West Coast Brotherhood Aerial Expeditionary Force – Across the Midwest

The overflights were the first step.

The standard operating procedure was simple, a take-off and rapid ascent to 12,000 metres, optimal surveillance level it had been decided in a dawn flight. Low enough to enable the best pictures to be taken, and high enough to avoid notice, and if noticed, to be likely dismissed as a bird. After all it was reasoned, in the centuries since the great war, who kept their eyes on the skies for aircraft? Not since the Enclave had there been any continent-wide flights on a semi-regular basis. That and it was noted that the Cult’s airspace defence measures were, as ongoing black-op raids and surgical strikes had gathered, non-existent for the time being.

The surveillance gathered revealed a bevy of actionable data for the entire warfront, cult troop movements enabled a thorough review of possible future offensives in the vein of deep battle operations. The possibility was raised in the Western Brotherhoods staff elements of a single offensive dislocating an entire warfront of the cult all the way through to its rear echelon areas. It was ultimately decided to forward the proposals over to the Midwestern and Legionary staff elements at the central command in the SAC bunker where the central command node had been established.

Whilst feedback on a potential deep battle offensive was awaited, the Western Brotherhood general staff plotted the opening stages of the “Public” aerial campaign. The original plan of a swift and massive bombing campaign was, following intelligence from midwestern briefings following the arrival of the aerial expeditionary force, found to be both logistically over-confident for the moment, and also a threat to future joint operations. In particular, Dayton was removed from targeting lists following confirmation of allied elements having established themselves in the settlement. This change in course had resulted in much grumbling from the general staff, more used to unilateral action.

The watchword of the day however, was multilateral action, and with that in mind the general staff had settled on an in-depth series of reconnaissance flights and intelligence sharing. Following this series of missions and subsequent reflection, a new war-plan was devised. A series of staggered aerial bombardments in which the entirety of the western brotherhoods aerial expeditionary force was concentrated on a single settlement in turn, over the course of two months rather than week. This would allow a stockpile to be built up for missions, until such time as the logistical networks could be connected properly.

And so, days turned to night turned to days and come the approach of the dusk, the first great raid of the Western Brotherhood’s Aerial Expeditionary Force took flight. From dawn until midday, the work had begun, moving planes from hangars to their waiting bays, munitions rolled in and loaded up and pre-flight checks undertaken. Then, at the stroke of midday and lined up upon the runways of Peoria Airbase, macro-fusion engines were initiated and away they went. Up and up to their maximum flight ceiling, and in tandem with forward operational directions by a special forces team on the ground, they were guided to their target.

The route selected involved cutting over the 69th highway between Indianapolis and Fort Wayne and then over the 75th. Overflying primarily rural country to avoid any possible spotters in place in Cult lands. It was felt that with the relatively recent conquest of this area, that most of the Cult’s focus would be controlling the major settlements and roads, and thus plans were drawn accordingly. On and on they went, deeper into enemy territory until at last, they were in line for their bombing runs.

Down and down the aerial force descends, lower and lower to increase the accuracy and effectiveness of the run. The radios become saturated with the voices of the bombardiers as they align their sights and order corrections on aircraft bearings and altitude. And below, as the land was bathed in the red rays of a setting sun, with the city swaying in the growing autumn breeze that promised respite from the hot summer heat of the weeks before, the first bombs were dropped.

The munitions for the Columbus raid comprised a mix of microfusion cell clusters, plasma grenade clusters, mini-nuke clusters and phosphorous based incendiary cluster bombs. The mix of weaponry saturates the centre of Columbus, igniting a thousand fires across the city in the space of a few minutes. The fires took only a few minutes more to gather into conflagrations spanning what passed for city blocks in the shell of Columbus. All of this was a mere opening movement to the infernal symphony that would become known as the Scouring of Columbus.

Following the great war, and with the lack of “Modern” building methods, most methods of repair involved patchy repairs of structures utilising whatever could be found. Production of concrete and metal was, as the decades had worn on, forgotten and replaced instead by the more readily available material of timber that grew in abundance in the countryside surrounding the many settlements scattered across the wasteland. Further fuel for the fires was, quite literally, the firewood gathered and stored in abodes across Columbus in preparation for the harsh winters that seized and froze the region each year. Added together with the previous summer heat that had dried out the city and aided in their spread by westerly winds, so it was that the flames rose higher and higher across the city of Columbus.

