Fallout: New Hope, Old World IC

[Versail]

Fallout: New Hope, Old World War. War never changes. When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, forming tribes. As decades passed, these villages and tribes began to grow. Some united with others, forming greater nations. Some conquered others, creating vast empires built on a foundation of blood and slaves. These nations would fight, just as the men of the old world did. In this cauldron of fire and war, nations would rise and fall, with only a few rising above the others to form great Empires. Now is your time. For after decades of war, you and your nation stand alive and well over the corpses of the dead nations. Shall you conquer your neighbors, or band together with them against outside nations. Shall you dominate the land, or protect your Neutrality. It's up to you, but no matter what, war shall go on. "For War, never changes."

[The Manticoran Empire]

Bahia de los Angeles
Baja California
1 January 2290

The boats came in the early morning light, from the east with the sun at their backs. Few in the town noticed them. It was early and the men were rubbing sleep from their eyes and getting their nets ready. The women were rousing the children and fixing breakfast while the handful of seniors continued to sleep.

Bahia was a fishing village, small even before the war led to the deaths of most of the world’s population. Today the population was 116, though Florencia Collado Soto was pregnant and expected to give birth by summer. The town was so small it didn’t even rate a permanent garrison. A company of Rangers had Bahia as part of their assigned territory but at most there would be a rifle squad present for policing duties while the rest of their company patrolled the coast line and Route 1. It was a ripe target for Legion raiders from across the Gulf.

Los Restos de las Legion, the Remnants of the Legion, were a murderous band of cutthroats and brigands, deemed degenerate even by other Legion remnants. They’d butchered the cartel that used to own the Sonora coastline and, in the process, had become hooked on chems like Psycho, Jet, and Buffout. The chem labs of Los Restos required constant supplies of slaves, as did the farms and beds of the Legionaries. And so Los Restos had taken to raiding nearby regions for slaves. Sonora had had plenty of potential slaves, as did the nearby Mexican coastline. They hadn’t dared to raid the NCR coast in years. Until today.

Coastal settlements outside of NCR territory had started to dry up, their people fleeing inland or to the safety of NCR. Simultaneously, raiding for slaves further inland was prohibitively expensive, since slaves had to be fed and protected from the mutants and monsters of the wasteland. Coastal raids were still the most efficient means of gathering slaves but that meant they would need to hit NCR. Chosen for this task was a young but brutal Centurion by the name of Carlos, renowned as the Butcher of Obregon for his role in a slave raid three years ago. At the head of half a dozen ships, bringing with him a full 60 men, he rowed into the small bay that housed Bahia just as the sun rose over the horizon.

The NCR navy maintained a small presence in the area. With pre-war docking facilities, it was considered useful should the NCR ever need to put its warships in the Gulf of Baja. However, that basically meant that there were about two dozen men, most of whom had the sole job of keeping the piers operational. However, on a small encampment built on a peninsula about a mile from the village, six men manned a three-inch gun. It wasn’t a very complicated piece, a cast iron muzzle loader that fired exploding and solid shot, but it was the first line of defense for Bahia. These were also the first men to spot the raiding force. Swiftly five men began loading the piece while the sixth cranked on the radio-telephone to try and raise the squad of Rangers in the village. He tried three times with no answer before the gun was loaded and the aim was laid.

The sudden roar of the cannon was heard in the town as a sharp crack of thunder. The Ranger’s abandoned their card games and paperwork, throwing on their helmets and grabbing their weapons and vests before racing for the door. In the town itself, two locals who were members of the NCR Army Reserve collected their own equipment and bolted to join the Rangers. Other locals gathered around the street and began calling in hurried sentences, trying to figure out what was happening. The cannon fired a second time, and then a third. A single shot, completely unannounced, had never happened. To hear three shots could mean only one thing. Men raced back to their homes, grabbing shotguns and rifles and fistfuls of ammunition before racing to the beach to join the Rangers and reservists.

Centurion Carlos cursed the NCR for having the foresight to install a naval gun at this town. It hadn’t hit any of his ships with its twelve shots in the six minutes since he’d been spotted but those shots had alerted his prey and they would now most certainly have armed themselves. But none of that mattered. The Legion didn’t retreat and the NCR had gone too long without tasting the bitter sting of a Legion warband. He lifted a machete over his head and urged his men to row faster. It was still a mile and a half to the beach for them and he wanted to get there as quickly as they could.

It had been about 25 minutes since the boats had entered the channel and the Navy had managed to sink one of the attacking boats. But the others were still approaching the beach, still out of range of the gathering militia. Only 14 of them were actual soldiers. Another 38 were men, ranging in age from 16 to 60 and armed with shotguns and bolt action rifles. They were the same weapons these men used to hunt local game and shoot the rad-sharks in the bay and today they had a new purpose. The militia had assembled about a hundred feet from the surf, on a slight rise and it was there that the Ranger squad had established their two machine guns, the crews laying prone in the sand and waiting for the attacking boats to get within their engagement range. The other members of this militia were crouched behind the sand, waiting for the boats to get even closer so they would have a chance at hitting them.

20 or 30 seconds had gone by when the machine guns started chattering. Every fifth round had a small amount of pyrotechnic in its base, creating a brilliant yellow tracer, arcing towards the boats. Carlos instinctively ducked as one of the tracers cracked past his head but he urged his men onward. If they stopped now, those NCR dogs would slaughter them.

The machine guns fired in short bursts, firing eight or nine rounds at a time. Each round was less than a quarter of an inch in diameter but could do terrible damage on impact. Private William Ackerman, B Team’s machine gunner, became the first of the militia to claim a life with his sixth burst. Six rounds ripped into the torso of a Legionnaire as he rowed for the shore, creating a staggered line of pockmarks in his armor that hid the true horror of the event. The 5.56mm round is a light, high velocity round but can be prone to tumbling or fragmenting under the right circumstances. Even without those, it can cause immense damage through its passage.
These particular rounds tore through this legionnaire’s ribcage, one ricocheting off a rib and into the man’s pelvis, another ricocheting into his colon. Two others ripped through his left lung, collapsing it before exploding out his back. Another cracked through his sternum, bisecting his trachea where it met the primary bronchi. The sixth round shattered his collarbone. Fragments of the struck bones caused damage of their own, tearing muscle and sinew. A piece of a rib tore into his spleen while a chunk of the pelvic bone tore the external iliac artery.

The horrible truth for this legionnaire was that, on their own and together, none of these bullets were immediately lethal. Instead, he died in agony as blood pooled around his body and his collapsed lung began to squeeze his still inflated lung. His punctured trachea sucked blood into both lungs, causing blood to mix with his saliva as he choked and coughed with every agonizing breath. It took him over a minute to die, by which time two of his comrades had joined him and his boat had reached the shore.

As the attack boats hit the shore, the militia could see who was attacking them. The Ranger’s let out a roar as the scores of Legionnaires jumped into the surf to attack with spears, rifles, and machetes. Carlos leveled his machete at the militia and led his century in a balls-the-wall charge as the citizens lifted their guns and fired.

The distance between the two groups was maybe a hundred feet, in some places less, in others more, and in theory it would take the Legionnaires only about four or five seconds to cover that distance. But this wasn’t theory. These Legionnaires had spent the last 26 minutes rowing against the retreating tide while under fire. They were tired, their breathing heavy. They were then forced to wade through knee high water before they could even think about running. It took them several seconds to reach the beach itself, by which time around a fifth of their number lay dead or dying in the surf. Then they got to race to the militia’s position but, exhausted as they were, it took them almost fifteen seconds to reach it, by which time the militia had vacated that position, starting a running firefight from the beach to the road 500 feet beyond it, where the militia reformed their line.

The Legionnaires had killed or wounded a few of the militia during that running battle but it hadn’t done much to help them. Fully a quarter of the Legionnaires that had made it to the beach were now dead or wounded and those that remained were practically stumbling forward, their breathing labored as they struggled to keep moving. Meanwhile the local defenders were mostly fresh. At least, until the Legionnaires juiced themselves with chems. Jet made them forget all about their fatigue and they charged forward, eager to butcher and rape and pillage. The townsfolk fought valiantly but couldn’t hope to stand. They broke and fled, firing their guns over their shoulders as they tried to buy time for their wives and children to escape into the hills. The Rangers formed a final blocking force, fighting the last man to buy the locals a little more time. The Navy’s troops had also come out to join the fray, lightly armed with pistols and a few rifles, they formed their own line to buy the civilians time.

Nearly an hour after the shooting had started, Carlos’ force was halted at the edge of the town. Three quarters of his men were dead or wounded and he could do nothing but watch as his intended victims continued their flight to the hills. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had caught up to them. He had five boats and barely enough men to crew three of them. Of those men, half of them had been wounded in some fashion that would prevent them from rowing effectively. Enraged at his failure to capture any slaves, Carlos ordered the entire town burned before he returned to his boats and sailed away. He was able to escape unharassed as the men who manned the single naval gun had left it, trying desperately to reach the town and put some of the fires out.

News of the attack traveled by radio and courier from Bahia to Shady Sands. The first Legion attack in almost a decade had left a town destroyed and two dozen civilians butchered. Few mentioned the thirty-three NCR Rangers and Sailors who died fighting a desperate rearguard action so the women and children could escape. Even fewer mentioned the fact that the Legionnaires had fled with only one of the six boats they had brought. All that could be talked about was the fact that the Legion had burned a town, something that for years many had believed was impossible with the death of Caesar. But even as the Congress debated their response, the military had decided these lives would not go unavenged. In the days following the attack, orders would be cut by the Admiralty for a punitive expedition to sail from San Diego for Guaymas to begin shelling Los Restos holdings.

San Diego Naval Base
San Diego, California
7 January 2290

Preparations for the voyage had taken five days to complete. The bunkers had been topped off with fuel, the magazines filled with powder and shot, the galley stocked with provisions, and the crews recalled from their furlough. Now, in the early morning light, the engineers ignited the boilers and the ships began to raise steam. Crews made their final preparations for departure, ensuring that all supplies were properly stowed and that all hands were aboard. Within a couple of hours, the ships had raised sufficient steam that they could leave port.

As they steamed under the Coronado Bridge and rounded the Coronado Air Base, the fleet formed into line astern. Three first class monitors, the Redwood, Ironwood, and Dogwood would lead the formation, which would also include four second class monitors, the Fresno, Bakersfield, San Jose, and Eugene, seven third class monitors, the Maxson, Navarro, Shady Sands, Arroyo, New Reno, Mexicali, and San Diego, with eight torpedo boats as escorts taking up the rear. As the fleet sailed into the relative safety of the Pacific Ocean, they formed into three lines, with the first class monitors seaward and the third class monitors landward. The torpedo boats fanned out on the seaward side of the fleet, hoping to spot any threat before it reached the more powerful ships.

