Autor Note: There it is the second chapter of the prologue. But before there are three things I have to say:
-1st thing: I want to give a shoutout to @His Holiness Arsenal and his fiction, Mean, Green, Apocalyptic Military Machine: it's the first, and only other, self-insert involving General Retslaf that I know. The difference is in the fact that his self-insert happened just as the bomb started falling, so my story is still largely original (for how a fanfiction could be). I didn't give him the shootout in the first chapter because I want it to be 'clean' for a better word, but now there it is.
-2nd thing: I'm Italian, so English is not my main language: so this fiction was written in Italian, google translated in English and then troubleshooted by hand with the help of Grammarly. So I'm sorry in advance for any error you may find and ready to receive advice on how to correct my grammar.
-3rd thing: After this chapter, my publishing schedule will slow down by half until mid-to-late June, as I have to study for my university exams.
'The great war is inevitable.'
This was the thought that kept ringing in my head as my car headed down Trainor Gate Road. The houses of the Hamilton Acres neighborhood passed by unnoticed by my sight as I continued to contemplate this thought.
'The great war is inevitable.' I thought. The enormity of death that this sentence promised was barely graspable: to say that nuclear apocalypse was inevitable was to resign oneself to the death of 8 billion people.
'Or better,' I corrected myself, while the houses outside the car window left the place for the snow-covered trees of the Birchwood grove:
'the Sino-American war is inevitable. Still, there is an infinitesimally small chance of avoiding nuclear apocalypse.'
And this was the point: there was a tiny, microscopic, possibility of avoiding this horror, this… humanicide. But it was so small as to be virtually impossible.
I had to try anyway, my duty and, more importantly, common human decency required this.
'Political influence is key.' I said to myself, while we entered River Road, reminding me of what I had concluded once I had processed the enormity of data that my transferrence had brought:
'Officially, the bombs were dropped because the United States invaded China. This was probably done to force the PLA to redeploy troops from the Alaska front to the defense of the Chinese mainland, thus facilitating General Chase's reconquest of Alaska. This alone did not cause the nuclear response: the problem is that the United States did not stop once Alaska was liberated. No, the government leaders had decided that it was time to completely conquer China. The result of this choice is predictable. My plan can therefore be summed up in one point: to gain enough influence to organize a lasting peace once Alaska is regained.'
'But this won't be enough:' I frowned my eyebrows at this unwanted, though true, thought:
'There are too many powerful parties that want the world to end. Vault-Tec first and foremost: even if the TV series is not to be considered canon (as some people would like) it would be absolutely in the nature of a dystopian corporation like them to start the apocalypse just to make their investments count. Not to mention fan theories about how the first bombs were dropped by agents of the alien Zetas or members of the Intruder cult of the Dunwich Borers Corporation.'
'To counter these possible enemies in the shadows I will have to create my own secret society.' I decided, even though part of me was displeased with using such methods:
'This will have three purposes: first, to find and eliminate, if not completely, at least the influence of the various actors who want the apocalypse; second, help me expose and destroy the deep state at the root of US corruption; third, find and preserve as much of the global cultural heritage as possible in the event that nuclear holocaust fails to be avoided, and help rebuild if this occurs.'
'In this effort, I think I can recruit the help of a number of people.' I concluded, thinking of a series of characters encountered in the Fallout series:
'For one, and perhaps most importantly, there is Robert Edwin House, the owner of RobCo: he is a greedy and selfish bastard, but his goal is to advance technology and make money in the process, the apocalypse would intrude. Additionally, it has been stated that his autocratic tendencies are the result of disillusionment with democracy as a form of government because of the pre-war government. So if I play my cards right, I can also recruit him into my anti-corruption effort. It will be a difficult thing though, his participation during the TV series in the Vault-Tec meeting…'
"We have arrived at the checkpoint, sir." said Taggerdy, bringing me out of my reflections. One hundred meters in front of us, crossing the Chena River, there was a simple concrete girder box bridge with no arches. Access to the aforementioned bridge was guarded by a military checkpoint: a heavy-duty wire mesh gate blocked the road flanked by two guard booths; five meters ahead there was a barrier boom with a stop sign; the inspection area between the two was delimited on the sides by concrete barriers; there were two Humvees parked off to the side; furthermore, just ahead of the boom gate, two sangars armed with machine guns flanked the road on both sides; finally, fifty meters in front of the checkpoint, there was a 'Caution, Slow Down' road sign with another underneath, on which it was written:
Military Zone
Access Prohibited
Armed Surveillance
Guarding everything there were eight soldiers all wearing the black armband with the white letters 'MP' of the military police on their arms and armed with MP9 machine guns and with, and this did not fail to weird me out, what looked like NCR service rifles, one soldier operated the barrier boom, two soldiers for each machine gun position and three in charge of receiving and searching (one of whom was a K9 operator), this not counting the one-two soldiers stationed inside every toll booth out of sight.