Roaring and screaming across the city, the inferno sucked in the air towards it in monstrous gasps, hungry for air and burning out in search of more tinder to devour. And as night blanketed the Midwest, for Columbus, there was no night, only the fire. Inside the city, panic reigned across Columbus, all viewed ahead by the progenitors of this act of fiery carnage. The West Coast brotherhood’s planes circled the city, intentionally seeking to try and create an updraft from their motions, and all the while occasionally dropping munitions and unloading bullets into the city below them to stoke the panic of the cultists below and distract them from any attempts at firefighting.

At last, satisfied with their work, the Brotherhood circled one last time and left, leaving behind a long night of terror for those behind them. And come the morning sun, a sight came to greet those who rose with it within and without the former settlement of Columbus. All that was left were the charred remains of the buildings and denizens of the targeted settlements melting into one another. A swirling firestorm had been unleashed upon the city, a pillar of smoke billowed into the air for dozens of miles around as the embers hissed and cracked as they died away. The flames had now grown out of control, beyond the ability of any possible actions to contain them without a massive directed effort. Such an effort did not come, shell-shocked and strangled by the fire and the smoke, Columbus burned.

Boston Commons - The Commonwealth

Swan. Swan is swan. Swann is me. Me is swan.

Swan felt the cool water around him as he sat motionless in his pond. The water was still, and he could nearly feel every vibration that rippled through it. When a mongrel lapped up the water desperately in a feverish thirst, he could hear it. When a human dipped a toe in intent on grabbing some piece of flotsam for salvage: he could feel it. Many creatures wandered into the commons and though he could frequently hear their footsteps skirting his refuge; he would never emerge unless they disturbed his pond. He wanted quiet, he had to concentrate. Concentrate on something he knew he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be Swan. He had to remember: he was Swann.

Something was coming from far off now, he could feel the vibrations of the ground below him. A great rumbling was headed towards his pond. Hopefully the noise would go away. He didn’t want to fight now. He just wanted to rest and be Swan. Briefly the noise broke him from his almost meditative state, but he returned quickly enough to focus back.

Me is Swan. Swann. Swan.

You are Edgar Swann.

Swan opened his eyes. There was that voice again, gnawing like a worm at the back of his mind. Who was it? Why did it always bother him? A memory flashed across his mind, only briefly. He remembered being small: much smaller. The size of a human. He was sitting. Sitting in a bright room. His arm ached. He looked to where the pain was coming from, and something was in his arm. A sharp pain and something protruding from him. It was called a needle, he remembered.

The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.

Yes, me is Swan.

Swann.

“Swan,” Swan voiced, bubbles coming from his mouth as he breathed out the words. The rumbling was close now, it was coming towards him. He knew he’d have to fight. Swan would have to become a monster again: kill things so he could keep his pond safe. Swan didn’t like being a monster. Swan just wanted to be Swann.

There were voices now, many voices. Some of them sounded like humans, others sounded different. Swan would have to kill many things today to protect his pond. Why did they not just leave Swan alone?

Swan then felt as something touched his pond. Something had stepped into the water. Swan became angry. How dare they disturb his pond? Touch his water? He had to become a monster once more.

He burst forth from the water, raising his arm high. The heavy anchor he used as a weapon swinging down swiftly onto the thing that had stepped into the pond. It was pulverized instantly. Swan let out a great roar,

“SWAAAAAANNNN!”

-------

“Open fire!” X4-35 gave the order as the Behemoth smashed to pieces the Gen-1 Synth that had been sent in to lure him out.

