

Campfires were extinguished, while caravaneers patiently waited to get their daily water ration from the water brahmin. Pack brahmin having already fed, brayed out loud, sensing that they would be trundling along for the day. A controlled chaos was the best description for it.

Soon enough, the caravan would be on the move again, getting ever so closer to Two Sun. A fact that Marcel was clearly excited about.

"Let's move it people! Let's get this show on the road! Caps ain't going to make themselves!" Marcel yelled out from the road, a hint of excitement in his commanding tone. "The sooner we get to Two Sun, the sooner we get our caps!"

A few grumbles emanated from the late risers, but no real complaints. Marcel, over the journey, had earned the trust of the caravaneers. Far as they were concerned, he hadn't steered them wrong.

Eventually, with the last water rations handed out, the caravan formed into a single file line, guards posted on both sides. Looking over her Brahmin, Sandra nodded at Jose, the Southern man doing the same.

"Showtime, señora!"

"Showtime it is." Sandra replied back, looking back all the while. The mountains of the Wild Lands were barely visible now. In the short time she had spent in the Wild Lands, the mountains had become a sort of refuge from the savage Wastes.

From here on out, they were on their own.

Stepping onto the sun-bleached road, Sandra allowed Jose to take the reins, as she brought out her hunting rifle, slapping the magazine into place, a satisfying click sounding out.

Far as she was concerned, the next raider hopped up on Jet was going to get a bullet between the eyes. Nothing was going to get between her and this payday.

Nothing.

"Aw shit! I see them! Let me at em' Let me at em'!" One raider whispered excitedly, licking his lips. It had been so long since Soshu had been with the group. A hot piece of ass who knew how to ride, until the stupid bitch had gotten her head blown clean off.

The women down there would play hard to get, but they would come around. They always did.

"Ol' Painless wants some of that fresh, fresh meat…" Another spoke, rubbing the barrel of his weapon with excitement. Around them, the rest of the raiders could only murmur excitedly, some relishing for the chance to bathe in the weaklings' blood.

That was, until a harsh whistle drowned out the chatter, silencing the raiders. Near the top of the hill, the leader simply narrowed his eyes.

"Quiet down, you fucking idiots." The lead raider growled out. "I know ya' want to have fun, but we can't stick too long for this one. Too many geckos strolling about, and I ain't becoming lizard food."

A few audible grumbles were heard, as some of the excitement turned to disappointment. A fast raid meant that they couldn't take their time. No pieces of ass ready for them back at the camp.

But even with that disappointment, the leader of these raiders couldn't help but feel giddy at the luck that his gang had .

An actual caravan! One with enough supplies to last them a good long while. And they got first pick…

Apparently, some new runt had notified the Big Boss that a caravan would be coming through the Wild Land pathways. And apparently? The runt had been right after all!

A shame… he probably could have made that cute thing scream all night long. Before he became a warning to the rest about what happened to liars.

But before the fun could begin, there was still one potential problem that he had to make sure was addressed.

"Now remember Gulch," The leader directed his attention to the raider with Ol' Painless, "You fire only when I say so. Fuck up, and I leave you for the critters. Understood?"

Gulch glared at him, before realizing the others were looking at their weapons. The caravan was so close, and none of them wanted the trigger happy moron ruining the loot.

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Gulch let out a deep sigh, and put down Ol' Painless, before grabbing his dinky 9 mm pistol.

"Guess Ol' Painless will have to wait after all."

"Now then…" The leader let out a feral grin, reveling in the spoils that he was going to be bringing back. "Get ready…"

It was official: Mother Nature could bite her ass.

As the caravan trundled up the steep road, the sweltering heat seemed to permeate the air Sandra was breathing in. Sweat flowed like a river, drenching her shirt. While she couldn't see behind her, Sandra knew that the others were feeling the same heat. Demonstrated audibly by Jose to her side.

"Shit. This calor is going to make me faint."

"You can say that again." Sandra replied back, the heat making her nauseous. As much as she knew just how precious her reserves were, she needed water. Taking out her water canteen, Sandra shook it twice to confirm the much water she had left. A bit over half, from the water sloshing inside.

'Damnit. Water ration won't be until tomorrow morning.'