Seeing our car approaching, the machine gunners immediately became more vigilant: they didn't move to reach their weapons, but still watched our vehicle cautiously, ready to reach the machineguns if we didn't slow down. Seeing that we conformed, they immediately went back to what they were doing before. We completed the approach to the checkpoint at a reduced speed. The gate operator waited until we reached a complete stop in front of it before raising it.
Once fully raised we entered the actual checkpoint. Immediately a soldier armed with a traffic light pole, a sergeant (probably the head of the checkpoint), signaled us to stop one meter from the gate. Once stopped, the same soldier approached the driver's side window, which had been lowered in advance by Taggerdy, and asked in a bored tone: "ID?" In the meantime, the other two checkpoint operators got to work: the K9 operator began to let his canine companion sniff the car, while the other operator turned on a flashlight and began to inspect the bottom of the car.
All this came to an immediate stop when the NCO bent down to ask me for my documents too: "ID?" I passed them to him without much ceremony and he leaned into the car to retrieve them. As he did so he glanced at the two silver stars on my uniform shoulder pads. He immediately snapped to attention: "General!"
Hearing this, all the soldiers stood at attention. "At ease." I said. The soldiers dropped the salute but all remained in place, except for the sergeant who retrieved our IDs and entered the left guard booth, probably to check the IDs. The rest of the soldiers stood still in their places, looking at each other awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. This continued until the NCO exited from the guard booth and saw them standing still, his face immediately took on a reddish color: "What are you? Statues? You know the procedures: continue with the inspection! And, help me God, tomorrow morning you will have extra PT for the terrible impression you made the section make in front of the CO of the entire division!"
The soldiers turned pale and immediately got to work to finish the inspection. The sergeant instead took a couple of calming breaths, composed himself, and turned to us, handing us back the documents: "Sorry for the embarrassing performance, general: but they are fresh from training like the rest of the division. I beg you to forgive them."
"There is no need to apologize, Sergeant…" "Di Giovanni, sir." "...Sergeant Di Giovanni. I understand." And I really understood: unlike the 1st and 40th Armored Divisions, transferred to the Anchorage Front Line in defense of Alaska, the 12th Mountain Division was a unit created just a month ago, and it showed.
"Thank you sir." thanked the sergeant.
"Make sure you train them well, Sergeant Di Giovanni." I urged: "The Chinese are coming, and I would hate to see young Americans die because their training was insufficient."
"Yes, sir." replied the sergeant, "I'll make sure to get them in line."
"Good. Are we free to continue?" I asked.
"One moment, sir." he replied, then turned to the two MPs in training: "Simmons, De Witt, have you finished the inspection?"
"Yes, Sergeant." the one with the torch replied: "All clear."
"Also here." added the K9 operator: "Dolly doesn't smell anything strange."
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, then turned towards the booth on the right: "Open the gate!" he ordered, then saluted me: "You are free to go. Have a good day, General."
"Thank you for the welcome, Sergeant." I replied, then turned to the driver's seat, "Let's go, Taggerdy."
We waited for the gate to finish opening, then Taggerdy engaged the gear and we headed along the bridge. On the other we encountered another checkpoint mirroring the one we had passed, only this one also had an armored car guarding it and the gates were already open to let us pass.
We quickly passed this second checkpoint, barely noticing the MPs saluting at the sides, and found ourselves in front of a closed level crossing through which a freight train was passing. We spent a minute like this, our vision occupied by the multicolored shape of the containers flashed as they passed, too fast to make out even the vaguest details, the time punctuated by the gallop of metal wheels on the joints of the rails. Then the train passed and I got my first look at my assignment.
"Here is Fort Wainwright, sir." Taggerdy remarked from the side as he prepared to move.