With the fleet formed up and steaming southward, the crews began to set themselves to work, performing all the myriad of tasks that would be needed to keep the ships functional on the seven day voyage to Guaymas.

Guaymas
Sonora, Mexico
14 January 2290

The fleet steamed between Isla Barras and Isla de Pajaros. The fleet then turned and steamed into the bay, sailing along the western side of Isla Almagre Grande and Isla Almagre Chico. As they did, the ships fell into the same line astern formation they had used to leave San Diego and they began the bombardment.

The first victim was the town of Isla La Batea, which was taken under fire by the entire line as it passed. The fleet angled towards Radio Xefx, firing upon La Peninsula and Las Playitas as they went. Steaming at barely five knots, the fleet made a loop through the bay, firing upon every crop of buildings they could see. Some enterprising crewmen even mounted machine guns on the railings and fired with those.

For the people of Guaymas, it was nothing short of terrifying. Enormous steel shells, filled with high explosives, rained down upon the city, gouging great holes into the earth and filling the air with debris and shrapnel. Legionnaires and their slaves were torn to pieces by whistling shards of steel. A slave family huddled together in the corner of their house, praying to whatever gods they could think of to protect them right up to the moment a 12-inch shell from NCRS Redwood ripped their hut apart and turned them to little more than red stains on the earth. A Legionnaire who had been running near their home was picked up off of his feet by the blast and thrown bodily into a nearby wall.

The pressure of the explosion so close to him had crushed his ribs and forced all of the air out of his lungs while the impact of his body smashing through the wooden wall of a hut had broken what few ribs were still intact. Shards of his ribs had lacerated his heart, lungs, diaphragm, spleen, liver, stomach, and even his intestines. Blood was dripping from his nose and ears and bubbling up from his throat. The pain was so great that he could not move. He simply laid there, drowning in his own blood as he struggled to breathe.

Others were more fortunate, either killed when a bursting shell obliterated their body or killed when the shockwave crushed them against a wall. Others lost limbs to fly shrapnel and shrieked in agony and fright as they tried to stem the flow of blood. Outside a ruined Super del Norte supermarket, a child knelt beside his eviscerated mother, his face covered in her blood as he tried to wake her. Just up the road in Vista Azul, a mother ran through the streets, holding the bloody remains of her newborn and begging for someone, anyone, to save her child.

Some Legionnaires took their weapons and fired in a futile attempt to drive away the invaders. But brush guns and shotguns were no match for artillery and couldn’t even reach far enough to hit the NCR warships. By this time, the NCR flotilla was approaching San Gilberto. All along the coast, smoke rose from the fires ignited by bursting shells and the wails of the wounded and the mourning filled the air. And the fleet reached their true target.

The Port of Guaymas had been a major trade artery for Mexico before the war, handling hundreds of ships and tens of thousands of tons of goods every year. But today it housed the vast armada of slave ships that belonged to Los Restos and was home to the largest slave market in the Americas. Discerning buyers from across the hemisphere would travel to Los Restos to purchase slaves and now the NCR was here to put an end to it, with little regard for what may happen to the slaves held there.

As the shells rained down on the port, the ships of Los Restos were torn asunder, shattered into so much kindling and driftwood. Slaves and slavers alike were slaughtered by shrapnel and explosions, blood pooling in the streets and alleys. Smoke rose over the city, choking its inhabitants with the stench of blood and burning flesh.

And, after nearly two hours of firing, the NCR squadron began to sail out of the bay and back into the sea, ready to continue its advance up the coast. Over the next several days, this flotilla would bombard every coastal city, town, and village that Los Restos controlled, slaughtering thousands and leaving thousands more grievously wounded, mentally traumatized, and homeless.

Shady Sands
California, New California Republic
20 January 2290

The San Diego Squadron had completed its tour of Los Restos on the 18th and was starting its long journey back. However, that meant that now was the time for the Congress to decide on a follow up mission. The harsh memories of the Mojave were fresh in the minds of the Senators and Representatives that gathered in the Halls of Congress to speak for the citizens of the Republic. Many had won their seats in 2286 in staunch opposition to imperialist wars of conquest, like what had been forced upon them by successive presidents in the 2260s and 2270s. But, at the same time, those same constituents would be very unhappy if it became apparent that this Congress wouldn’t lift a finger in their defense, either. After all, these citizens paid their taxes and even sent their young men and women to serve in the Armed Forces so that they could be safe and now the Legion was back, raiding NCR lands and butchering or enslaving NCR citizens?

The Navy’s mission would serve to quiet the public for a time but it wouldn’t last. More Legion raids were going to follow, all through Baja California and maybe even into California and Arizona. Simply sitting back and waiting would do them no good. No, decisive action had to be taken but that meant doing something that none of them were comfortable with. Decisive action meant sending thousands of NCR soldiers into Los Restos to burn and butcher.

The thought was chilling. After all, the proposal offered up by the NCR Army General Staff was very Legion in its brutality but, as they all well knew, that brutality was proven to be an effective tool. As the Generals put it, this was a punitive expedition, with a simple goal: to punish Los Restos for raiding NCR settlements and to butcher as many Legionnaires as they could find to delay a repeat occurrence. It wouldn’t draw forces from the Ranger Battalions, so vital for frontier defense, nor would it draw from regiments in the Mojave or Baja California. Instead, it called for six regiments to be pulled from Nevada, Oregon, and California and shipped to where the Colorado met the Gulf of California. From there, they would sail for La Choya, securing it as a base of supply before then proceeding to march through Los Restos territory, burning every settlement they found and killing every Legionnaire in their path.

Some questioned the wisdom of such brutality, arguing that it made them little different to the legion. But Brigadier General Moultrie made her view on her plan plain. “The Legion doesn’t care if we kill Legionnaires. They will simply enslave more. What we have to do is break the aura of their invincibility. People in the wasteland FEAR the Legion and so they will work with them, they will serve them. The goal of this mission is to shatter that way of life. If we want the Legion to leave us alone, then we must make the Wasteland fear US more than they fear Legion. And the only way to do that is to be MORE brutal than the Legion, to punish ANY Legion affiliated settlement for the crimes the Legion has perpetrated against us. We must make it known to all that aiding the Legion sets you directly against the might of NCR. We must make it plain that any and all who aid the Legion are as guilty as those slavers and will pay the same price.”

Debate lasted for a few more hours before a consensus was reached. Brigadier General Moultrie would lead nearly 20,000 NCR troops on the first expeditionary and punitive operation in NCR history.

[Caria Box]

North Carolina
Fort Bragg, Outskirts
January 17th, 2290

The haunting smell of burnt flesh and plasma fills the air, as another Communist raid upon American soil is once again halted. A mutated cultist drops his weapon in surrender as the three armed, multi-eyed demon spouted a single sentence. “Are you ready to die for your country, You commie son of a bitch.” The sound of a buzz saw fills the air, and the cultist’s headless corpse falls to the ground with a heavy, wet thud.

A singular Eye-bot surveys the whole scene, watching from the top of a decaying pre-war watch tower, covered with glowing moss. Bodies litter the outskirts of Fort Bragg, as several protectrons approach and begin scavenging the fallen scrap-heaps that were once mighty Mr.Gutsies and swift Combat Eye-bots. One protectron in particular seems to be scanning the corpses of the mutilated, mutant raiders and slowly begins removing the heads of a select few whose corpses are still mostly intact.

Not too far away but deep underground in the steel bunkers of Fort Bragg, A singular glowing blue-eye lights up. “Connection to Posideonet has been re-established.” States an androgynous, inhuman voice, to no one in particular as it echoes in the empty steel corridors that were once filled with hundreds of American scientists, and thousands of proud United States military troopers. The voice speaks up once more, “Connection with several military installations and power plants established, Begin relaying encrypted messages to currently active stations.”

[Caria Box]

Central Mojave
Helios One
January 17th, 2290

One of the older active terminals inside of Helios One, Springs to life with electronic whine,
and the screen begins to glow an ominous blue glow.

{12} {HELIOS ONE Connection Established}
{13} {Incoming Message from FORT BRAGG}
{14} {Please Insert Valid Military ID codes now}

[The Manticoran Empire]

Central Mojave
Helios One
January 17th, 2290

One of the older active terminals inside of Helios One, Springs to life with electronic whine,
and the screen begins to glow an ominous blue glow.

{12} {HELIOS ONE Connection Established}
{13} {Incoming Message from FORT BRAGG}
{14} {Please Insert Valid Military ID codes now}

Corporal William Fleury looked at the screen and then shouted, "SERGEANT MARBURY! SOMETHING'S HAPPENING!" The duty sergeant walked over and looked at the screen. "When did this happen, Corporal?"
"Not two seconds ago, Sarge. I was running a diagnostic on the power output on that screen and this one lit up and text appeared." Sergeant Marbury was silent for several seconds as he thought and then he walked to the wall mounted telephone. He lifted the handset and dialed a number. "Colonel Polatli, Sergeant Marbury. We've got a situation at Helios One. Some sort of pre-war military communications system has come online."

[Ralnis]

The Dimming of the Star,
Roanoke Valley, Western Virginia

The valley was green, very green. Forests and mountains from the Appalachians moved downwards and promoted the very return of nature to the parts of the Wasteland. It was a paradise from the point of those who only saw grey and ruins in places that were heavily hit by the bombs. It was like the world before the Americans settled the lands. This environment allowed for city-states to be more self-sufficient and relied on the trade from other states, such as the Cult of West Virginia.

The trade was good but tenuous in the relationships as the Noble Trade Commission promoted aggressive trade practices in a way to force their influence over the Valley's economy. This made the Valley and the Cult's relations to break down as the Commission had propose that the City of the Star had procured a lot of trade debt that the Commission aimed to collect. The Valley's communities got angry as they knew this was the Cult's way of trying to expand into their territory by turning them into a new extension of their Cult's state.

Commission traders and Cultist missionaries were thrown out of the Valley in droves, defending themselves and preparing for war. They sent their declaration to the Priesthood to come and take their land for their imaginary debts. The respond was swift but quiet as the Cult martial their Night Priests and the highest of priests go to their Mothmen gods for assistance.

Night Priests were sent out and infiltrate the communities. Intelligence tactics and assassinations spread chaos among the militia and leadership. The very leader of the City of the Star was assassinated during a rally which only begin the second step of the invasion. A true military response came from the Conscripts Army. An expedition of four-thousand with air support came to bring the Valley to heel. The militia knew of the Cultist airforce but to see it in action as bomber biplanes dropped their ordnance with air fleets dot the skies.