Every Synth in the vicinity opened fire on Swan. Dozens of blue laser bolts tore through the air and burned scorch marks into the beasts hide and armor. Even under heavy fire the behemoth still rampaged through the commons, smashing Synths left and right. It sent some flying into the air with the force of the impact and others simply pulverized under its makeshift club's enormous weight. X4 looked on impassively as the Gen-1 and Gen-2 Synths fought helplessly against the creature.They were clearly outmatched, regardless of numbers, the Synths simply did not have the firepower to bring the beast down. It was time for a little more firepower. X4 gave a nod and a Gen-3 Synth trooper next to him dropped to her knee and aimed a missile launcher at the beast. An explosive missile burned its way through the air towards Swan, and only a chance defection with his makeshift paddle boat shield spared him the brunt of the projectile’s force. His shield exploded under the impact, and part of his hand was torn off. Swan roared in pain and clutched his wound.

The rebuilt pre-war IFV they’d been traveling alongside rotated its turret towards the Behemoth. X4 made a motion with his hand, and the turret opened up. A single 105mm round punched through the air and struck Swan’s abdomen, tearing into it. A great explosion ripped apart the creatures innards and sent it crashing to the ground, nearly blown in two.

“Swaaannn,” Swan shuddered as his lifeblood drained away rapidly, “Ed-gar...Swann.”

----

X4-35 stepped over a single one of Swan’s arms, even as a corpse the beast was formidable looking. He stared into the painted face of the abomination, it was a disturbing facsimile of a swan’s. X4 suppressed his disgust and opened a channel to the SRB,

“SRB, this is Task Force Aurora. Boston Commons is clear. ”

“Copy that X4. Continue sweep of the area. Secure the perimeter of the Massachusetts State House and surrounding buildings. Await reinforcement from other units.”

----

Inside his quarters Thomas watched watched the monitor array feed closely as legions of Synths battled their way through Boston. Block by block, inch by inch retaking the city from the degradation and decay that had infested it all these years. It would take weeks or even months to clear out the multitude of raiders and mutant warbands that inhabited it, and it would likely be years before the city could be fully scoured entirely of the likes of ghouls and other mutant aberrations. Still though, time was on his side, and he had no shortage of Synths that could be set to the task. For every synth lost, another simply walked off the production line to take its place. The Institute’s resources were expanding considerably each day that past as their operations on the surface increased and the amount of raw material, pre-war tech, and machinery came flooding in, along with the reignition of many pre-war manufacturing and industrial locations.

Visions of the future flooded his mind. Plans for the city and what he might do with all the wealth of technology at his disposal. He would build a new Boston, a true city of the future with The Institute at the helm. Thomas glanced over at the profiles SRB had sent, the ones they’d compiled from the New Vegas meetings.

Perhaps it was time to begin showing others just what that future might be.

High Inquisitor Tektus- The Vessel

Tektus sat upon his throne in the Vessel, pondering what he had seen. Seagoing raiders and trappers weren't unheard of, but this was something on another level, both physically and existentially. That dreadful fleet, composed of ships that shouldn't be afloat and crewed by men that shouldn't be alive, it was unlike anything he had ever beheld. There was no way that such a terrible fleet's intentions were anything but malevolent- even the grisly aesthetic favored by raiders seemed mild compared to the menacing aura that the ships projected.

"High Inquisitor, we are approaching Atom's Island," one of the crew announced on the intercom. "Where do you wish for us to dock?"

"Dock the Vessel at Southwest Harbor, but do not power down the engines," Tektus commanded. "I must first question those manning the harbor before we make our way to the Nucleus."

The submarine slowly and carefully made its way toward the island. They surfaced near Huntress Island, switching from sonar navigation to visual. Without sonar, the fog would have left them almost blind if it weren't for the placement of several radioluminescent beacons placed along the coast to safely guide pilgrims to the harbor. After carefully making its way through toward the harbor, the submarine came to a stop at the pier.

"High Inquisitor, we have docked. We shall await further instructions." Tektus rose from his seat and carefully made his made his way out of the Vessel. As he stepped out onto the docks, he looked at the fog-enshrouded town. It was very early in the morning, with most illumination coming from oil and radium lanterns within the town.