Directly in front of us, just after the level crossing, there was an intersection whose road perpendicular to us ran parallel to the train tracks, beyond the road there was a large grassy area, about 300 meters long, crossed by the continuation of the road we were on. Beyond the grassy area, there were a series of buildings sharing a car park: two farmhouses with red roofs and a long house behind which the road disappeared. To the left of the group of buildings you could glimpse, behind a row of trees, the imposing shape of a hangar. To the right was a warehouse-like building in front of which a number of construction vehicles were parked. The rest of the view to the right was obscured by a row of trees, but, from the right window, you could glimpse the white shape of the base hospital beyond the peaks.
Once the level crossing barrier had lifted up, Taggerdy hit the accelerator and turned left at the intersection. The road we found ourselves on, immediately, if gently, turned left, following the course of the Chena River, to skirt a concrete wall topped by barbed wire three hundred meters away. Judging by the location of the hangar and the fact that beyond the wall, in the distance, a control tower could be seen rising, it was likely that the wall was used to enclose an airport.
"Behind that wall lies Ladd Army Airfield." Taggerdy confirmed my suspicions: "I researched it when I learned my assignment would be here and found out that the fort was built around it. Would you be interested in knowing the story behind it, sir?"
"Go on, Taggerdy." I urged, "It beats spending the rest of the trip in silence."
"Understood, sir." Taggerdy replied, then started to recount: "In the 1930s Alaska was a vast undefended region and many argued to rectify this. So, in 1934, then-Lieutenant Colonel Arnold led a scouting party of B-10 bombers across Alaska. In his report, he argued establishing an air base at Fairbanks which could support cold weather testing and serve as a tactical supply depot. In 1935 the proposal was approved and in 1939 the relevant funds were appropriated and it was decided the name of Ladd Field."
"In early 1940," continued Taggerdy: "The construction began in earnest, prompted by the declaration of war in Europe months before. During its first two years of operations, Ladd Field's mission was as a cold-weather test station. In June 1942, Japan bombed Dutch Harbor, on the Aleutian Island of Unalaska, and occupied the islands of Attu and Kiska. With the Japanese threat on the horizon, the testings were halted and Ladd Field temporarily became a combat airport under the command of the 11th Air Force. By the fall of 1942, the situation stabilized and the base returned to doing cold-weather tests."
"At the start of 1943, Ladd Field was selected as…" the explanation was interrupted by the roaring sound of the engines of a landing plane passing over us. Passed the plane, Taggerdy resumed: "...as I was saying, Ladd Field was selected as the transfer point for Lend-Lease aircraft directed to the Soviet Union transiting the Alaska-Siberia route. To facilitate this mission, Ladd Field was transferred to the Air Transport Command for the remainder of the war. Under the Transport Command, Ladd Field expanded with a new hangar and runway along with hundreds of temporary buildings to house the large workforce needed to support the mission. The conclusion of WWII marked the end of the Lend-Lease Program in September 1945. Military personnel left Alaska and Ladd Field was transferred from Air Transport Command back to 11th Air Force."
"In 1945, the tensions…" Taggerdy briefly stopped recounting to put the car on the right to make space for a speeding Humvee.: "...the tensions between the USA and the USSR started the Cold War. The proximity of the Soviet Union to Alaska in a post-war long-range bomber age spurred the development of the Arctic front. In 1947, due to the National Securities Act, the Air Force was designated as a separate branch from the Army. Ladd Field was renamed Ladd Air Force Base, still commanded by the 11th Air Force. During this time Eielson Airfield was established to supplement Ladd AFB with a separate B-36 bomber mission. During the Korean War, Ladd AFB became a logistic hub for the defense of Alaska. By 1957, intercontinental ballistic missiles and satellites reduced the role of Ladd AFB. In 1960, with two major airbases in close proximity, coupled with economic pressures, the Air Force chose to stop flying operations at Ladd and reassigned its complement to Eielson and to Elmendorf Base in Anchorage."
At this point, Taggerdy stopped explaining because we had arrived at a second checkpoint that led inside the walls which we had skirted until now and was much more heavily defended than the first: instead of wire mesh, the gate was made of heavy-duty steel and the guard booths were integrated into the city walls; two staggered concrete barriers preceded the boom barrier; there were two armored cars on guard; and, instead of sandbags sangars, the machine gun positions were full-blown bunkers (albeit still made of sandbags); finally, behind the walls stood a pair of watchtowers; guarding this was an entire platoon of MPs plus two sentry bots.