Nigtwing commandos brought their own fury as they brought sowed disorder and destruction in the night as they paved way for their charges to make way to occupied the settlements and bring about their judgement. It was all rapid movement and control by defeating the enemy in their own territory. This showed the Cultist expertise in their fighting in the forests and the mountains as they made victory after victory. Eventually they made it to Roanoke and the Mothmen had captured the Star as the city burned from the intense bombing and artillery pieces.

By three days the city surrendered and their people were executed and books were burned that weren't approved by the Priesthood and the Mothmen but new books were approved and showed across the Valley. Fear and zeal was to be shown across the Valley no matter the case. If they still resisted than more would be made examples of and their families executed if they keep resisting. The Valley and their Star belonged to the Mothmen and the Cult.

When the victory went back to the Priesthood, reports came in with minimum casualties of around 2-300 but they were replaceable as they focus on more of the conquests that went into western Virginia. Having access to the River Basin is something that can be a hassle but they were focusing on the system as so much conquering the parts of Virginia that they could from the Appalachian Mountains. This was part of their crusade for the mountains, their crusade to unite the mountain range underneath the Moth and have them flourish as they sing in the mountains high.

For theirs was the glory of the Mothman alone.

[Caria Box]

North Carolina
Fort Bragg, Underground ZAX Facility
January 17th, 2290
Half an Hour after the failed raid on Fort Bragg

{254} { New Primary and Secondary objectives for ALPHA PLATOON. }
{255} { PO: Locate and travel to the nearby hostile mutant settlement and discover how they are producing steel. }
{256} { Orders Received. }
{257} { SO: Capture forty, living, mutants for robo-brain experimentation. }
{258} { Orders Received. }
{259} { Lethal force authorized? }
{260} { Authorization Granted. }

North Carolina
Mutant Cultist Settlement near Westwood
January 17th, 2290
An Hour after the failed raid on Fort Bragg

"Statement: Mutant settlement located." Said one of the four Robo-brains that were leading Alpha Platoon. "Observation: Eye-bots have returned from scouting, reports indicate the hostile garrison is armed with primitive weaponry and is poorly organized." Spoke the second as they watched the settlement from afar. "Recommendation: Use of a Blitzkrieg tactic would be most effective." Stated the third of the group. "Objection: The General wants living subjects for experimentation and their knowledge of steel production a blitzkrieg has a high risk of extreme casualties." Announced the forth. "Query: A feint then?" Stated the third once again. "Statement: We will deploy a few of the Sentry-Bots with all of the Gustsies and Eyebots near the front gate to make as much noise as they can, while we and the remaining Sentry-Bots and Assaultrons and attack near the rear of the settlement and try to obtain living subjects." stated the first with finality.

The sky began to darken as the sun was starting to set, the wind had grown cold and it started to rain. The Cultist watched in horror as a large group of metal demons came over the horizon, they were prepared however as they knew that the Demon would come for them eventually. Archers drew back their strings ready to fire from their hidden positions within the make-shift scrap towers surrounding the settlement, Sword and Spear men prepared to defend their homes with their very lives by going in to fight the Demon's servants in melee. Then the first shot was fired, a rocket flew through the air blowing up one of the make-shift towers with a large deafening boom, killing all who were inside it. Arrows flew through the air, piercing the Eye-bots and the Mr.Gutsies, however they could not pierce the thick metallic hide of the larger Sentry-bots that were mowing down their swordsmen and spearmen by the dozens. Green bolts of plasma lit up the darkness as they burned straight through the patchwork leather armor the disgustingly mutate cultists wore, scream were heard as other cultists were lit a flame by the hordes of Mr.Gutsies. The more elite of the cultist forces brought forth the Artifacts of the Gods and counted to 3, no more, no less, and tossed their holy artifacts towards the Sentry-bots, while the Eye-bots did their best to screen out these "Holy" grenades they could not screen them all, several large explosions of green and blue lit up the area destroying two Sentry bots, and nearly a dozen of the Mr.Gutsies, and eight of the Eye-bots. After this large show of destruction the Demon's servants began retreating at a rapid pace. The remaining garrison began cheering, they had won a mighty blow against the Demon. But that is when they heard the crying and screaming from deeper within the settlement. They quickly rushed to what could be described as a town square and looked on in horror. Houses had been burned down, bodies littered the streets, a woman could be heard crying for her child, it was a scene of mass destruction. The Demon's true purpose for attacking the village became clear and the warriors collapsed to their knees and wept for failing to defend their people.

North Carolina
One mile away from the Westwood settlement
January 17th, 2290
20 minutes after the successful raid on the settlement

{261} { ALPHA PLATOON reporting in. }
{262} { Action report requested. }
{263} { Primary and Secondary objectives were achieved, more losses occurred then expected. }
{264} { Elaborate. }
{265} { Hostile forces had access to quality explosive munitions including pulse and plasma grenades. }
{266} { Perhaps they are not as primitive as I first thought. }
{267} { How many subjects were obtained? }
{268} { 44 in total general, all still living. }
{269} { And their ability to create steel? }
{270} { Using Carbon from Bones in combination with Iron allows them to forge a very primitive, however still effective form of steel. }
{271} { Interesting, How many losses did we suffer? }
{272} { 4 Sentry-bots, 22 Mr.Gutsies, 30 Eye-bots, and 4 Assaultrons. }
{273} { Acceptable, Return to FORT BRAGG. }
{274} { Affirmitive. }

[Danubian Peoples]

NOTE: WILL EDIT OR REDACT POST IF NECESSARY.
Delmarvan Metropolitan Area
January 10, 2290

A large crowd gathers, no, swells. Hundreds, potentially thousands of folk have mobbed the streets and look upon an empty podium, awaiting one man, one very powerful man to speak atop its surface. Armed guards keep the crowd at bay. Cheers can be heard from the crowd as they eagerly await this man.

At last he arrives. One Max Wilson, Persident of the Republic of Delmarva. The crowd silences and calms itself as his shoes make measured steps towards the center of the podium. Wilson himself is similarly still and composed, both hands, though jittery, hidden from the audience behind his back. When the silence finally dawns at last, his hands emerge, composed, and he takes measured, clockwork steps towards the lectern at the front of the podium. When both hands at last grip its wood, he forwards his head and begins to speak. He speaks first pleasantries, like heralding another revolution of the planet as it makes yet another orbit around its sun, and greeting the audience. It's an address for the new year.

"I, President Max Wilson of the Republic of Delmarva, am, somewhat old. I am at the age of fifty-three, and some of the men and women in government are up to twenty years my senior. But it is not on the grounds of the wisdom of time that I have been elected, nor is it on a platform of experience from many years spent as a man on this Earth. No, I am your president due to change. Change that this country sorely needs! For too long Delmarva has been strangled by ages past, buried in years long since gone, and informed by old masters a century out of date. And as a new year has dawned upon us all, so shall a new age dawn upon Delmarva. No longer will we fight enemies imaginary, and guard a border that has been at peace for decades, no longer shall the fossil-men and fossil-women of government, hold down that great spirit of our nation!"

The crowd remains quiet, but the movement is evidently building. A collective jitter and shakes emanates through the audience, as all contain their thoughts about the speaker on the podium. Wilson continues his speech.

"You see, I see that our nation wants something, something very dear. Something that few administrations have been capable of delivering on. I want to project. To stand behind the Triangle no longer, and instead strike against the foes beyond! While our immediate neighborhood may be peaceful, the same cannot be said for the monsters and mutates in the west. Wild, buzzing monstrosities roam the landscape, and as civilized folk, bastions of an old American legacy, we ought to fight them and return civilization to the battered west!"

More jitters and shakes. The president momentarily takes time to rest his vocal cords, giving time for small murmurs and hushes to snake their way through the audience. These serpents of whisper and talk are banished as he returns the grip of both his hands to the lectern.

"But, of course, there are some folk who wish nothing to do with this. Who decry weapons and wish to pry them off our nation's hands. To strip us of our armor and leave us defenseless. These folk call me, a warmonger. To them I say, is it a war if we are fighting vermin? Is it war if the enemy is morally reprehensible in every way imaginable? And would it not be sacrilege to our morals to abandon the good Americans who are tormented by these abominations? It is with this in mind that I decry these fools as cowards. Spineless cravens who dare refuse that righteous call for all good men to fight evils on this Earth. Let it be known that I wish Delmarva to answer that call."

The jitters and shakes intensify. Each word the president gives is yet another fire beneath a kettle of audience emotions. And the bubbles are starting to show.

"For many decades Delmarva has been run by men who refuse that call, men who'd rather hide in an island fortress than undertake that moral duty, men who'd let the apocalypse come again if it meant getting to sit in their cozy bunkers, men who'd let their peers suffer and starve while they watch from the high parapets of their walls. I reject that direction, and I instead wish to open our doors, and let our glory spring forth and march out, while our fellow man enters our domain bearing gifts for a now open nation. All of these points which I have raised, they can be surmised in a single word. Dominion. Dominion over our enemies in the monsters and maniacs, dominion of our culture and our spirit over the uncivilized folk in the frontier, and dominion of our species over all who may dare oppose it. And it in on this note of dominion, that I end my address. Happy new year, Delmarvans, and may our spirit live forevermore!"

At last, the kettle reaches a boil. The chants and yells are let out from the proverbial cage, with murmurs first as the address nears it end, then loud shouts of celebration at its conclusion. Thereaction is overwhelmingly positive, and is an excellent look for the president... which might be because the audience had been, vetted, for positive views on the president's spiel. Regardless of the reaction's dubious authenticity, Max Wilson steps off the podium, leaving the audience in jubilation.

---

A Background on the President

Born in 2237 in the urban DMA, Max Wilson found his first foray into government when he became part of the army in 2257, enlisting at the age of 20 following the conclusion of his education, in search of adventure.. He spent many years in the army, that would serve as a formatory experience to color his future political views. Military life was incredibly boring for him, for the nation's isolationist and defensive foreign policy meant little in the way of active combat. An oft-repeated annecdote (possibly fabricated) from his career in the army was a time when Wilson was garrisoned on a fort overlooking the Delaware. It was here that he reportedly bore witness to two men on a boat shot dead by a third on another ship, who then proceeded to loot their belongings, all while Wilson stood idly, his superiors forbidding any action from him, citing Triangle doctrine as a justification. This supposed incident among others grew into a general resentment at his superiors in the military and what he considered their ill-informed doctrine. He retired from the army six years after enlisting, in 2263.