When the Children of Atom found Southwest Harbor, it was inhabited by Trappers, probably either former inhabitants turned feral by Atom's holy fog, or perhaps they were simply squatters that sought shelter. Shortly before the crusade to retake the Capital Wasteland, the Children of Atom seized the harbor, turning it into a hub for Children of Atom pilgrims and supply boats, and a hub for trade with the locals of Far Harbor. So far, this arrangement had proven mutually beneficial with their neighbors- the Children of Atom were able to avoid having to go through Far Harbor on their way to the Nucleus, and the Harbormen had a relatively safe trade route for their fishermen and traders to engage in commerce with the Atom's faithful.

The High Inquisitor was followed out of the submarine by two crewmembers, who began to tie the submarine to the pier. Tektus slowly walked up the docks, unable to get a good look at the state of the harbor through the fog. When he came close enough to get a decent look, he was relieved to see no sign of battle, no evidence of an attack. This was a fairly weak assurance though, he wouldn't be satisfied until he had spoken to someone.

"Who goes there?" shouted a zealot, partially obscured in the fog. She stepped closer, Radium Rifle raised. "Oh, High Inquistor, it is you! Forgive this humble servant, I foolishly assumed that you would head straight to Far Harbor. What do you require of us?"

"Far Harbor? Why would I head to Far Harbor?" Tektus asked curiously. Has something transpired in my absence?" It was by Tektus' decree that peace was established and maintained with the folks of Far Harbor. Tensions remained, however, as it was Tektus himself who, before his change of heart, had preached retribution against them, and it took time for the High Inquisitor to undo his previous mistakes.

"My apologies, High Inquisitor, I once again foolishly presumed you had come to answer their summons. Far Harbor was recently attacked by pirates, and Captain Parker has requested your presence. I don't have the details, but it's urgent enough that they swallowed their pride and asked us for help to summon you here," explained the zealot.

"I received no such message," the High Inquisitor answered. "We were already underway by the time it was sent. But you have my thanks for conveying the message. I shall speak with Captain Parker as soon as I can. Remain vigilant, my child, for I fear we face a new threat." Tektus immediately turned around and walked back to the Vessel, just as the crew had finished tying it to the pier.

"Prepare to cast off, we are setting a course to Far Harbor," he ordered the crewmen. Whatever those pirates did to Far Harbor must have been terrible if it compelled the normally stubborn Harbormen were asking for his help. A few days ago he'd have difficulty imagining what could frighten folks that bravely fend off Fog Crawlers and Super Mutants without flinching, but he didn't need to imagine it, not after seeing it with his own eyes. Atom willing, they would be able to provide him with further information on this mystery fleet.

Indianapolis International Airport - flightline

Paladin-General Wilson pensively watched the Vertibirds, in close formation, lumber down the taxi-way. Overloaded with troops and supplies, vertical takeoff was not an option....to get airborne would require a traditional take-off, with rocket assist. Fortunately, the evolution had been practiced adequately in training. Lancer-Sergeant Kyle, their new member, had not done it in his time with the Eastern Order, but they had enough time to run him through the simulator a couple times and the Squadron Commander was confident he could handle it, given that he had more flight hours in Vertibirds than anyone else in the squadron. If Lancer-Paladin Morgan had faith in Kyle, Wilson was not inclined to question him either.

The Vertibirds reached take-off position, and taxed out onto the runway. the first Vertibird, Morgan's, followed closely by the others in turn, throttled up to full power then once up to speed engaged the rocket motors, sluggishly taking to the air and after jettisoning the expended rocket motors, climbing and circling the airfield. Once all the Vertibirds were airborne, they maneuvered into formation and headed Northeast for Detroit.

"This had better be worth it", Wilson thought grimly. His gut told him Hackett was making the right call, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Many of the men and women he had addressed at the briefings would never return, and he and they both knew it. Wilson also privately resented the leeway Barnaky gave the man, but he had to admit bringing the Lakemen into the Brotherhood had paid off handsomely, so he would just have to deal with it. He then turned to a aide, a young Scribe. "Tell Operations to inform Star-Paladin Hackett that Operation JUBILEE is Go".