We once again went through a detailed inspection, although this time the process was clearly quicker (they had clearly been notified of my arrival), and were let in.
Once inside, Taggerdy continued recounting: "The Air Force then transferred Ladd to the Army on 1 January 1961, and the installation was renamed Fort Wainwright after Jonathan Wainwright, a WWII General. In 1963, the 171st Separate Mechanized Infantry Brigade was activated at Fort Wainwright to defend Eielson AFB. In 1966, at the start of the war with the Vietnamese Communists, the 171st was sent to Vietnam. This left in charge of Alaska's defense to the 172nd Separate Mechanized Infantry Brigade based in Fort Richardson in Anchorage who had to split in two to also operate Fort Wainwright. Despite this, in 1986, Fort Wainwright expanded their mission to… Oh! We have arrived, sir."
Taggerdy had parked us in front of a large three-story gray-white building topped with a slate-colored roof. While Taggerdy got out and walked around the car to open the door for me, I took a closer look at the facade: the building was about 70-80 meters wide with the entrance in the center, the entrance consisted of a double door made of larch wood, on the sides of which there were two MPs armed with rifles, and was located inside a small portico above which all the upper floors extended. On the balcony above the portico, it was written in white letters:
Headquarters 12th Mountain Division
and above it, on the space where the division's emblem should be, there was a writing that was certainly an attempt at military humor:
Emblem Pending
it read.
Under the portico, right in front of the entrance, in addition to the two guards, there was an officer who seemed to be waiting for something. As soon as he saw me get out of the car his face lit up with recognition and he walked towards us.
"Hello, General. Welcome to the headquarters of the 12th Mountain Division." he said, waving at me as Taggerddy closed the door behind me. Then he introduced himself: "I am Captain William Richardson: your new aide."
Hearing this, I took a closer look at him: just over five feet tall, Captain Richardson was a fairly small man and had a pencil physique to match; he had his short black hair carefully combed with a left parting, dark brown eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses with circular lenses, combined with a round face with the mouth arranged in an artificial smile, all these characteristics gave him the look of a middle office manager.
'I'll eat my hat if this man has ever been in combat.' I ventured, but decided to give him a chance anyway:
'He has the look of someone who knows how to find his way in the labyrinth of bureaucracy.'
"Nice to meet you, Captain Richardson." I introduced myself, returning the greeting. Then I held out my hand: "As you already know, I am General Retslaf. I hope we will have a good cooperation."
He shook it, "Nice to meet you, General Retslaf. I'm sure we will have it. Do you want me to take you to your office?"
"Of course, but give me a moment." I replied, then turned towards my
chauffeur: "That's all, Taggerdy: park the car, then you're free for the time being. However, make sure you remain in reach."
"Of course, General. I heard there's a bar nearby, I'll be there if you need me." she replied, before getting into the car and driving off.
Having concluded this exchange, I returned to Captain Richardson: " Lead the way."
"Yes, sir. This way." the captain beckoned, and we set off.
Upon reaching the entrance, the two sentries at the door snapped to attention and Richardson started to open the door before stopping: "Just a moment, sir." he said hesitantly, "I would like to apologize in advance for any mess you may encounter. "
"Apology accepted in advance, I guess." I replied, then we went inside.
We found ourselves in a rather standard lobby: it was wider than it was long, the walls were painted a greenish beige and had a waist-high dado in pine wood; on the side directly opposite the entrance were a series of standard reception desks; on the side walls, right next to the reception desks, there were two wooden doors, each with a protectron station next to it; on the entrance side, there were two waiting areas at the corners with two sofas at the sides, a small table with some magazines in the center and a vase with a pine tree at the corners. In addition to two secretaries at the front desk, there were four soldiers in the lobby: two sitting in the waiting corners with their noses buried in magazines, one busy talking to a secretary and one who was mopping the floor.
Being the only one not absorbed in something, the unoccupied secretary was the first to notice me: "General!" he said, standing up and waving.
Immediately everyone else in the lobby stood up and saluted, "Sir!"
"At ease." I said dismissively, then I turned to Captain Richardson: "It doesn't look that messy…"
In fact, the hall was quite tidy: the only things out of place were a pile of filing cabinets piled up on one of the reception desks not in use and the cleaning trolley placed in the center of the room to be used by the soldier who was mopping the floor.
Captain Richardson did not reply and instead headed towards the door on the right, motioning to follow him: "This way."