At the age of 26 did he begin his career in politics. He recieved an education on the matter during his formative years as a student, but this was his first real foray into the field. Wilson bore witnesss to the rise of two distinct factions with regards to foreign policy. The first were what he often refers to as 'fossils,' persons who agreed with the Triangle Doctrine and sought to maintain its course, and perhaps reverse changes done by more open-minded and bordered presidents. The second, dubbed 'cowards' by Wilson, wanted to roll back the military's size, end conscription and approach foreign polities with a diplomatic and open-minded focus. Max Wilson found himself at odds with both political camps, disagreeing with their notions but it was in this crucible of politics that he further refined his own ideolgy.

Wilson grew his political support, and began championing an alternative to the two ideologies he had experience with. He campaigned for an aggressive foreign policy, and used populist rhetoric to win votes quickly and easily, playing up his time in the army to cement a 'common man' image to appeal to voters. Wilson redirected the ambient energy within Delmarvan identity as a superior culture, formed during times of strife, into a jingoisitc and expansionist force. He would eventually get his big break in 2278, at the age of 41, becoming representative of the DMA in the Delmarvan Congress.

From here he'd serve for 10 years, two five-year terms following a narrow election. At the age of 51 in 2288, Wilson annocuned plans to run for president. His populist rhetoric and jingoistic hyper-patriotic energy won the election, beating out an uneasy coalition of both the 'cowards' and the 'fossils' by a slim margin. Since his ascension into the highest office of the nation, Wilson has so far been controversial, his jingoistic views winning few hearts from beyond the peninsula, and potentially jeopardizing Delmarva's economy, while his militaristic bent won few favors from the lower classes, sectors of the population who were most affected by conscription. There are also rumors that Wilson and his allies had tampered with 2288's election to net him the presidency, though so far, his political capital have kept suspicious eyes of his back...

With 2290 marking his third year out of five in office, Wilson has pivoted his platform somewhat, to resolve issues caused by his earlier stance. Addresses lately have been highlighting a 'common American heritage,' a predominantly human identity shared between the myriad nations of the East Coast, in an effort to maintain positive relations with Delmarva's nieghbors. Since his election, Wilson has also put more emphasis on his disdain for the mutants, using them as a common enemy, and to ride the undercurrent of xenophobia found within the collective Delmarvan consciousness. Painting the mutants a near-absolute evil has become easier thanks to the prevalance of, if perhaps unreliable, news documenting many an atrocity committed by them in the west.

[The Manticoran Empire]

Puerto Penasco, Sonora
1 February 2290

The First Squadron steamed slowly down the coast, five miles off the town of Puerto Penasco, the warm glow of the morning sun rising from behind the city. Just behind the fleet, shielded from observation, were fourteen large landing craft, each carrying 400 troopers of the NCR Army. The plan wasn’t perfect, as it called for the boats to offload their troops while the sun was in their eyes. However, the landings would happen only after a two hour naval bombardment of the town.

The plan, overall, was simple enough. The fleet would begin the bombardment two hours before the landings, plotting the fall of shot using pre-war maps of the area corrected with information gathered by patrols and recon flights. The landing boats would start their approach just as the sun was rising over the horizon, landing the 15th and 17th Infantry Regiments on the shore in twelve boats. Support would be provided by two artillery batteries with some two-dozen 12-pounder guns landed by the two other boats. The guns would be dragged ashore using pull-ropes and muscle power but that would require the infantry to storm the defenses with bayonets to buy the artillerymen time to get the pieces into action. They expected a little less than a thousand Legionnaires to be in the immediate area. It would be close to ten hours before reinforcements would reach them, meaning that the 15th and 17th would have to hold La Choya and probably take Puerto Penasco without any more support than the two batteries of field artillery and the Navy.

The bombardment started exactly on schedule, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. The thunderous roar of the guns would be matched only by the cataclysmic rumble of the shells as they exploded in and around the city, tearing apart homes and shattering the Legion watchtowers.

Within the settlement, two centurions, Vorenus and Pullo, set to work rallying their cohorts. They had 960 men on the rolls but 60 of them were five miles away in the small village of La Choya, collecting tribute. 45 more were in the infirmary with various ailments. That left them with 855 men to fight back. Many of the Legionnaires were dragging the locals from their homes and forcing them to form up on the beach to fight. Some 12,000 people lived in Puerto Penasco, most of them fishermen whose only weapons were mallets used to bludgeon fish to death and harpoons used to hunt sharks and other large fish. Now, some 4,000 of these fishermen were gathered on the beach in a loose gaggle of bodies, carrying harpoons, clubs, and whatever else they could lay their hands on. The Legionnaires were different. They formed ordered ranks, with heavy shields, throwing spears, and machetes. Some carried rifles, others only shotguns. But every one of them was prepared to die for the Legion.

The shells were coming thick and fast, fifty shells every minute falling through the city, throwing debris and shrapnel through the militia and the Legion soldiers. For two hours it continued, the howl of some 6,000 shells forcing even the Legionnaires to lay down on the ground and curl up behind the low dunes in hopes of avoiding the worst of the shrapnel. Already corpses lay strewn about the streets and in the midst of the formation on the beach. Men, women, even children, their bodies broken, their flesh torn, blood and entrails painting the street like a macabre art display. Pullo saw one child, a girl of seven, impaled on a broken fence post, still squirming despite having neither hands nor feet with which to free herself. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But something about this time was different. He couldn’t tell you what was different about it, but seeing that girl writhing on that post just struck him as wrong.

He didn’t have the time to dwell on it, though. He heard someone call out, “HERE COME THE BOATS!” He rose to a knee, hearing the guns dying away, and looked across the beach to the water. A dozen large boats were, indeed, approaching the shore. He jumped to his feet. “UP! UP YOU LAZY DOGS! GET INTO FORMATION! BY MARS WE SHALL DRIVE THESE PROFLIGATES INTO THE SEA!” The Legionnaires rose to his orders, closing the gaps that had been created by the dead and dying. The impromptu militia of fishermen and shopkeepers that had been press ganged into service were another matter. They cowered behind the dunes, hugging their weapons to their chests. Many were sobbing. Others simply lay there, their eyes squeezed shut, as if to make this all a simple dream. Pullo knew he should start kicking and beating them, forcing them to stand. But he also knew he didn’t have the time. There were at least 3,500 of them still able to fight and he was one man. He knew Vorenus was still alive and maybe some of the other Centurions and Decani could help but the profligates were nearing the beach and would be on them in a few minutes. So instead of forcing the fishermen to stand and fight, he focused his efforts on ordering his cohort. Vorenus did the same, having reached the same conclusion as Pullo.

As the NCR landing craft neared the beach, naval personnel called out the distance as it dropped. Officers called out, “WHEN THAT RAMP GOES DOWN, DON’T BOTHER WITH FORMING UP! JUST GET OFF THE BEACH!” Sergeants shouted to their privates, “GET THOSE BAYONETS FIXED! WE’LL HAVE TO GIVE THEM THE BAYONET TO TAKE THIS BEACH!” It was a mercifully short ride, barely five miles in boats that traveled at 11 knots. And then the ramps were going down and the Infantry could charge out of them.

The Legionnaires were waiting for that moment. Their position was on the old Calle Mariano Matamoros and relatively well fortified, some five hundred feet from the beach. As the landing craft lowered their ramps, the Decani and Centurions leveled their rifles and shotguns and fired as rapidly as they could. There were only 100 rifles available but they made good use of them, felling dozens of NCR soldiers as they clambered off of their boats. But there were nearly five thousand NCR soldiers and a mere 100 rifles, even at barely less than 200 yards, were not going to have good effects, especially not when the men firing them were shaking with adrenaline. The NCR troops, for their part, didn’t stop to return fire. They charged forward. They had 161 yards of ground to cover and they had to do it quickly.

The boats were pulling away now, backing off of the beach to go and collect two more regiments. It would be ten hours before these men would see those boats again and in those ten hours they had to secure this town. They charged about a hundred yards up the beach and then started to halt, levelling their lever-action muskets towards the wall that housed the Legion troops and fired.

The .338 caliber bullets punched through the wooden palisades like a red hot knife through butter, tearing flesh, shattering bone, and puncturing organs. Legionnaires didn’t die in droves, the fire was too sporadic and inaccurate for that. But it did prompt Pullo and Vorenus to act. The Legionnaires drew their machetes and raised a bellowing war cry. “FOR CAESAR! FOR THE LEGION!” Then they charged.

The NCR soldiers saw the charge and matched it. Thousands of voices cried out, “FOR THE REPUBLIC!” as they raced headlong to meet the Legionnaires in the melee. It was a short but fierce fight, more of a brawl than a battle. But for all the prowess of the Legionnaire in close combat, five to one odds were long ones indeed and it was less than five minutes before the first Legionnaires broke and ran. Ten minutes later, the entire Legion force was withdrawing deeper into the town. The militia, still cowering behind the breastworks, followed closely behind them. There were, perhaps, two hundred fresh corpses on the beach. Another thousand or so throughout the town. But the battle was far from over.

The NCR soldiers began seeking familiar faces, gradually reforming their companies. Sergeants and corporals gathered those that remained of their sections and began peeling off into the town, intent on searching it thoroughly. In 10s and 20s, they walked through the town, kicking down doors and smashing windows as they searched for remaining Legionnaires. Every so often, shots would ring out as they found what they were looking for.

The searching and fighting lasted for hours, not even ending when the boats returned with a second wave. Four regiments of NCR soldiers were in Puerto Penasco now and the town was still not secured. In a few more hours, the fighting would have to end as neither side could fight in the dark.

It was in the night that Legionnaires withdrew. They had lost half their men in the fighting and were now even more heavily outnumbered. More than that, four batteries of NCR field artillery were now ashore, meaning any further attempts to resist were futile. They fled to the south, seeking to join up with other units as they went.

The NCR wasn't without it's own losses. 77 men were dead and 115 wounded, with at least thirty unaccounted for. But the battle was won and the rest of the army could be ferried across to continue their operations.

[The Manticoran Empire]

The Shi District, San Francisco
7 February 2290

Doctor Meng Xue was in a sour mood. Meng had been the head of the Shi’s Weapons Development division for five years now, an achievement reached after over thirty years of backbreaking work. In her opinion, overall, the annexation had been a good thing for the Shi. They had access to nearly unlimited resources and a customer base that was champing at the bit for access to the latest innovations of the Shi. But those same boons brought along the massive downside of the bureaucracy of the NCR. It seemed like every week she was having to set aside several hours for a meeting with the Director of the Bureau of Land Management or the President of the Oregon Planter’s Association. Why the head of Weapons Development had to sit in on meetings about farming had never made sense to her but that was a requirement. Today was even worse since the visitor was the NCR military. Specifically, Senior Undersecretary for Procurement Lois Adcox, perhaps the biggest bitch in the entire NCR government, and that was certainly saying something, considering some of the Congresswomen.