"Yes, sir", said the aide, who passed on the order through his headset. He listened to the reply, nodding, then looked back at Wilson. "It is being done, sir", the aide replied. "Operations advises the U-2 is on station over Columbus and the feed is active. The Duty Officer is requesting you return immediately...she believes both you and the Legate need to see what we're getting."

Operations Center - Ten minutes later

Wilson, with a mixture of horror and fascination, watched the feed from the U-2, orbiting 70,000 feet above Ohio, on the main screen of the Operations Center. The video from the aircraft of the inferno below was akin to a vision of hell. He had, of course, been briefed by the Westerners on what they planned to achieve, but to truly understand it, one had to see it....and now he was seeing it happen. A massive firestorm had been ignited in the center of Columbus, and inexorably it spread out, engulfing smaller fires around it like a large blob of mercury absorbing smaller ones to become even larger. Before the Cult War, the Republic's civil government in Columbus would have had great difficulty coping with such a catastrophe, but that civil authority had been swept away by the Cult when they overran the city. The fires were raging completely unchecked, and would likely only be contained once there was nothing left for them to burn. The full story would not be told until the fires burned out and they could see what was left, of course, but the analysts all agreed that Columbus had effectively been destroyed....at a stroke rendering the Cult's victory over the IRD there a pyhrric one....it's only value now, for the foreseeable future, was it's strategic location, astride many of the routes into Cult territory proper. Data was also coming in on enemy troop concentrations, the Scourge of Columbus...already being called that by staffers...seemed to have thrown the lead elements of the Cult horde into disarray. This could also be used to their advantage.

Wilson looked over to the Legate, standing next to him where they had just received the briefing on the initial Bombing Damage Assessment, to see him watching the screen intently just as he had been. Wilson wondered what he thought about it. The Westerners had clearly mastered the principles of Strategic Bombardment, a fact that had long term ramifications for the Legion, and the Midwestern Order as well. While elements of the Pre-War anti-air defense network around the Midwest's larger cities...Chicago, Omaha, St Louis, Wichita...had been at least partially reactivated due to the tensions with Texas over the Hoover Dam War, the Legion had no defense at all to a strategic bombing campaign. The Legate was no fool, Wilson was sure he immediately understood the potential danger. For that matter, he wondered what Barnaky thought. Wilson knew Barnaky was deeply suspicious of High Elder Gladstone's intentions, and whether he really wanted to end the divide between them or not. All he could hope was that Sentinel Haddad and the others they had connected to the Calculator over the years could keep him from doing anything rash, like the early days when he was alone with the Calculator, such as the heavy-handed policies that led to the MLA War.

"Legate", Wilson said, "You had recommended earlier that we resume the march on Columbus without waiting for the Western Order's ground troops to arrive. In light of the effects the Scourge of Columbus is having on the enemy, I believe this to be the best course of action. I propose we resume the advance Eastward immediately."

"Also", Wilson added, "We can fly additional troops into Dayton to reinforce the troops from the Southern column who have moved up there from Cincinnati."

Command Bunker, Ruins of Grissom AFB, near Kokomo, Indiana

Forty feet below the radioactive hellscape that once was Grissom AFB, in a cramped and fetid cable way, a pair of scribes patiently worked, not allowing themselves to be distracted by either the near constant gunfire echoing down both ends of the cable way, or the slow ticking of their own suit's radiation detectors. It would be easier without the power armor, but as the detectors made clear, the rad exposure would kill them in as little as fifteen minutes. So they would have to accept the inconvenience. On the other hand, at least the suits kept the undoubtedly horrid stench out.

After several hours, the scribes completed their work. One of them radioed in the completion of their task to his superiors. He received a curt acknowledgment and then they waited as the now repaired fiber-optic cable was tested. After a few minutes, which seemed to last forever, another message from Command came.

"Objective complete", Command advised. "Secure covers and exfil down the north end of the cable way. Squad Charlie will escort you to extraction point."

With relief, the Scribes secured the heavy metal covers they had opened to access the cable, and once that task was complete they made their way north down the cable way towards the Knights waiting for them at the end. The weapons fire had slacked off, apparently the ferals had tired of throwing themselves at Gatling lasers. As they retreated, looking forward to getting out of this hellhole, the Scribe's leader thought to himself....why the hell does Offut need a landline to the old Site R nuclear C&C facility?