Twisting the cap, Sandra carefully sipped at the water inside. And it wasn't the radioactive water that tasted like piss. Actual, purified water, courtesy of the Wind Spirits.

"You know, that's all the water you get for today." Jose said, a concerned frown on his face. "There's no water here for millas. Not unless you consider your sweat as being water."

Sandra, her mouth being full, simply gave Jose the middle finger, who simply sighed.

"Your grave, I guess."
"Well excuse me if I don't want to collapse onto the road here." Sandra said, her hunting rifle in hand again. "Won't be much use if I collapse onto the grou-"

"GOD DAMNIT!"

Marcel's outburst cut off what Sandra was about to say, with the entire caravan hearing his words. With her attention directed to what Marcel was observing, it didn't take long before she was also thinking the same.

"Fucking hell!" One of the caravanners in the back said out loud. "What's the hold up?!"

Marcel simply gestured to the scene in front of him.

"That." Marcel spit out with venom. "That's the hold up."

In the distance, Sandra could see the obstructions in their path.

Primarily, the rusted out metal hulks that stood in the middle of the road, stuck in place ever since the Great War.

Sandra had heard about these hulks before, even if this was her first time seeing them. Cars, they were called. Based on what Dad told her, these cars were how people got to and from places back before the War.

Faster than even one of those Deathclaw, you could travel to far away places, farther than even a brahmin could take you. All in a matter of less than a day.

From this distance, she could even see the thin colors that were still visible, even with the rust seemingly everywhere. A shade of blue, like the sky above, for one car. Bright red for another. There was even a car that was black and white, with some sort of ornament on top.

In short, a glimpse into what the Old World was like. One that in any other time, Sandra would have been interested in.

But this wasn't that time. Right now?

They blocked the way forward. Forward to her family's salvation. And that simply wouldn't do.

Meanwhile, Jose looked over the side, before glancing back at Marcel, a grimace on his face.

"No good. Brahmin will hurt themselves if we try going down the sides. With this amount of carga?" Jose pointed to the supplies. "Will break their legs at the very least."

"And if we decide to go back and find another route, we'll be dangerously low on water." Marcel added, taking a glance back down the long road back. "In this heat, it's a death sentence."
With the obstruction in view, hushed whispers turned to loud concerns.

"What the hell do we do now?!"

"If we camp out here, we'll be dead by tomorrow! There's no cover here at all!"

"Should we turn back?!"

"Why the hell did we pick this route?!"

Sandra looked on, feeling a sense of danger coming from the increasingly agitated caravanners. Things could get ugly, real quick, real fast.

Thankfully, Marcel seemed to understand the danger.

"Alright then!" Marcel shouted out, silencing the chatter. "No need to worry or panic. You'll all get your caps when we're done here."

"Then how do suggest we move forward, push the fucking wrecks over the sides?!"

"That's exactly what we're going to do."

…

Dead silence permeated the caravaneers, as they absorbed what Marcel had just said. Sandra herself needed a solid few seconds for Marcel's words to register in her mind.

'Wait… he wasn't joking.'

For a split second, Sandra couldn't help but wonder if the heat had scrambled Marcel's brain. Even she knew what could happen if they fucked around with the cars, based on her Dad's stories.

"You got a death wish?! Do you know what happens if yo-"

"Yes. I know what happens." Marcel cut off the dissenter with a controlled tone. "We're not going to be shooting the damn things. Their engines may be unstable, but pre-war cars were built to last. So long as we don't do anything to destabilize the cores, like putting bullets in them…" Marcel paused, emphasizing the ridiculousness of that course of action.

"We'll be able to safely dump the cars over the sides. And besides, if we go back, we run the risk of running out of water. This is the best plan right now. If anyone has a better idea, be my guest."

No one spoke, as the caravaneers considered their options. It didn't take long before reality set in. As much Sandra hated to admit, Marcel was right.

"Fair enough Marcel." Jose let out. "But how do you want to approach this?"

"I'll go in first. Check to see what we're dealing with. But I'm going to need a few people to watch my back." Marcel turned his head to Sandra. "You in?"

This was not what she signed up for.

"Wait… why me?" Sandra said, suddenly feeling the weight of attention. "Can't Jose or Crunell come with you?!"

There were plenty of more experienced caravaneers than her. Why her, of all people!