While most NCR officials saw the Shi as a great boon to the NCR economy, Undersecretary Adcox was cut from a far older, less friendly cloth. She had made no bones about her opinions over the last few years. To her, the Shi were uncivilized and uncultured foreigners who were being accorded too many privileges they hadn’t earned, though she generally used stronger language than that.

Meng reached the door to the conference room and took a deep breath. It simply wouldn’t do for the head of Weapons Development to arrive with a resting bitch face. She spent a moment composing herself before opening the door.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Meng,” came the calm, baritone voice of Director Chu Xiong from the far side of the room. Meng turned to respond but stopped short. Undersecretary Adcox sat at the conference table, as she had expected. But another face was present. “Uh...Director, I recognize Miss Adcox but I’m unfamiliar with this other man.” Xiong raised an eyebrow but the other man simply smiled and said, “It’s quite alright Director. I don’t usually meet with suppliers. However, circumstances require me to make an exception.” The man rose and walked to Doctor Meng, extending his hand in greeting. “Scot Johnson, Secretary of the Army.” As Meng accepted his handshake, he continued, “As I said, I usually leave meetings with suppliers to undersecretaries or the Quartermaster General’s Office. But certain allegations by Miss Adcox here have necessitated an exception.” He released her hand and gestured to the conference table. “Please, Doctor, sit. We have much to discuss.”

Meng wasn’t sure what to make of this information. She knew that Adcox wasn’t the biggest fan of the Shi but she never thought she’d go so far as to make allegations of misconduct significant enough for the civilian leader of the NCR Army to visit in person. Johnson, for his part, seemed entirely at ease while Adcox seemed pleased with herself.
“Miss Adcox,” Johnson began, “has alleged in several of her reports that promises made in the bid last year were unrealistic. In fact, her reports indicate that the promises regarding the production of AER-9 laser weapons and accompanying fusion cell ammunition were grossly exaggerated. As we are all well aware, when the Army was examining proposals for new armaments to replace the muskets currently in service, the Shi offered AER-9 laser rifles to be built to Army specifications at a rate of, according to your proposal, one rifle every twelve seconds, working eight hours per day. That indicates a production goal of 2,400 rifles per day.” Meng spoke up immediately. “That is actually a misinterpretation of the data. The AER-9 is not a rifle, in the conventional sense. Rather, the base model is a pistol. Additional components must be manufactured and then assembled by hand to manufacture a rifle or other model of weapon. So our forge can manufacture 2,400 AER-9 base pistols per day but overall production of the rifles requested by the Army will be much lower, possibly less than 100 weapons per day. And this will vary depending on other models of weapon that the Army may wish to purchase. As we included in our proposal, the basic model of rifle would involve the addition of a full length stock, a optical sight, a longer barrel, and a beam focuser, with the intention being to improve accuracy and range. An alternative option is a sniper rifle, with a reinforced barrel and cushioned stock to stabilize and focus the beam to further increase range and accuracy. Another alternative is a squad support weapon, with three rotating barrels to increase rate of fire while controlling heat buildup. All of these weapons require different lengths of time to complete. So while it is accurate to say that we can manufacture 2,400 AER-9 bases per day, we cannot manufacture that many rifles in a day.”

Johnson listened intently while Adcox’s expression soured. The room as a whole was quiet for a few minutes before Johnson spoke. “Thank you for explaining that, Doctor.” The room was quiet for a moment more while Johnson looked at his folder. “I see here that your proposal included several weapon variants.” Meng nodded, “Yes, we proposed to build a sidearm, main infantry rifle, sniper rifle, squad support weapon, and a scattergun. Each would have their own time requirements, based on the resources involved.”

Johnson leaned forward as Meng began another explanation. “When the Quartermaster General’s Office sent out a RFP for the President’s modernization initiative, they laid out a series of requirements for new infantry weapons. They would require at a minimum a pistol, a rifle, and a sniper rifle to replace current inventories as well as the option of adopting a shotgun and a light machine gun. However, any weapon would have to provide equal or greater lethality, superior ammunition capacity, superior accuracy, superior rate of fire, and superior reliability compared to existing weapons. Our proposal involved taking our proven AER-9 laser gun and modifying it to increase accuracy, range, and damage. A stock AER-9, that being the basic pistol that we manufacture for the civilian market, is approximately 33% more lethal than the pre-war 10mm pistol that is commonly purchased and manufactured by many of our competitors. The primary downside to an AER-9 that prevents it from dominating the market for handheld ranged weapons is that it has only 86% of the range of a 10mm pistol, though this is largely due to the physics of lasers. With modifications to the barrel and the focusing lenses, we can increase the effective range to 300 meters while simultaneously increasing lethality. Further increases in lethality can be achieved through improved capacitors. Furthermore, the baseline probability of hit for an AER-9 is 71%, again largely thanks to the physics of lasers. Improvements to focusing lenses, barrels, and the stock can further increase that to 89%, though this assumes a stable firing platform. Then there is the consideration of the rate of fire. The baseline AER-9 has a rate of fire of 50 shots per minute, increasing to 600 shots per minute with the automatic rifle.
The presently issued arms have a substantially lower base accuracy, with a 74% probability of hit, and their size, weight, and rate of fire limit their utility in close quarters. It is this latter point that is of prime importance. We learned against Caesar that many foes will not hold at range and allow us to engage with accurate rifle fire. Rather, they will seek to close the gap. Other foes will fire from cover and operate in small teams. These require increases in rate of fire and reductions in weight, which we believe we can achieve. The basic infantry rifle will weigh in at 8 pounds while the pistol will weigh in at around two pounds. Compare this to our current weapons, with the musket weighing 14 pounds fully loaded and the pistol weighing in at almost 3 pounds, and you’ll see significant savings in weight across the board while gaining nearly twice the ammunition capacity.”

Johnson listened intently as she finished. When she had finished, he shuffled his notes and said, “Well that clears up the allegations that were brought to my attention. And, since I’m here, I suppose we might as well go over the full modernization proposal.” He took a page from the folder and read it carefully before continuing, “Now in the RFP last February, small arms were not the only request. There was also a request for weapons to replace existing artillery platforms and heavy weapons to provide support to infantry units on the battlefield. Has your department put further thought towards those requirements?”

Meng nodded, “Indeed we have.” She activated a holoprojector in the center of the conference table and displayed a series of weapons. “These are our current proposals for heavy infantry support weapons. This involves an anti-armor laser cannon, an automatic cannon, a heavy machine gun, 60mm and 81mm mortars, and a multipurpose shoulder launched guided missile system.” Johnson nodded and said, “My biggest concerns are largely the cost of these systems and the ability of your organization to supply munitions and spare parts, not to mention training.” Meng smiled, “Of course. As Director Chu will attest, the NCR military is our biggest potential customer and we would like to establish a business relationship that will last for decades.” Chu nodded, “We are, of course, happy to negotiate an acceptable price with the NCR. However, the issues of training are going to be largely up to you, though we will provide instructors to armorer and logistics courses to speed the process along.” Johnson nodded once again. “Well, I believe you have answered all of the questions that I had at this time. I have seven other suppliers to visit this month so I do hope you will bear with me, as it may be some time before you receive any updates.” Johnson rose and turned to Meng and then Chu, bowing to each of them as he did. “Doctor, Director, zaijian.” As he walked out of the room, Adcox rose to follow. Notably, she did not bow or say farewell. Instead, she shot Meng a nasty look as she didn’t quite storm out of the conference room.

When the door closed behind the two, Director Chu leaned back and began speaking in Mandarin. “Ya know, I think we haven’t seen the last of Undersecretary Adcox, Xue.”
“Of course not, Director. She’s one of the few remaining Kimball supporters in the Ministry and you know what he thinks of us.” Chu nodded and then chuckled. “What’s so funny?” Meng asked. “I was just thinking,” Chu said, “Secretary Johnson is visiting some of our competitors. The only other group manufacturing energy weapons in quantity would be Van Graff but they’ve spent the better part of the last thirteen years in and out of court, settling lawsuits and criminal cases. Gloria and Tiaret are both behind bars and Jean-Baptiste was hanged last year. The word is that Gloria is next to meet the Hangman and Tiaret’s health isn’t good. With Frieda having abandoned the family business back in the late 70s, there doesn’t seem to be anyone to unify the Van Graff business. The Gun Runners only really deal in ballistic firearms and are secretive enough that it would be difficult for the NCR to reach any sort of deal with them. So I figure that the other five potential suppliers are much smaller outfits who probably can’t meet the volume of production the NCR needs.” Meng nodded her understanding. “So our contract is practically assured. Well then, I’ll need to make sure we can meet the promises we made. Please excuse me, Director.”

Meng rose and bowed before walking out of the conference room, her mind busy with calculations.

---

Commission for the Transformation of the Army
NCR Army Headquarters
Shady Sands
8 February 2290

Colonel Nick Roberson sat at his desk and stared out at the collection of officers from every corner of the Army. Infantry, Cavalry, Artillery, Quartermaster, Medical. At least two dozen distinct collar insignia were present and every single one of them was here for one reason. Modernization. Roberson didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind it. The kit they had now had beaten the Legion twice and had kept the NCR protected for half a century. Furthermore, when Kimball had tried modernizing the NCR Army, it had been a disaster, with troops receiving weapons with no ammunition or ammunition with no weapons. When they did have ammunition, it was scarce. And now Holland was doing the same thing.

Of course, there is a difference this time, Roberson reminded himself, Holland isn’t going off half-cocked like Kimball did. And it was true. Kimball had embarked on modernization without considering anything. He had simply commanded the Army to begin adopting new weapons and Congress had funded it. No one knew how to use them or how to maintain them. Lines of supply for ammunition and spare parts hadn’t been established. Hell, no one even knew how to incorporate them into an army that had, up until that point, used the company as the smallest tactical unit on the battlefield and fought with lever guns. To further complicate matters, a new uniform had been authorized and there was no room for argument from the Army. Holland was going about it differently. The news had come down in October of 2288, when Fiscal Year 2289 started. The 2289 budget had included funding for the Army 2300 Initiative (as the PR folks called it), officially titled “The Training, Organization, Equipment, and Doctrine Transformation for the NCR Army of the 24th Century”. And it was his commission that was tasked with accomplishing that.