Republic Air Base Anchor Bay (Selfridge ANGB)

"Thanks, Lieutenant", Corporal Winters said as the officer filled his outstretched cup with steaming hot coffee from a battered green thermos. "Any word from the front?"

"We're holding them along Eight Mile", Lt Griffin replied. The boys in Windsor are still holding the bridges....they don't seem to be listening to that traitor Stone anymore, either."

"Bastard!", Winters replied angrily. "Him, too? If I hadn't heard him on the radio myself, I wouldn't believe it! We've been betrayed by our own leadership, what do we do now?"

"Whatever it takes", Griffin replied. "We have to hold out until help arrives."

"Help from whom?", Winters exclaimed. "Half..."

"Corporal!", Greene's voice behind him cutting him off, "you gotta see this!"

Winters turned around, to face Private Green, who was looking out of the small observation post out over Anchor Bay as clouds of smoke billowed over the shoreline.

"What the...", Winters said, as he grabbed the binoculars from the private, "..give me that!" He then began to scan the shore line, just as the first boats ran themselves aground and the landing gates dropped onto the beach. At first, he thought it was the Enemy, but the landing craft didn't look like the cobbled together junk they liked to use....they looked like purpose build landing craft. The Confederation? North Bay?

As the troops surged off the craft, and clear of the smoke, Winters noticed the insignia on the chest of a soldier in power armor and realized it was neither.

It was the Brotherhood. Hundreds of them.

"Shit!", Winters exclaimed as he whirled around and lunged for the field telephone and picked up the receiver. But before he could begin turning the crank, Griffin stepped forward and pushed the cradle back down with his finger. "we've got to call it away, sir....what are you doing?"

"This is not a secure line, corporal", Griffin replied coolly. "The enemy is probably listening to this circuit, and we would prefer this to be a surprise, yes?"

"You knew?", Winters sputtered.

"They contacted us a few hours ago", Griffin said. "I'm here to make sure you two don't do anything....rash." After gesturing at the Brotherhood troops advancing inland, he continued. "Look at it this way...the people who insisted most loudly how we must wage a Cold War against the Brotherhood are the same bastards who sold us out to the Enemy." He then held out his hand to Winters.

"As you said, sir", Winters replied as he placed the receiver in Griffin's hand, "Whatever it takes..."

Legate Aurelius - Brotherhood Command Operations Center

Alongside the Paladin-General, Legate Aurelius of Phoenix watched the feed from the Brotherhood’s device as it soared high above the scene of carnage below. It was destruction and death untold, Mars above..it was nothing less than total devastation: a type not seen since the likes of the Great Fire that had scourged the earth at the command of the God of War. Aurelius was torn between feelings of satisfaction at seeing his enemies so thoroughly burned and purified, and dread at understanding how woefully unprepared The Legion would be if such an action would ever be turned against them. He could tell Paladin-Wilson was facing the same sort of conundrum, understanding that the Western Brotherhood fought with them only at the behest of a likely desire to see their own ambitions realized. What happened when and if the Cult was defeated, and the shield of civilization cast aside by all...would those that held it instead take up new quarrels and disagreements between them? That distinct possibility weighed heavily on both their minds.

Here and now however, Aurelius would no longer question Lucius’s desire to see The Legion embrace the world beyond instead of shunning it. Here was ample proof that to ignore the world was to invite ruination. The Legion would have to embrace the new if it wished to survive, and The Brotherhood might just be willing and able to help them along that path. Aurelius was now determined more than ever to secure that alliance’s future, and in turn, The Legion’s.

"Legate", Wilson said, "You had recommended earlier that we resume the march on Columbus without waiting for the Western Order's ground troops to arrive. In light of the effects the Scourge of Columbus is having on the enemy, I believe this to be the best course of action. I propose we resume the advance Eastward immediately."

Aurelius nodded, “To that end I’ve already sent Legion Explorers ahead to scout the way alongside a vanguard of Recruits to clear a path for the army’s swift advance. They’ll scout out lines of advance and any chokepoints, garrison forward positions, and engage enemy forces only when practical.”