"I'm going to need someone to watch for anything creeping up on us, whether it be radscorpions or raiders. You're rather observant, with that hunting rifle of yours. Just need you on the lookout, while we check the cars out."

Oh… that made a bit more sense. Lookout was something she could definitely do.

"Ok, I guess."

"Perfect." Marcel happily stated. "And you're still right. Jose, you're with me! Crunell, tell the others to stick back!"

Soon enough, the trio started to walk up the road, the wrecks getting ever so closer. Other than the hills to the right of them, the desert seemed to stretch on for miles on end. An almost identical scene to the first few days of the caravan, navigating through the raider-infested roads.

Except… nothing seemed to emerge from the wilderness. Just the howling winds of the Desert. For a place that hadn't been cleared by the Wind Spirits, it was unnaturally quiet.

Maybe that was why she felt so nervous as the trio finally approached the rusted wrecks.

"You two. Keep watch while I go through the cars. Make sure I don't get jumped."

"You got it boss."

"Will do." Sandra replied back, positioning herself on the right side of the wrecks, with the hill in view.

Minutes passed, as Marcel inspected the cars, opening the front of the cars to inspect the insides. Sandra couldn't see it for herself, as she continued to focus on the surrounding fields. Just bushes swaying in the wind, tumbleweeds tumbling across the ground. And a glint of a flash in the hills.

Wait… flash?

Blinking her eyes rapidly, Sandra brought the hunting rifle to bear, waiting for the glint of light to appear again.

Was she seeing things? Was the heat getting to her? Furrowing her eyebrows, Sandra intently stared at the hills again.

No flash, whatsoever.

'Yup Sandra. You're seeing things. Not a real threat. Now keep your eyes close for raiders'

Raiders had always defaulted to attacking, stealth be damned. Their minds too addled from chems to be that smart.

With that fact in mind, Sandra directed her attention away from the hills. With any luck, the caravan would be on the move.

"Shit! The bitch with the rifle spotted me!"

"Calm your tits down. She just acting as a guard."

"I'm not going to fucking wait. I'm blowing it right now!"

"Wait! Do-"

Before her fellow spotter could react, the raider pushed the button down.

"Any problems?" Jose asked, as the trio grouped up at the back of the cars. "Is it possible we can get these autos off the side?

"Not too bad. With enough force, we can definitely get them off the road. Just matter of-"

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

An audible noise sounded from the cars, interrupting Marcel's answer. A noise that seemed to increase in frequency.

"Wha- what's that noise?" Sandra asked, until she realized that Marcel's eyes had widened in alarm.

"GET BACK!" He yelled out, grabbing Jose and Sandra's arms, dragging them away from the cars. Within moments, both were sprinting as well, Sandra not knowing what had caused the panic.

When suddenly, Sandra knew.

*BOOM*

A clap of thunder. Louder than anything she had ever heard, drowning out all noise. Followed by a heat that was hotter than every campfire she had lit. All of which was followed by a wave that seemed to lift her into the air.

And off the side of the road.

The panicked jumble of shock was the last thing she thought, before impact.

Before everything turned black.

The raiders whooped and hollered down the hill, firing their weapons at the caravan.

Sure, the explosion didn't kill them all, but it was always fun when they squealed like mole rats!

Nothing could help these poor weaklings!

Nothing!

In the air above, higher than anything the human eye could distinguish, the airspace was suddenly occupied not by a bird, but a man-made machine. Flying at 130 kilometers per hour, the RQ-7 Shadow was equipped with a liquid nitrogen-cooled electro-optical camera. A camera that could relay a live feed, straight back to the Ground Control System.

A live feed of the impromptu battleground confirming First Contact.

And from the installation of a long dead Nation, the United States made its move.

Song of the Day:

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PV6sHBGW_n0

t99_2020 · Jul 27, 2024

Thanks to @Ferrum Bellator for checking over the first half of this chapter! Now... onto the chapter.

THREE WEEKS AFTER EXTERMINATION OF MUTATED WILDLIFE…

Standing in the repurposed office on Level 1, now the Air Force's Drone and Communications Hub, Lieutenant Colonel Lambert of the 11th Attack Squadron stared at the screen for a moment, before hastily grabbing at a specific two-way radio at her waist. All the while, the bandits started their attack.

"Chief Hills?"