So they started working. The best and brightest of the Army, including those that had used more advanced weapons during the NCR-Legion War, had been collected and had spent the last 15 months trying to put together a comprehensive plan to transform the Army from the ground up. The Commission had decided, though an official decision hadn’t been made yet, that the most likely supplier for almost all of the weapons and equipment would be the Shi in San Francisco. They already supplied the Navy with artificial coal to fuel their ships and so it made sense that they would supply the Army during its modernization. Which, naturally, left the issue of how to implement these new technologies into training and doctrine, not to mention the organizational changes that would be required.

The current organizational structure of the NCR Army had evolved as a result of limited educational standards and weapons that weren't particularly accurate at much over two hundred yards or capable of sustained rapid fire. They also took a while to reload, necessitating the massing of firepower to maximize effectiveness. But now it was apparent that faster firing, easier to reload weapons would be adopted, necessitating a change in organization.
The decision had been reached about a month ago to go with a 15 man rifle squad in three teams. A Staff Sergeant would lead the squad and would have in his team a radioman, a robotics technician, a sniper, and an anti-armor operator. The other two teams would each be led by a Sergeant and would have a grenadier, a support gunner, and two riflemen. Three squads and a 5 man headquarters would form a 50 man platoon. Three platoons and a 15 man headquarters would form a 165 man company. Three rifle companies and a 105 man headquarters company would form a battalion of 600 men. Slight adjustments made the same scaling work for Artillery, with a mortar operated by a five man crew, allowing a 15 man section to man two mortars with a 5 man fire direction center while a howitzer would be operated by a full 15-man section. Three sections and a 5 man headquarters would form a platoon, three platoons and a 15 man headquarters would form a battery, and three batteries and 105-man headquarters would form a battalion. Finally, three rifle battalions, an artillery battalion, and a 100 man headquarters company would form a regiment of 2,500 men.

However, the Cavalry wasn’t happy with the idea of being lumped in with the infantry. They wanted to retain at least some of their prestige. A solution was found in the technology of power armor. The 5 cavalry regiments could be reformed into 9 Power Armor Battalions and grouped with an Artillery Battalion to form three Power Armor Regiments.

On the whole, it was a sound idea. 42 Line Infantry Regiments and 3 Power Armor Regiments would be more than sufficient to meet NCR defense needs. However, there was a slight complication. Unless more manpower was authorized, only 9,550 personnel would be left over for administrative and support duties. The Army was already 2.56% of the NCR’s population and further increases would never make it through Congress. So if the Army couldn’t get bigger, a new solution was needed.

The solution to this problem seemed like simplicity itself, once they thought it up back in October last year. The introduction of Shi produced energy weapons, combat armor, and power armor would result in an exponential increase in combat power. So, since each individual unit would be more powerful, you could reduce the number of units and, by extension, the manpower. That solution, however, wasn’t feasible, either. With only 37,705 men and women, a total of 15 regiments would leave only 205 men and women for other duties and that simply wasn’t feasible.

Roberson buried his head in his hands as he struggled to think. 205 men and women to do all of the staff duties the Army needed. Unless the Army was ready to outsource or auto-. He stopped himself in mid-thought, his head popping up like some sort of jack-in-the-box. He quickly began shifting through notes and documents, his mind racing. The Shi had a robotics division, much like their weapons, armor, and agricultural divisions. However, the robotics division had received very little press, since no one had really been looking for automatons but now?

He began pouring over specifications. Protectrons, Sentry bots, Mr. Handies, Mr. Gutsies, Assaultrons, Eyebots. All of these had interesting potential. Of particular note, at least to him, where the Mr. Handies. Before the War, they had been common fixtures in households as a nanny-bot and could still be found in pre-war diners, museums, and other public spaces in some parts of the Wasteland, serving their function as guides, waiters, or clerks. Perhaps that was the solution.

Roberson stood up and walked to the other desks. “Alright, listen up guys and gals. I think I may have solved our manpower issue.” Heads turned to face him, more than one with a curious eyebrow raised. “We’re all familiar with the Mr. Gutsy and Mr. Handy robots that have been found and junked all over the Wasteland. Well, the Shi can manufacture them, along with several other pre-war robot models. I figure that we can use Mr. Handy robots to replace clerks at most levels. It was one of the jobs for which the Mr. Handies were designed for in the first place.” A murmur of assent went around the room, followed by a voice. “Just one issue, Colonel. How do we get Congress to pay for those robots?” Roberson smiled, “I’m glad you asked, Paul. Right now our plan involves cutting 87,375 soldiers from the Army, which will save the government a boatload of money every year. We can then use those funds to purchase and maintain Mr. Handies for most of the logistics and administrative work. We can make similar use of Protectrons for warehouse work, Sentry bots for base security, and armed Eyebots for border patrol. Lieutenant Meares, I want you to get your ass on a train to San Francisco and sit down with the Shi’s robotics division. Captain Anderson, walk down to the Budget Office and see what sort of funds our manpower cuts will net us. Captain Thompson, I want you to schedule a meeting with the Secretary of the Army so we can present our proposal before going to Congress with it. With any luck, this will finish our organizational changes and we can start working out the details of doctrine and training this year.”

[The Manticoran Empire]

Puerto Penasco, Sonora
8 February 2290

General Moultrie sat in the ruined house that once belonged to a Centurion and looked at the map. Her two division commanders were in the room with her, eager to hear her plan. She pointed at the map and said, “We have a great deal of territory to get through and not much time. We have at our disposal twenty-four thousand men and one hundred and forty guns. It is time, right now, for us to march. Arthur, you will take your division north, along Highway 8. I will march with Paul along Highway 3. We will burn each and every settlement we come to and we will join our forces at Hermosillo in three weeks.” The two Generals nodded, studying the map carefully. The plan was a risky one, dividing the army in hostile territory and marching in such a way that would put dozens of miles of desert between the columns. Granted, the Legion was unlikely to be able to rally a force significant enough to halt them outright but, at the same time, it was far riskier than simply marching together. At the same time, though, time was of the essence. There would be no resupply until they reached Guaymas so marching divided cut the operational timeframe in half. All told, a risk but one worth taking. The two officers nodded again before saluting and leaving without a word.

Sarah didn’t need them to speak. She knew she was asking a lot of them. She turned to the table behind her where several of her longtime allies were sitting. Boone, Cass, Veronica, and Arcade were playing a hand of Caravan and Arcade was losing. “MALUM SIT! Non iterum!” Arcade shouted as Boone showed his winning hand. Sarah had never picked up the game so she couldn’t be sure what his hand was but it was good enough that neither Cass nor Veronica bothered to show their cards. Boone smiled as he collected the caps from the center of the table. “Another hand, anyone?” he asked, with just a hint of humor. “Sorry, Boone,” Sarah said, “You can’t fleece them anymore.”
“What’s the rush?” Veronica asked, “I know I’d have him this round.” Sarah simply shook her head. “There’s still about four or five hundred Legionnaires in the hills out there and I want them dealt with before we march. Which means we have to find them and then lead a column to deal with them.” She beckoned for her companions to gather around the map. As they did, she pointed to the deserts north of them. “The Legionnaires fled north along Highway Eight,” her finger traced along the road leading north from Puerto Penasco, “so I imagine we will find them near the Mission, here.” Her finger stopped above a building labeled as 1Mission Puerto Penasco. Boone was the first to speak. “Why would they be there? It’s been a week since we landed. Why wouldn’t they continue to the north?”
“The Mission is easily fortified and they have no provisions. The nearest settled town is Sonoyta, a five day march from here. They withdrew in haste, meaning all the food and water they had was what they had on their person. Without more food and water, they’ll die on that march. Then there is the fact that they can’t report to a superior that they failed without being executed for their failure. No, they are still there and we can catch them. But we need to move quickly. Once we confirm the Legion are present, Arcade will send a signal to the Army here, bringing two regiments to reinforce us. Cass and Boone, you will ensure that the Legionnaires don’t withdraw. Veronica and I will scout the positions and locate a weakness to focus on.” The others listened intently, hanging on to every word so they would understand their roles. When she had finished, they nodded silently. She waited a moment longer before continuing, “Alright then. Let’s mount up.”

The quintet stepped out of the tent and mounted their rad-horses, large animals standing almost eight feet tall and weighing nearly two tons of muscle and bone. They resembled pre-war Shires and served as the mounts for NCR cavalrymen and officers, as well as the draft horses for supply wagons and cannon. They were strong, fast, and had insane amounts of endurance, all of which were what Sarah and her companions would need on this mission. With a shout, they dug their spurs into the flanks of their mounts, and raced off into the setting sun.

Mission Puerto Penasco
30 minutes later

It was dreadfully flat in this part of Mexico, meaning cover was almost non-existent and visibility was excellent as long as the sun stayed up. But as Sarah and Veronica closed in, they noticed something odd about the Legionnaires behavior. While the tents were organized and enclosed in a fortified camp, there were few sentries. Those that were present leaned on the walls, consuming chems of various flavors.

“These guys have been the top dogs around here for so long, they’ve gotten complacent,” Veronica said. “Just like NCR did in the Mojave before the Second Battle of the Dam,” Sarah answered. She grinned a foul, merciless grin. “These fuckers will pay for their complacency with their lives.” She reached for her radio but Veronica stopped her. “The suns going down. It’s eight miles back to camp. Some of the men are rested but others have just finished a long sea voyage. It will take them at least an hour to form the forces we want and another three and a half hours to get here. By that time it will be pitch black out here. We are almost to the new moon, so they’ll have nearly no light to help. Better to wait until dawn. If they set out at the start of morning astronomical twilight, they could be here by around eight o’clock in the morning.” Sarah thought for a moment. “The Legionnaires will probably still be breaking down their camp. Very well. Tell Arcade to signal the brigade to march at dawn. Tell Boone and Cass to get comfortable. We’ll take turns sleeping. I want eyes on that camp all through the night.” Veronica nodded and reached for her own radio to call Arcade. In the meantime, Sarah returned her attention to the Legion encampment.

Sarah watched the camp for close to four hours before she woke Veronica to swap out. In that time, she’d seen the sentries change twice. Two hour rotations. But each guard was less alert, as though they were recovering from a hangover combined with interrupted sleep. As she lay down to sleep, she couldn’t help but think that something was off. She couldn’t imagine Legionnaires so strung out that they couldn’t even arrange proper sentries.

