Fallout: Connections of Fate

Chapter 9: Deserted

10 Years Ago

Desmond scratched his graying scruff as he squinted through his binoculars. A single bullet whizzed past him, sending him ducking for cover. "Damn it." He fiddled with the focus on the lenses for a moment before sitting back up and peering down over the cliff once more. "I can't see shit through these things. Not built like a good scope." He tossed it to his relatively young faced spotter, who caught it with ease. "Doug, how many are we looking at?"
Doug peered through the binoculars to reveal at least two dozen warriors clad in loose fitting armor and football pads storming across the large concrete barrier halting the flow of the swelling river nearby.
"More shots than could safely take from up here, I'd bet." He removed his bright red beret and wiped the sweat off of his brow with it. "How the hell did they manage to sneak this many guys up on us?"
Desmond shook his head and grabbed the large rifle sitting next to him. "No idea. How many did you say there were?" He cocked he bolt back, making sure a large bullet lay waiting to speed out of the barrel into an unsuspecting attacker.
"A fuckton. We need to pull back farther. Everyone looked like they were headed for Boulder City, probably making a last stand."
Desmond fired over the edge, piercing one of the attacker's large metal helmets, sending bullet fragments and shrapnel into his skull. "The NCR doesn't do last stands, Doug. That implies these skirt wearing assholes can beat us. If sarge heard you, he'd give you laps around the whole of Vegas." He pulled the bolt back and fired again.
Doug rolled his eyes at his brother's attempt at humor and grabbed his rifle before too leaning over he cliff and taking aim on the invaders. As he adjusted the sights to hit a new target, more bullets sprayed back up, riddling the sandy rocks and shaking dust up into his eyes.
"Agh, shit." He groaned as his sibling continued taking pot shots at the enemies below. Doug reached for his canteen and poured it out over his hands before rubbing his eyes clean, all while catching a chuckle from his brother who had stolen a glance while reloading his rifle.
"What's the matter, dust man? Can't take a little grime in the field anymore?" Another bullet whizzed directly in front of his face. It seemed to snatch his toothy grin as it fled by, forcing him back into the situation at hand. He peered back down his scope and chambered another shot. "Hurry up, most of them have made it across. They have the dam, maybe we can lay low here."
Doug's mouth opened to make a remark about the constant shooting up to their rocks and them returning fire, but his left eye began feeing irritated again. He wiped it clean with more water and finally let out a snicker at his spotter's idea. "Dumbass."
They lost track of how long had passed since they had started returning fire, and began to run low on ammunition. Suddenly, the ground shook as a large explosion rocked the air with a mighty sound. Doug was knocked off his feet, bashing his rifle's scope into his other eye while he fell. Desmond gave a short, forced smile before turning to look in the direction of the stone and debris being launched into the air in the distance. He turned to his younger brother. "Boulder is over there."
"Do you think they bombed Boulder?"
Desmond scratched his head through his beret. "They marched an awful lot of people here to bomb one city. I didn't see many explosives on any we took down either." Every few moments his words were accentuated by the ping of another hail of bullets on their rock.
Doug sank behind one of the bigger rocks as the dust from the explosion finally settled. "Even if that wasn't Boulder, an explosion that big on our side can't be good."
On the dam below them, their attackers had began a full retreat, with warriors who crossed with war paint on their faces now running back with hints of panic in their eyes. Both boys continued taking the occasional pot shot as their would-be killers crossed back over the Hoover Dam.
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7 Years Ago

"Listen, Des, I just can't be here anymore. I've had it with the threat of the Legion hovering in the east."
The old soldier sank down in the tent as his former partner's face reddened with anger, in his usual style. Desmond spoke slower than usual in an effort to keep his friend close. "I understand. It's getting everyone here down, but I can't just let you walk. That'd crush morale even further, and Sexton is already having a hard enough time keeping the boys from offing themselves or outright ditching us, which is exactly what you're asking to do."
Doug's face scrunched up, curling his unshaved beard into a dusty mess. Desmond sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "I'd love to let you go. We're in a really shitty situation. Maybe if we got more reinforcements from McCarran we could send you to another camp, but right now we can't spare anyone. You know that."
Doug shook his head, removed his beret, and slammed it on Desmond's desk before turning and storming out of the tent.
His brother called out after him, "You know I'd let you if I could."
There was no response but the fading crunches of the dirt under his comrade's feet.
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The lookout grasped at the arm around his neck as he struggled to breathe. Doug released his grip as the sniper fell to the ground, unconscious. He was already beginning to nod off when he approached, but he had to make sure he wasn't seen leaving the camp. Doug stroked his beard as he gazed over Forlorn Hope for one last time. They really were undermanned, and for a moment he debated staying. Taking a deep breath, he snuck off to the north to try to make his way away from the legion, not daring to go back into NCR territory.