"Colonel?" A gruff voice replied back.

"I need you and your men in the air right now! We've got a mass casualty event happening Southwest of the base. I need a squad on the ground ASAP, alongside any medics we can spare. Brief them while they're in transit."

"Affirmative! Moving out right now!"

Furrowing her eyebrows, Lambert kept her eyes on the screen as she picked up the handset to the portable radio on the desk.

"General Monroe, we've established first contact. It's a bandit attack however. Forces are already en route. "

It didn't take long before the good General uttered a reply.

"I'm on my way to the Communications Hub. Brief me when I get there."

"Yes Sir!"

As the ground crews finished the final preparations, Chief Warrant Officer Hills of the 160th Operations Aviation Regiment slammed the fuselage door shut, getting himself seated for takeoff.

When he had been deployed to an alternative reality (and wasn't that a fucking doozy), Hills hadn't anticipated being in the air so quickly.

Especially when he first saw the state of the primary industrial cargo lift. Over a century old, the neglected and partially rusted lift could only lift fifteen tons, and wasn't wide enough to fit most helicopters. About the size of one of those pickle ball courts he used to play back in Philadelphia. Frankly, he was half sure that the thing would collapse on the first test lift.

But they needed air support right now, and well?

The Army Corps of Engineers had managed to make miracles with less. And the 160th needed no Apaches to deal with bandits.

It also helped that the elevator had seemingly had a shelf life of over two centuries, from the reports that he had gotten.

Opening up the throttle, Hills could feel the AH-6 come to life, the helicopter thrumming with vibrations from the rotors.

A constant pull on the collective, as well as steps on the anti-torque pedal, and it wasn't long before the AH-6 'Little Bird' lifted off the ground, away from the refurbished helipad. With a glance, Hills nodded to the air marshal, who gestured Hills to keep moving up.

"Displays are reading right." His copilot, Warrant Officer Bajwa muttered into the intercom. "Radio signal is clear. We're good to go."

"Perfect. Let's not fuck up the first flight here." Hills replied, both him and Bajwa chuckling in private amusement.

It had been fortuitous that several helipads had been constructed near the entrance of what was now dubbed "Fort Ridgway", partially hidden underneath a thin layer of sand. Granted, the elements hadn't been kind to them, with the white paint being barely legible. But they served their purpose well enough.

Glancing back down, Hills could start to see the entirety of the mountain where Fort Ridgway was situated. Across the slope of the mountain, lines of trenches ran through the rocks and sand, a line of barbed wire complementing the first trench.

Spread out across the trenches were several AFVs, from Humvees to LAVs, dug into hull down positions between the trenches. Only a single, narrow path to Fort Ridgway now remained, guarded on both sides at the front by another two AFVs.

A formidable defense, by any measures. And that didn't include the numerous artillery pieces situated on the peak of the mountain, ready to introduce any bad guys to 105 and 155mm shells.

However… that wasn't Hills's focus right now.

Climbing further into the sky, Hills brought the AH-6 to hover in formation with the other two Little Birds, as well as the Black Hawk in the back. Adjusting the knob, Bajwa switched radio frequencies.

"All craft, this is 2-1, check in." Hills spoke into his headset.

"2-2 standing by."

"2-3 standing by."

"This is 3-1. Standing by."

"Right then…" Hills stated. "We got multiple hostiles attacking a convoy. Sixty kilometers, south-southwest, coordinate square 19-20. Keep your eyes peeled for any SAMs or rockets. Just because we're in a nuclear wasteland, doesn't mean we get to be cocky." Hills informed the rest of the formation. "3-1, we'll be covering you when you're on the ground."

"Copy 2-1. Moving on your signal."

"If that's the case, let's move people!"

In a spearhead formation, the AH-6s led the charge, with the Black Hawk in the back. Reaching their maximum speed, the helicopters raced to the battle site, stealth be damned.

'Shit shit shit shit!'

Amidst the hail of bullets flying through the air, Crunell could only tuck himself even closer behind the lead brahmin corpse, gripping his laser pistol tightly, two other caravaneers to the right of him. In the distance, the cried pains of brahmin down the other side of the road were drowned out by the aforementioned gunfire.

Fuck this brahmin shit! Fuck the raiders that had decided to set an ambush here! And fuck Marcel for choosing this route! If they got out of this alive, he and Marcel were going to have words!