Sleep took her before she could think about it more. In spite of the cool, desert night air and hard, rocky surface she lay on, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Puerto Penasco
Dawn
Two regiments had formed up and were now marching north. Over five thousand men and 48 guns were on the road to the Mission and they were expected to arrive by mid-morning. The appearance of a force, even one as small as this brigade, was truly awe inspiring. The column of infantry was nearly a mile and a half long and the supply wagons and artillery train added another mile or more. Fortunately for them, the march went with little difficulty or delay and they reached Arcade Gannon’s tent at quarter after eight. They were a mile short of the Legion encampment and were in an area of flat land with an abandoned pre-war village on one side of the road.

The only evidence of any pre-war habitation were a few timbers and the remains of a grid of roads. As the regiments split off the road to form their lines and the guns were brought up and unlimbered, the regimental staff officers were greeted by Sarah, who had ridden over from her nighttime position to inform them of her findings in more detail. “There are around five hundred Legionnaires in the camp,” she said, drawing a quick diagram in the dirt as she continued, “We watched them during the night. Their sentries are limited and barely alert, heavily drugged with chems and alcohol. Most of their troops were, when I came to meet you, still asleep. It is plausible that they are rousing themselves and preparing to break camp. Given how their camp is laid out, this will take them at least two or three hours.” She then gestured to the assembling army and said, “If we deploy our guns in a line to the southeast of this road, we can bring the camp under fire, thereby covering an advance of our own troops. We’ll march the Seventeenth up the highway towards the camp while the Twentieth will march around to cut off the enemy’s retreat. We have a significant advantage in manpower so we will be able to wipe this force out. But let us move quickly, before the enemy is ready for us.”

The guns were in place in another thirty minutes, their caissons behind them. The first shells loaded were segmented shells, anti-personnel rounds that were made of segments of iron that would break apart when the fuse exploded. The rounds would be interspersed with common low explosive shells, filled with guncotton. Even as the gun crews set their pieces and adjusted the elevation and charge weights for a range of just over a mile, the infantry were beginning their own movements. The 20th Infantry Regiment was marching to the northwest, aiming to make a long loop around the area to cut off the retreat of the Legion force. The 17th, on the other hand, was crouching about a hundred yards in front of the gun batteries.

The seconds ticked by like hours as the gunners made their final adjustments and then, with shattering suddenness, the guns roared to life. Ten and a half pound shells roared through the air at just over the speed of sound, crossing the gap in a matter of seconds, followed by the dull rumble as they exploded over the Legion camp.

Pullo and Vorenus looked up from the maps that lay strewn about their table as they heard the dull thunder of NCR guns. Before they could really comprehend what had happened or react, the ear-shattering roar of exploding shells filled the air and shards of steel whistled through the air. The two men instinctively threw themselves to the ground, covering their heads with their hands to guard against flying debris. As the whistling stopped, both men realized they were alive and uninjured. But more importantly, they were under attack. Vorenus smacked Pullo on the arm as the two stood up. “I TOLD YOU WE SHOULD HAVE MOVED ON!” Pullo shook his head, “The Legate would have crucified us both if we returned to him without a proper appraisal of the enemy’s strength.” Vorenus swore, “WE FUCKING HAD THAT THREE DAYS AGO!” Pullo shook his head, “It doesn’t matter now. We’ve got a battle to fight here so let’s get it over with.” Without waiting for an answer, Pullo grabbed his helmet from the table and walked out of his tent, seeking to rally his men and mount a defense.

The camp was a charnel house. Shells were falling at a rate of one round every ten to fifteen seconds. Each one brought with it shrapnel and debris that tore flesh, shattered bone, and shredded tents and supplies. Men lay in heaps, some of them unmoving while others struggled to breathe or get up. Others simply lay still, their chests rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths as they drowned in their own blood. Pullo eventually reached the palisade and saw the long line of beige coated soldiers marching towards him. A handful of men had made it to the palisade but only a few of them had guns. Damn Caesar and his restrictions on guns. The NCR outnumbered them at least five to one, maybe more and they had the range to sit back and shell them. Retreat was impossible, since any man who fled would die of thirst before reaching a town or encampment. If they didn’t die of thirst, they’d die of exposure or an animal. At least if they stayed here, they had a chance of killing the people trying to kill them.

The 17th halted about a hundred and fifty yards from the palisade. Sporadic rifle fire from the Legionnaires had left about two dozen men dead or wounded, leaving over 2,100 rifles to fire. “MAKE READY!” The shout rang down the line from the Colonel to the Majors to the Captains to the Lieutenants to the Sergeants. The soldiers, who had carried their rifles at the shoulder until now, brought their pieces so that the muzzle was inline with their eye and the butt was under their shoulder, just below their chest. The Legionnaires were still firing but the continued artillery fire greatly hampered their accuracy, even at this short range. “TAKE AIM!” The second order was followed by the men lifting their pieces to their shoulders, drawing beads on the Legion encampment. If they could see a man, they aimed for him. If not, they aimed as close to straight ahead as they could. The result, obviously, was that several Legionnaires had multiple rifles aimed at them. “FIRE!” With this final command, the rifles cracked to life.

More than 2,100 copper jacketed, steel core rounds whizzed across the gap, slamming into wood, earth, and men with equal abandon. Around 50 or 60 Legionnaires had been at the palisade when the volley was released. Every one of them was injured in some fashion. A dozen of them had been unlucky enough to have been standing when the rifles fired, being struck by a few dozen rounds each. Bones had shattered and muscles had been torn. Organs were perforated, lungs collapsed, and arteries were severed. At least six of these men had taken bullets to the head, leaving parts of their skulls blown out and brains pooling on the ground, mixing with the dirt and blood to form a gruesome soup. Most of the other men had been crouched behind the wall, reloading their weapons or seeking cover from artillery. Pullo had taken a shot to his arm which had nearly torn it from his shoulder. As it was, a few tendons kept his lower arm attached to his upper arm at the elbow. As he looked around, he saw that few of the men that had been with him had escaped with minor injuries.

He had no time to truly take in the state of injuries as a second and then a third volley roared in. Each of the rifles carried fifteen rounds in their tubular magazines and it took only a few seconds to chamber a new round. In around a minute and a half, the soldiers had emptied their magazines, leaving some 32,000 rounds to rip through the Legion encampment. Men who had been wounded by the first volley jerked as more bullets tore into them. Pullo felt a bullet tear into his right shoulder, jerking him around. Another bullet slammed into his abdomen, stopping his spin as it started. Two more slammed into his chest, stopped only by his Centurion Armor, and a fifth grazed his neck. Another one shattered his left elbow and a seventh blew out his knee. All seven rounds struck him near enough simultaneously and his wounded leg failed beneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground. The bullets that had hit his chest had knocked the wind from him and the one that had torn his abdomen had ruptured something. It hurt terribly and he could see blood pooling around him. His arms were useless so he used his good leg to roll himself over. He stared at the sky, entirely unable to lift himself from the ground and unwilling to call for help.

The NCR troopers reloaded as quickly as they could before advancing another fifty yards and repeating the firing. 32,000 more rounds tore into the palisade, ripping through Legionnaires as they struggled over the mounting piles of corpses. Blood was turning the ground into mud. Vorenus couldn’t see where Pullo was and resigned himself to rallying troops for the defense. It was difficult to do with shells falling everywhere and bullets cracking by. It had been maybe a half an hour since the attack had started and the NCR had fired around 4,300 shells, on top of 64,000 bullets. Vorenus could hardly gather a full century to his position. It seemed like most of the soldiers were dead or wounded, at least that he could see. Those that were left had at least some form of injury. Vorenus himself had taken several wounds from shrapnel. As his eyes swept the compound, he saw that the wall facing the NCR had been shot to pieces. Close to two hundred men lay along it, most of them not moving.

The 17th had suffered around sixty casualties so far and were now pushing up to the palisade. The artillery was firing their final rounds, not wanting to hit their own men with bursting shells, and the palisade was so shot to pieces that it took very little effort to push open several holes for the troops to enter through. Bayonets gleamed in the sunlight as the soldiers pushed in. The assault was on, so NCR troopers started firing without orders. The staccato cracks of NCR rifles were joined by the occasional crack of a Legion rifle. This time the NCR troopers simply fired as rapidly as they could. The range was short so hits were almost guaranteed. Then they charged to enter close combat.

Vorenus watched as the NCR rifles tore his troops to pieces and then charged. He raised his machete and roared orders to his men, urging them to hold. He knew that it was in vain. There were maybe fifty or sixty of them still alive and somewhere close to 2,400 NCR troops were pouring into his compound. An NCR trooper lunged his bayonet forward. Vorenus deftly parried the blow and followed up with a slash across the man’s chest, splitting it open from rib cage to shoulder. He spun as the soldier fell, driving his blade into the exposed throat of another trooper. He felt the searing pain of a bayonet as it slid into his side, piercing his kidney. He grabbed the rifle with one hand and swung his machete with the other, slicing through the man’s throat and freeing his head from his shoulders. Another bayonet was thrust into his chest and he turned to this man, raising his machete to strike as a third bayonet pierced his back. His grip slacked as the two living troopers pulled their bayonets free and moved on. He fell to his knees, his machete clanging to the ground beside him. One of his lungs had collapsed and blood was mixing with his saliva as he tried to breathe. His gaze fell to the blood-soaked earth as a shadow came over him. He looked up, gazing into the eyes of an NCR soldier. A woman.

Sarah gazed down at the wounded Centurion. It was clear he was already dead, the three bayonet wounds were mortal. But instead of leaving him to die, she raised her pistol and placed the muzzle against his forehead. “Legio...Victrix,” the Legionnaire said, his voice pained as he did. Sarah pulled back the hammer and said, “Legio est quia corruit.” With that, she pulled the trigger. The blast of the gun scorched the skin around the muzzle and the round blew out the back of the Centurion’s skull. He was still for a moment, his eyes staring blankly up at her. Then he went limp, falling to the side. Sarah let her pistol fall to her side and spit on the corpse before moving on.

The whole battle took less than an hour and it was a testament to the Legionnaire's courage that they stood and fought to the last. The NCR had suffered a hundred and fifty casualties and the 20th was still on the march. The Legion force was utterly annihilated, with privates walking through the bodies, bayoneting any that still moved. Sarah stood in the center of the ruined camp with her companions. “It was a solid attack,” Boone said. “Yes,” Sarah replied, “It was. Now we can move on to our next objective.”