I followed him and, passing the door, I understood what he meant by disorder: although in a rather organized way, the sides of the corridor were full of filing cabinets of documents piled one on top of the other; this, combined with the fact that, in addition to the filing cabinets, there were also two pairs of desks stacked on top of each other, gave it a rather unprofessional look.
"Oh, this mess." I commented.
"As I said, I apologize for the mess, sir." said my new attendant as he led me through the corridor, "But he caught us in the final moments of a transfer."
"As you may know," he began to explain as we passed, exchanging quick salutes, alongside a soldier pushing a cart loaded with more paperwork: "until recently Fort Wainwright was the home of the 11th Airborne Division: however, being at the time the only Army unit defending Alaska, only three regiments of the 11th were based here, the other two were at Fort Richardson in Anchorage."
As he explained this, we stopped in front of an elevator on the left side of the corridor and he pressed the recall button as he continued to explain: "With the creation of the Anchorage Front Line, it was decided to move the entire 11th Airborne to Anchorage to reinforce the 1st Armored Division, and to create an entirely new division for the defense of central Alaska: the 12th Mountain Division."
*DING*
The elevator had arrived, the explanation continued as we boarded and Richardson pressed the button for the third floor: "Thus began a process whereby, as Fort Wainwright was expanded to meet the increase in the size of the unit that was housed there, every time a new part of the 12th Mountain was raised and entered the fort, a unit of the 11th Airborne left."
*DING*
The elevator doors opened and we stepped out onto a third-floor corridor that was slightly less cluttered than the one on the ground floor.
"What does this have to do with disorder?" I asked Richardson as we turned right.
"I'm getting there." he replied, "As commander of the 11th Airborne, Major General Autumn was also the base commander: it was therefore decided that General Autumn would relinquish command of the 11th, retaining only command over those units of it remaining at Fort Wainwright, and assumed full-time command of the fort, and therefore of all units stationed in it, pending his promotion to lieutenant general and the decision as to who would be the commander of the new 12th Mountain and therefore of the fort. To aid him in his administrative duties, a considerable portion of the 11th's headquarters remained here while the 12th's headquarters also moved in: so for a time we had to share offices. Confirmation came three days ago that you would be the new commander of the fort, so the remaining members of the 11th began vacating the offices. They only finished last night and we were only able to start occupying the offices this morning: hence the mess."
"I understand." he nodded, understanding. While I was wondering if General Autumn was the ancestor of Colonel Augustus Autumn of the Enclave who appeared in Fallout 3.
"Speaking of offices, this is yours." said Captain Richardson, as he pointed to a double fir door. We were in a rather sparse waiting room that was directly two floors above the lobby, but the waiting room occupied only the innermost half and the location of the door suggested that my office occupied the other. The walls were painted similarly, but the furniture was missing: there were only a couple of sofas in one corner and a desk in front of the door.
Entering what was supposed to be my office, I immediately noticed that it was even more sparse: the only furniture inside the room was a rather finely made mahogany desk with several piles of documents on it plus a telephone and an ergonomic office chair of medium quality.
"Sorry about the state of the room, General." said Richardson when he saw me looking at him quizzically, "But General Autumn thought it best to take all the furniture with him because, and I quote, 'It belongs to the 11th Airborne Division,' he said. His staff also removed any period furniture within the base. The only thing that has been spared is your desk, and that's only because it's traditionally been the base commander's desk since it was still Ladd Airfield."
"He seems like a real hunk of a man." I grumbled, my suspicion growing that the general was a member of the organization that would become the Enclave: this kind of petty selfishness was just something I expected from them.
"Speaking of General Autumn, sir," my new aide remembered, "he went to Anchorage today for his promotion ceremony and his transition to command of the 11th Airborne. Tomorrow he will return here to Fairbanks for the rotation in command of Fort Wainwright, then he will return to the mainland: scuttlebutt is that he has received some type of staff assignment at the White House."
"I understand." I murmured, as I became more and more certain of my suspicion. Then I shook my head:
'It's not important right now.'
"Okay, time to get to work!" I exclaimed, eyeing the stacks of papers on my desk. I turned to my new aide: "Thank you for accompanying me, Captain Richardson. Could you go and get me a cup of tea?"
"Tea?" Richardson looked at me questioningly, "Wouldn't you like some coffee, sir?"