But right now, he had to save his own skin.

With a brief break in the amount of gunfire, Crunell took a glance over the brahmin, glancing down below before squeezing the trigger. The raider nearly up the hill didn't even have a chance to scream, before the wind blew away the ashes.

"YER GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!"

Subsequently, the meaty thunks emanating from the brahmin corpse increased in frequency, the smell of blood and guts mixing in with the scent of cordite to make an unpleasant odor.

It also didn't account for the eight caravaneers on the ground, either deadly silent, or screaming out to the world, fruitlessly trying to plug up the gaping holes. Crunell had already tuned them out, glancing left and right at the surviving caravaneers.

Wielding an assortment of shotguns, brush rifles, and pistols, they should have been overrun long ago, even with the steep hill the raiders had to climb. The chemmed up raiders hopped on on Jet and Psycho could easily take numerous bullets, while the rest would eventually climb over the top.

That would have been the case, if Marcel hadn't been such a sneaky bastard. Because when one of the Brahmins had collapsed, what came out of the packs was definitely NOT food or water..

With another long spray, another group of raiders, one of which was strong enough to carry a massive sledgehammer, were thrown back, the .308 rounds punching large holes.

"YOU WANNA PLAY, LET'S FUCKING PLAY, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!"

Two brahmins down, Crunell could hear the defiant cries of Krusoe, laying down fire with a machine gun. Some sort of pre-war antique that had been recently refurbished, judging by its state. Evidently, the supplies for Two Sun also included weapons and ammunition. One that Krusoe was using to great effect.

For all of his previous bitching, Krusoe was saving their asses for now.

But that type of fire couldn't last forever. Especially with how frequently Krusoe had to reload, the magazines being pitifully small for a machine gun. Alongside the fact that the damn fool didn't know how to fire in bursts, and that gun would be out of action in no time.

Something had to be done, or the raiders would soon wise up.

And Ol' Nell wasn't going to let some two-bit fiends be the end of his journey.

Firing a few more shots over the brahmin to keep the raiders at bay, Crunell turned to the other two caravaneers. Trent and Karlie were their names, if he remembered correctly. Good news? They were keeping their nerves, staying in cover while waiting for opportunities to shoot. Bad news?

"Ammo?" Crunell asked, a grimace on his weathered face.

"Not good." Trent replied, gesturing to their hand, a few shotgun shells in his hands. "Six shells left."

"Three mags over here."

"Fuck." Crunell cursed, looking through his sack. " A few energy cells over here, but not enough if they do a concentrated push."

"Krusoe there seems to be keeping them at bay." Trent said, taking a moment to take a pot to the right of the brahmin. "So long as they don't get close enough to target him specifically, we can try to see if there's any other weapons that Marcel didn't tell us about."

"That's if we- hold on…" Crunell stopped. "They aren't firing anymore."

Other than the dying moans of the casualties, the raiders having claimed another three lives, the gunfire from the raiders had ceased. No gunfire, no explosions, nothing. If Crunell was a fool, he would have thought that they had retreated back, the caravan having cost too many bodies.

But there was no way in Hell these raiders would back off. Not with the amount of resources they had invested.

So where did these shifty bastards scurry off to?

It was only through years of experience, as well as his good eyes, that Crunell distinguished the figures climbing near the still burning wrecks, ignoring the radiation spewing out.

"Shit! They're coming from the side!" Crunell yelled out. "Krusoe! See if you can get that machine gun pointed over here!"

"Come on, you sons of bitches!" Krusoe yelled out, adjusting his prone body to direct his fire at the raiders coming from where the burning cars were. "I'll show you what happens when you fuck with the Jasha Family!"

And then, before Krusoe could fire, an excited voice yelled out in front of them.

"OL' PAINLESS WANTS SOME FRESH MEAT!" That statement of glee was followed by a soft electrical whirr.

A prelude, giving way to a cacophony of carnage.

*BRRRRT*

In just a few short seconds, the brahmin that Krusoe had been hiding behind was perforated completely, shredding both the brahmin, and Krusoe alike.

Just like that, their one advantage had been completely negated.