---

Shady Sands
9 February 2290

President Walker Holland sat at his desk, reviewing the latest proposal for the Navy’s portion of the Military Reconstruction Act. The Shi had decided to cooperate with Long Beach Shipyard in Los Angeles to build three new classes of warships, a class of destroyers, a class of frigates, and a class of cruisers. It would take five years to design the ships and then three more to build each ship. Two of the ship classes were projected to spend 12 to 18 months in the drydock before being launched while the third class would need at least two years. Mare Island and Hunters Point in San Francisco had five more dry docks between them, allowing a total of eight ships to be built at a time. The current proposal was that Hunters Point would build the largest ships, the cruisers, while Mare Island built the destroyers and Long Beach built the frigates. In total, 4 cruisers, 5 destroyers, and 8 frigates were currently a part of the plan, intended to replace 43 monitors, some of which had been serving the NCR for almost a century. The Shi had proposed designing nuclear plants for the ships that would run on fusion cores and were offering to design surface and air search radars as well as sonars for the ships and their complements of anti-aircraft and anti-shipping missiles. If all went well, the first vessels would be commissioned in 2298, with the final vessels being deployed in the 2310s.

Holland leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t even want to consider the cost of the program, because he knew it was going to be an enormous expense. On top of that, the Army was restructuring and it was only a matter of time before someone argued that the Air Force needed an overhaul. But that would be a hurdle to cross at a later date. For now, he needed to work on making this proposal worthy of Congress. Add some formal words, some legal terms, mention the jobs that will be created. California was sure to vote for it, since the ships would all be built in California. Oregon would likely also support it since many of the ships would be based in Oregon and this would bring additional jobs to that state. The biggest opposition was likely to be found in the Mojave, who saw any funds given to the Navy as funds that could be better spent fortifying the Colorado against Legion. Nevada could go either way and Baja was a big supporter of the Republic Navy, especially given the recent Legion attacks.

He spent hours making alterations, additions, and deletions on his terminal before finally deciding it was in a decent state to present to the House Armed Forces Committee.

House Armed Forces Committee Meeting of the Subcommittee for Naval Forces
10 February 2290

The twenty-two members of the Subcommittee for Naval Forces had been called in because the current proposal included naval amendments. While the Subcommittee on Land and Air Forces would convene at a later date to discuss the Army’s portion of the bill, the Subcommittee for Naval Forces would get to crack at the Administration’s current proposal. One might consider it fortunate that the President Holland’s Reformist Party were the majority in both the House and the Senate and therefore held the chair and vice chair positions on the committees and subcommittees, as well as most of the seats. But anti-reformist parties, including several allies of former president Aaron Kimball, were still present, with most of the former presidents allies serving on the Armed Forces committees.

One of those old allies was also the ranking member of the Subcommittee for Naval Forces. Hector Rickman had been in Congress for nearly 40 years and had won five elections because no one in his district would run against him. That had been changing with the election of Reformists in 2282, when the first challenger against him since ‘70 had run against him. The challenger hadn’t gotten far but the elections of ‘84, ‘86, and ‘88 had all been even closer, with his victory in the ‘88 election by a mere 47 votes. Polls were indicating that he might lose his seat in this election but, until then, he would continue to do what he thought his duty was.

The Chairman called the meeting to order as the Chief of Naval Operations and the Secretary of the Navy sat at their own table before the committee. The Chairman looked to each side of the dais and said, “To begin these proceedings, the Chair gives the floor to the Secretary of the Navy to outline the Navy’s proposal.”

The Secretary of the Navy, Chung Mobley, adjusted the microphone in front of him and spoke. “Of course, Mister Chairman. Our proposal is based upon a study undertaken last year at my order. It examined the effectiveness of our current inventory of warships, the current and potential future capabilities of rival nations, and the potential capabilities gained with the annexation of the Shi. It was determined that the current inventory of warships are unsuitable.” He gestured to a large terminal screen on one wall, a recent installation thanks to the Shi. An image of several NCRN warships appeared on the screen, with text next to each ship. Mobley continued, “Currently our inventory includes forty-three coastal monitors across thirteen classes. Of those classes, only four, a total of ten ships, were constructed in the last twenty years. Even the Sequoias entered service before the Legion War and they currently represent our most advanced warships. The other ships all entered service between 2186 and 2240, making the youngest of them, NCRS Salem, half a century old. In that time, they have left port exactly three times. The first time was in the assault on the Enclave Oil Rig during the Enclave War. Someone else destroyed the rig before they arrived, so they saw no action. The second event was during the NCR-Brotherhood War in 2274 when a task force including NCRS Eugene, NCRS Bakersfield, and NCRS Owen’s Lake was attacked by a Brotherhood strike team. All three ships suffered heavy damage from Brotherhood rockets and energy weapons and Bakersfield nearly sank on its way back to San Diego. Nearly a third of the sailors in that operation were wounded or killed. The most recent time was last month, when a third of the fleet put to sea to bombard Legion remnants on the Mexican coast. So far none of the ships have been damaged and only one sailor was injured when he tripped over a bulkhead.” He paused to let his words sink in while the staffer changed the slide on the screen. The screen now showed a map of the Americas. “At present we are the sole major power on the West Coast. However, our economy is dependent upon a network of land and ocean trade routes. As it stands, our current inventory of warships has no ability to police the trade routes outside of the Western coastline of the Americas.”

Rickman managed to avoid smirking at that statement. He’d proposed a bill almost a decade ago to bring in proper battleships but it had been rejected by the Committee and fought by the Navy. The Committee rejected it on cost. The Navy rejected it because 14-inch shells weren’t something they could manufacture. Now the Navy was coming around it seemed.

Mobley continued his explanation even as Rickman quietly seethed. “The heavy seas of the Straits of Magellan combined with the low freeboard of coastal monitors mean that our ships can’t travel to the Atlantic unless we expend the time, money, and material resources to take and rebuild the Panama Canal. Furthermore, our Pacific trade routes to places like Hawaii and Oceania can’t be policed at all, since our ships would be swamped in anything heavier than a flat calm and the region is prone to storms. So, as it stands today, our merchant traffic is vulnerable to foreign powers and this is without considering the most crippling fault with our current inventory.” A new slide appeared, this time showing the boilers of a monitor and the lumps of coal that fueled them. “Our mission to Mexico last month consumed half our stocks of coal. With few sources for new coal and attempts at manufacturing synthetic coal requiring an enormous outlay of resources, fuel remains the key limiting factor for our fleet. Which, at long last, brings us to the rivals we may face in the near future.”

A new slide appeared, this time including only the continental United States. “At present, we have no major rivals in this region. However, there are several powers along the Gulf of Mexico and the Eastern Seaboard that could pose threats to our economy. The Republic of Delmarva maintains a fleet sufficient to block our merchants from trading in the Virginia region while a pre-war automated military system in Fort Bragg has been making contact with prewar military installations, raising the specter of meeting hostile robots along the coastline. The Gulf Caravan Company, while not outwardly hostile, does possess sufficient fleet strength to make a mockery of our own battle line, assuming we could scrounge up enough fuel to get to them. Then there is the issue of enemy aircraft. Delmarva, the Fortress State of Washington, and several others have air forces which can, with relatively minimal effort on their part, engage merchant ships and our current warships.” He paused again and took a sip from the bottled water on the table. “This brings me to the biggest potential threat, the Republic of Texas. Texas at present does not have a navy to our knowledge but they do appear to have an expansionist viewpoint and the City-State of Houston is a potential boon to them, including their navy. The biggest threat from Texas is their cadre of Enclave hardliners. We all know the historical record. Enclave soldiers are well trained, heavily armed, heavily armored, and fanatical in their beliefs. If they choose to return to the old ways of the Enclave, our current inventory will be unable to defend our merchants and hundreds of NCR citizens will die while thousands more lose their livelihoods. All of these powers also have the ability to greatly increase their threat to us in the near future. The Republic of Texas has a pre-war battleship on their doorstep and the technological know-how to build a fleet of partially-automated warships that could spell doom for any task force we could deploy to the region. Delmarva could make moves to close off the Chesapeake, which would in turn provide them the Norfolk Naval Base and a massive inventory of pre-war weapons, ships, and build slips. Finally, the pre-war computer at Fort Bragg has already demonstrated a willingness to attack outsiders without provocation, meaning we can no longer guarantee the safety of any commerce near pre-war military installations.”

A new slide appeared on the screen. “This brings us, at long last, to our proposal. With the results of our study indicating that our fleet of aging vessels lack the range, fuel, or armament to engage current and future threats, we contacted the Shi for potential solutions. Our solution, reached with the assistance of the shipyards at Long Beach, Hunters Point, and Mare Island, is to introduce three new classes of warships.” He indicated the screen. “These are the current renderings of the proposed classes. All three will be designed for operations both near home and far from our coastline. The largest will be the Oregon Class of cruisers. Operating on nuclear generators manufactured by the Shi and built at Hunters Point, they will be armed largely with missiles to engage aircraft and enemy ships. The next will be the Vegas Class of Destroyers. They will also operate on nuclear generators manufactured by the Shi and will be built at the Mare Island shipyard and will be armed with a combination of missiles and guns to engage aircraft and ships, as well as land targets. Finally we will have the Boulder City class frigates. Operating on nuclear generators from the Shi and built by the Long Beach shipyard, they will be armed with missiles and guns. Presently the timeframe has the first ships being laid down in 2295 and entering service in late 2297 and early 2298. We aim to have all ships in service by 2310.”

Rickman stared at the Secretary. Not only was the Navy not going to reconsider his far superior proposal but they had gone so far as to fully develop their own program with the Shi and the major shipyards. “Mr. Chairman,” he said, “can I have the floor?” The Chairman nodded and Rickman turned to the Secretary. “Mr. Secretary. This same issue had been brought up to this very committee ten years ago and a solution had been reached. As many here know, I was one of the authors of that bill that the Navy opposed. So why is it that now the Navy has not only reversed its course but has gone through the trouble of making a new proposal?”

“Economics, Representative Rickman,” was the polite reply. “Your proposal from ten years ago would have exacerbated our issues. The ships proposed in your bill would have required three to four times the manpower and were still powered by coal fired boilers. If we cannot fuel our smaller ships, how would we be able to fuel those much larger, longer ranged ships?” The other members of the subcommittee nodded while Rickman replied, “The coal mines of Arizona, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, Montana, and North Dakota. If we couldn’t trade for them, we could take them by force.” This time, the Admiral responded. “That represents the primary flaw in your proposal. In order to make it work, the funds and materials that would be used to build the ships would instead be devoted to the wars needed to secure the fuel needed for ships that we could then no longer afford to build. These ships will not require the highly coveted coal fuels and will be far more effective than any previously proposed vessel. I assure every member of this committee that if we had any doubts whatsoever about this proposal, we would not have brought it before you today.”

The hearing continued for several more hours before being called. Three days of debate in the House followed before a vote. The vote was close, 322 to 310, but the Navy’s part of the act passed.