Into the Wasteland

Prologue

First lieutenant Joseph McGee slowly made his way across the bar, under his arm a slightly battered folder. His dark green coat with golden shoulder tassels worn open over a bullet proof vest, complete with a matching dark green beret with gold trim marked him as military and every pair of eyes on the bar were always keeping him within sight, or maybe it was the heavy portable computer worn around his wrist that attracted their eyes. Necessary for military operations this far out as it was, it never failed to draw attention from the worst crowds and none of the men and women in her seemed even slightly concerned about his side arm that he intentionally left visible and within arm's reach, probably because most of them already had weapons in hand as they usually did when a military type entered this bar, one good eye scanned the bar as he moved slowly, rubbing the stubble on his chin nervously with a gloved hand. The bar was a ramshackle looking structure, constructed mostly from sheets of metal bolted harshly to one another and covered half-heartedly by dark coloured paints. None of the furniture matched, each barstool was slightly different and in varying stages of decrepitude. The various tables where a mixture of dining room, patio and hand made with the booths built into the walls being the only things with any constancy. The lighting was quite poor, only a few ceiling lights hung around managing to illuminate the interior, but the patrons did not seem to mind. The bar itself was quite nicely crafted from hardwood with more polished metals holding sections together. Behind the bar, a collection of various spirits and ales were displayed in a cabinet, beside which was a sign that read: Thieves will be used to paint the wall. The message was written in what seemed to be blood and it was effective it seems, as the bartender was currently absent but no one, not even the tougher looking guys and gals at the bar dared to try. McGee took a minute to get what this meant, only connecting the dots when he saw the dark reddish colours on the wall behind him, as well what looked to be tiny shrapnel holes.

He had to keep his wits about him here like he would in any hostile environment, there was a long history of unpleasantness between the Government Remnants and the Waterbase. In fact, when McGee himself was a private he was part of a 200-man attack force that sought to level the bar after an explosive ordnance attack had failed. Despite a ramshackle appearance to the bar, it was quite sturdy and apparently had means to counter military hardware in the form of stollen military hardware. Of the 200 troops sent to attack the bar, McGee was one of the 19 survivors when his captain called a cease fire. It turned out that the mercenaries who came here to find work, wet their whistle, or get their rocks off where very protective of their haven, even competitors banded together to fight for the place. The troops never even made it inside. McGee was injured and evacuated with several other injured troops, most of whom died from their wounds, so did not witness the cease fire and signing of peace treaties that followed and as much as this place made his skin crawl, he was thankful that they were not officially enemies, the only person in the bar that did not have a gun ready was the proprietor of this property, Karren and her word was law inside these walls. She made it clear no merc in here was to make the first move against army types, that so long as he behaved.

McGee's eye finally trained on his target. He was thankful for the peace because these mercenaries where useful to the army. In total, this bar saw about 400 regulars over the course of a fortnight and each of them knew the region like the back of their hand. They did good work and where cheap enough as most would take ammo and food as payment, handy because McGee's people were sat on piles of both. Often an emissary was sent to hire a few mercs to fill out a squad, unfortunately troop causalities meant the army was shrinking fast and with the commanders being unwilling to send untrained men and women into the wasteland much to the president's dismay, mercenaries where a good means of buffing up a squad. Some of them where worth a handful of trained soldiers on their own, it was a useful resource. This was why McGee had come here today. It was in fact, his first time personally coming out to the place, and after just five minutes inside breathing the unpleasant, moist air and enduring the smell of stale bear and questionable local foods, not to mention the death glares the patrons were shooting his way he could see why other commanders disliked the place. If he could have avoided it, he would have.