"No, I don't like that stretched swill the army calls coffee." I said. This preference was new, due to the influence of memories: the memory of Italian espresso had ruined me for any other type of coffee. Not being able to count on the army to do a good
caffè corto, I decided to go with the fallback option: tea.
"Understood, General." Richardson nodded, then left the office.
Finally alone, I sat behind the desk and began going through the papers: readiness reports, approval requests, communications from the Anchorage Front Line command, etc.
After a short time, I began to go through the cards on autopilot as my mind resumed my previous reflections:
'...House's participation in the meeting where Vault-Tec attempted to secure the support of several large corporations does not bode well. On the other hand, House was the only critic of the entire meeting, and while everyone started proposing deviant experiments to do inside their vault, House remained silent.'
'This can be interpreted as either silent disapproval or silent approval. The second is a valid concern: especially since RobCo has collaborated to some rather sick experiments like the Robobrain project.'I rubbed my head at the thought:
'But I still think the first option is the most likely: it fits House's character and I think I have a pretty good idea as to why he might have given approval to the Robobrain project. No, his silence MUST be one of disapproval: without me being able to get House's help my chances decrease exponentially.'
'The other organization I can ask for help is Abbey of the Road or its predecessor organization.' I reflected thinking about the missionary you meet in Fallout 3:
'After all, cults and eldritch creatures are a thing in the series, and it's heavily implied throughout the series that cults have great reach and may be involved with the Enclave. I could therefore gain a great ally if I brought the cult of the Dunwich Bores Corporation back to the Abbey of the Road. It will be a difficult thing though, because I have never heard of an organization called Abbey of the Road in my life as Martin Retslaf, I only know about it through games. But if the organization is part of the group I'm thinking of... then it's likely that a couple of memes will become very relevant.'
'There is one last group whose help I could secure who, if I can convince them, would make it much easier to get House's help. However, it will be very difficult to do so…'
*TOC TOC*
My reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door: "Come in!"
"General, here is your cup of tea." Richardson said as he walked in and placed the cup on the desk.
"Thank you, Richardson." I thanked him: "You can go."
"You're welcome, sir." he replied and started to leave, but stopped with the door half open: "I just remembered that I was asked to remind you that this afternoon your presence is required at Fort Richardson for the meeting which will be held at 16:00 on the readiness of the Anchorage Front Line."
"Understood." I replied: "Thank you for reminding me."
"Sir!" Richardson saluted, then left.
Left alone, I began to sip the cup of tea with frowning eyebrows. The news of this meeting reminded me of something I had realized this morning: I would not have been able to avoid the fall of Alaska or of at least part of it.
This was due to the fact that I knew neither the exact date of the attack nor the numbers of the enemy force: all the games let us know was that Alaska would fall in the winter of 2066 due to a surprise air assault by General Jingwei's paratroopers. I knew the enemy attack was coming, but so did the Joint Chiefs of Staff: after all, they had established the Anchorage Front Line. Yet, Alaska had fallen anyway:
'The only thing I know more than them is that the attack will take place before the end of the year. For the rest we have the same level of information.' he concluded, frowning even more:
' The problem is, even if I can keep the entire 12th Division on maximum alert, I can't do the same for the rest of the Anchorage Front Line: to suggest going on maximum alert on a gut feeling alone would get me demoted if I'm wrong, and then goodbye chance of avoiding The Great War…'
I stood like that for a few seconds, contemplating this conclusion with furrowed eyebrows and sipping my cup of tea. Then I shook my head:
'It's useless to focus on what you can't change, it's better to focus on what you can: first of all, House...'
Having decided this, I grabbed a Yellow Pages book, marveling at the anachronism, and looked up the number for RobCo headquarters.
Once I found it, I dialed it into the rotary phone (another anachronism) and went on hold.
About half a minute later, the call was received:
"RobCo Headquarters, this is Rebecca Travis. How can I help you?"
'Here we are.'I thought, then put on a dignified voice and replied, "Hello, I'm Major General Martin Retslaf, US Army. I would like to speak to Mr. House: I have a proposal for him."
Final Note: And this was the second chapter, hope you liked it! Still, I have two things to ask:
-1st: Do you like this slow-paced format? Or do you prefer a more fast-paced story?
-2nd: You are fine with the part in which Taggerdy explains the story of the base as they travel to the headquarters? Or do you prefer that I cut that part down?
And this is all: hope that you liked this read.
Happy Pentecost,
Il Sergente Salvucci