"Also", Wilson added, "We can fly additional troops into Dayton to reinforce the troops from the Southern column who have moved up there from Cincinnati."

“Very good. I will elect to provide a cohort of Legionaries to be deployed alongside Brotherhood troops should you wish it. However, understandably I will focus efforts on my legions’ drive to the east in force.”

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle

Robert breathed a sigh of relief as the vertibird maneuvered into formation over the airfield. He’d never before had to perform a rocket-assisted takeoff. He’d almost requested that he’d be replaced as a pilot in this operation, in lieu of perhaps a more experienced Midwestern counterpart. That was until Lancer-Paladin Morgan had reassured him and moreover placed such unwavering faith in his abilities that Robert’s confidence had been renewed. He was glad it had worked out that way, he wanted to show that his former Order did not train poor verti-pilots, or cowards for that matter. And that he could be as adaptable as any of his Brothers and Sister in the Midwestern ranks. He wanted to carry Maxson’s banner high and proud, if only in spirit. Morgan had helped him achieve that, and he’d be eternally grateful for the Squadron Commander’s trust.

Robert looked out across the open sky as the vertibirds turned Northeast to follow their flight-path to Detroit. The danger ahead weighed on his mind, and the thought of what was to come...well...it unnerved him. He didn’t want to think how many of the men and women that made up this operation would die. Of course he understood that he could very well be among them. But if that was the case then so be it. At least he’d go down in service of something greater than himself. He’d outlived too many of his Brothers and Sisters already.

As he exhaled a heavy sigh, Robert felt a gnawing sensation come crawling in from the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right.

A scene flashed across his memory. A man in a white coat...and himself hooked up to some horrifying chair, implants or needles embedded into his spinal column.

Robert shook his head, trying to get the terrifying image out of his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” His co-pilot looked at him, mildly concerned.

“Nothing. Just about sneezed,” Robert chuckled. The co-pilot laughed. The thought….memory...whatever it had been. Faded as quickly as it had come. Robert soon couldn’t even recall what exactly he’d seen, but the feeling of unease did not disappear so easily.

Santa Fe - Capital of The Legion

Lucius sat at his desk inside his palace pouring over the reports that had come flooding in, both from Legate Aurelius in the east, and the situation in Utah. The Khan Empire, much to his frustration, seemed unable to stem the tide of raiders that now roamed unchecked and unchallenged up and down the old pre-war highways. Salt Lake City had been sacked and tribal raiders seemed to be moving south, perhaps intent on crossing into Legion territory. He’d already dispatched the Tenth Legion to reinforce the Third Legion stationed in the Utah province, but his hope was the Gaius Tranquillus could hold New Ravenna long enough for them to arrive in force. Gaius was a cunning leader, and an experienced commander. Typical of the Legion, his appointment as Military Governor had been earned through meritorious service, not political dealing. Whatever his faith in the abilities of the Governor however, the rapid deterioration of The Khanate’s control over its own territory meant only one thing: The Great Khan had greatly inflated his strength and obfuscated the fractured nature of his state, even more than he’d previously thought.

Lucius had no illusions that the Khans were ever as strong or united as they’d claimed to be, or that they’d be able to stop the tide of a Western Brotherhood or even NCR advance. But he’d counted on the Khanate as at least a reliable buffer state to the North. One that, while they’d been at odds in the past, he’d worked carefully and prudently to rebuild relations with since he’d been elevated to the crimson. The Khan’s failure to safeguard one of the richest and most populous cities under his control was an utter disgrace that now severed that last shred of hope Lucius had in counting on a strong allied state to his north. The fact that Lucius had even defended the Khan at the Santa Fe convention only served to infuriate him more. Lucius now looked the fool for having placed faith in an erstwhile ally turned collapsing nation-state. He knew he had taken a gamble with the Khanate and perhaps been overly optimistic about their chances to regain control, but it had been one he had been willing to risk if it meant ensuring future stability. A strong and friendly Khanate would have been immensely beneficial to him.