As Crunell's body went on autopilot, trying to keep himself scarce from the hose of bullets that seemingly was without end, the panic that had been kept at bay, spilled out, as his shaking hands tried to reload his laser pistol. Out of the corner of his eyes, Trent's facade finally broke, trying to make a run for it, before more bullets bisected the man in two.

An ignominious end, for Ol' Nell, torn apart by raiders that seemed to wield pre-war military weapons. In many other scenarios, this would have been true.

That was… before he heard the buzzing sound coming from behind them.

"2-1 to TOC, we're coming up on the site." Hills spoke into the headset, seeing the plumes of black smoke emanating from the site, as the helicopters went over the last mountain.

"Affirmative, 2-1. Be advised that hostiles have access to a minigun. Currently engaged against the convoy, but proceed with extreme caution. Avoid any direct fire on the convoy, we need information."

Hills could only blink his eyes for a moment, processing what he just heard, before responding. "Copy that. 2-1 out."

A minigun, even if it was aged by nearly a century of disuse, was still a fucking minigun. The rockets would cause too much collateral damage, and hovering in the air would simply make them an easier target.

Leaving only one option.

Switching to local frequency, Hills sent his orders.

"2-1 to 2-3. Ensure that 3-1 is cleared for deployment. 2-2, with me!"

With 2-3 breaking off to assist 3-1, Hills and 2-2 maneuvered the helicopters to fly over the asphalt road, following the route the convoy had taken, the plumes in front. On his infrared display, Bajwa could see that many of the bandits had congregated near the wrecks.

"Once we're clear of the convoy, use the rockets against the bandits up ahead." Hills ordered, keeping the AH-6 at medium height.

Not too high, but not too close to the ground.

Perfect for a strafing run.

"Hostiles are reacting." Bajwa muttered, his hands on the trigger. "Weapons ready."

'900… 800… 700… 600 meters…'

"Fire!"

Bajwa squeezed on the trigger.

In the midst of the bullet hose that was shredding the caravan to pieces, Crunell wouldn't hear the buzzing sound, not until it was far too late.

One moment the raider was laughing maniacally, hosing down each individual brahmin with a barrage of bullets, any return fire plinking off the metal armor he wore.

The next moment?

Silenced in a heartbeat, as a thunderous roar echoed out, rendering the raider into viscera, blood and shredded guts splattering the already desecrated road.

'What the actual FU-'

A sudden whiplash of emotions ran through Crunell, as he could only gape in shock at the flying objects passing over his head, kicking up enough wind to blow his hat away.

Wordlessly, Crunell could only stare, as he saw the raiders near the wrecks being blown to pieces, their bodies disappearing in a storm of bullets and rockets. In the distance, shots rang out, as the raiders seemingly tried to take down the flying machines, who turned away from the incoming fire on a dime.

'Vertibird. That's what that is. That's what they're called.'

All of a sudden, Crunell felt a chill down his spine, as he recalled the tales that Marcel had told to Sandra. He connected those stories to what he was seeing right now.

These… vertibirds were only targeting the raiders, as he observed them strafing down the last remnants of the raiders, their guns bellowing out in anger, rockets saturating the very ground the raiders were on. Which meant only one thing…

The Enclave wanted them alive.

And he knew that they would not take kindly to a person who stole their "property". By the time they were done with him, he would wish he were dead. A strange feeling overtook his body, as if he couldn't feel the pain of battle anymore.

No… he would deny them their sadistic pleasure.

Before anybody could respond, Crunell placed the laser pistol underneath his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

AN: Let me tell you, researching the helicopters that could actually fit onto a fucking industrial lift was a bit of a bitch.

As for the suicide, I always felt that Wastelanders in general are much more prone to commit suicide, as there are MANY creatures and factions in the Wasteland that are more than willing to make you wish for death. Better a painless and quick one, rather than a torturous existence.

Let's see if I can crank out another chapter for the 4th of July!

As always, here's the Song of the Day:

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNXj4wyE44Y

ddot1400 · Jul 27, 2024

Our world's US military is going to be banging their heads soon.

mlsp · Dec 20, 2024

Do you have plans to update? Like, what if the Human Survivors in Fallout visit to Modern Earth, how how their civilization and technology evolved? Like using Transistors instead of inefficient Vaccum Tubes.

Old Glory Once Again! (Modern US in Fallout)

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