Still perhaps this turn of events could be salvaged in some way. Khan controlled Northern Utah had close ties with the Legion, and the New Canaanite presence in parts of it meant that they could count on at least some form of influence in dictating its future. He had not married Hannah because she was a New Canaanite or because she might provide political leverage with them, he’d married her because he’d fallen in love: something that had once been so foreign to him under Sallow. Yet he could not help but feel some measure of satisfaction in knowing that her presence meant a great deal to the New Canaanite people, and so long as she remained his wife and the mother of his children: the New Canaanite would prove a useful friend to his Legion. Aside from that, while the Khanate might have questionable political stability, none could deny that the warriors of the Great Khan were fearsome and skilled in equal measure. For some time now they’d served as auxiliaries in his legions in various campaigns, including the recent war with the NCR. They’d proved their worth time and time again on the battlefield. Perhaps the offer of steady pay, slaves, and lands of their own within Legion territory might tempt these foreign auxiliaries into loyal Legion vassals, from which he could draw a strong core of future legionaries from. If the Khanate collapsed fully, there would be no shortage of such wayward warriors in search of a banner to fight under.

He furrowed his brow then at the next thought that popped into his mind. One which he knew would make things complicated,

Gladstone.

Lucius sat back in his chair in contemplative thought. There was little doubt The Western Brotherhood leader had the same designs on Khanate territory, he’d made that abundantly clear at the Convention: even advocating for outright war to capture as much of the Khan’s territory as he could. He’d have to move carefully if he wished to intercept his supposed ally and prevent everything simply falling into Gladstone’s hands. Part of him hoped he could trust Gladstone as he trusted Barnaky, and worry little if the Khans did fall under Western Brotherhood sway. But the other part of him suspected that Gladstone had ambitions and plans that far outstripped his current means. He’d seen that sort of look many times before: in the eyes of Edward Sallow.

Lucius sighed, at the very least things in the east appeared to be progressing well. Aurelius had sent back news of Indianapolis’ swift capture, and the intent for the Brotherhood and Legion combined force to continue its push east. Aurelius was a rare commander: someone who, if given half the men and forces thought needed to take an objective, would do so without question and without hesitation. He, simply put, found a way to do what needed to be done, even when others might stamp their feet and think it impossible.

So he had given The Legate double the men he himself had thought required. With the eastern flank secured by his Midwestern Allies, the eastern legions were at Aurelius’s disposal. Lucius had utmost faith in his greatest general, and furthermore with the famed Vulpes Inculta at his side: so much was possible. Lucius knew too well however that the enemy they faced would not go down quietly: the end of the Cult would be a horrendous, blasphemous shriek of a death cry.

Caesar Lucius stood up and walked over to the window, observing the modest palace gardens below him, gardens that were tended dutifully by his wife and her handmaidens as a sort of hobby. The flowers there were lovely, perhaps not as grand as might be found in Vegas or even the NCR, but they contained a sort of wild beauty that was harnessed into something equal parts exotic and comforting. His Legion had come far indeed, farther than even Sallow had planned. Yet there was still much to do. As his wife tended the gardens below, he too had been tending the Legion, carefully growing its influence and power, and ensuring it would have deep roots to weather any coming storm. Sallow had laid its foundations, but neglected the structure above, caring not for what happened if he died and caused it all to come crumbling down. Lucius would build a Legion to last the ages. Joining the fight to defeat the Cult was one of many such ways he’d planned to make that happen.

The other was closer and more dear to him. He caught sight of Hannah, his wife, walking amongst the gardens as he knew she loved to do this time of day. She was beginning to show clear signs of her pregnancy, and she’d taken to wearing looser, more comfortable clothing as her belly began to grow. Soon the announcement would be made, and all would know that she was pregnant with his heir. The doctor, her personal physician and a New Canaanite besides, had assured them that she carried a boy. Lucius had been relieved at that. If he'd had only girls, he'd had fought for them to rule in his place, but he knew such a radical change for The Legion would be difficult indeed. A boy made things much simpler. Provided the child survived, he would have an heir to his Empire. A clear line of succession: the start of a dynasty.

Lucius smiled. A strong future for his family, and his people.