I wandered over here by chance...

I stepped into this by chance, too...

And now I. am. hooked.

My salute to you, Dracth. You know the background, the mindset, the routine of the modern warrior. And you've combined this with a solid - heck, sometimes more than solid, sometimes brilliant - sense of plotting and a sense of the poetic as well.

I shall be watching this thread.

Miers, lying prone against the edge of the rooftop, looked into his scope. Those Enclave thugs were disciplined, he gave them that. Single-file lines, coordinated fire, and simultaneous movement. They had been trained, that much was certain. And it seemed like they were moving something, or getting ready to, as one of them tapped commands into a keypad on an automated dolly, which also seemed to-

Wait.

Yes.

It was him. It was him. The face. That damned, brutish face. The one with his rifle lowered, gesturing and ordering the rest of the squadron. It was him.

The man who murdered Kacinzky.

The man who Miers was going to murder.

It is a unique thing, to be a sniper. It is akin to being a god. Not a Judeo-Christian God whose reach is unlimited, but like one of the members of an archaic pantheon. He could not create mountains or drain oceans, but here, through this tube of glass, he was the almighty God of Death. Ender of lives. History would be changed by what he chose to make appear through those sights. Whether he let his mark run off, or ended him here. With a twitch of his finger, his bolt of lightning could be thrown from his perch on high, splattering that son-of-a-[censored]'s brains all over the ground. This battered rooftop was his olympus. It is a unique thing, to be a sniper.

But to be a succesful sniper, a loaded weapon is a prerequisite. As he squeezed the trigger, he heard the heartrending sound, the half-a-second cacophony that had ended so many tales. The metal click of an empty weapon. In retrospect, he hadn't taken the time to reload his weapon, and he certainly wouldn't have left his post while his weapon had live rounds in it, so it made sense. But that didn't help Miers when he was so infuriated that he had to bite back the urge to throw the damn rifle at the Enclave soldier. Making a valiant effort to speak whilst grinding his teeth, Miers said,

"McLaren. You see the big squad leader?"
"In the middle? Yes, sir."
"Take him out."

The knight was trained. He didn't know why Miers wanted the squad leader dead, but a Paladin wanted that man dead. And that meant, that man was going to die. McLaren aligned his sights with the squad leader's temple. He had been kind enough to provide a full profile of his left side to Joey, and Knight McLaren was hoping to get a 10-point left-to-right shot directly through this man's skull. So long, Mr. Bear. We hardly knew ye. He squeezed the trigger, and his rifle cracked off a shot.

Merrison turned his head back to Jacobs. "ETA on that dolly, Jacobs?". He didn't wait for a response. A bullet had whizzed by his head so close his hair had felt the breeze that followed it. Years of combat had taught Vladimir what that meant. And lo, he saw a still-cooling hole in the dirt.

"SNIPER! TRENCHES, GO!"

Squad FC's collective thought was melded together for one brief moment. Sniper. Trenches. Don't die. The power-armored soldiers took great, pounding strides and leapt into the trenches, lying against the wall of it to get as much cover as possible.

"Where'd it come from?"
"Buildings. The ones parallel to us. FC, sound off."

A chorus of 'All set' 'No damage' and 'All fine's were given as a reply. Merrison looked around. If they didn't get that scanner, this whole mission was a failure. But if they couldn't get the scanner on to the dolly, and the dolly into the trenches, they wouldn't be moving the scanner. And for those two tasks, their ease of performance was vastly decreased when the work force comes under sniper fire.

"Any ideas on how to move the scanner, now's the time to spitball."
"Sir?" Jacobs looked at the staff sergeant. A decent rifleman, Jacobs' true gift was technology. He understood it, and it understood him.
"Well, if I can get a few energy cells, I can pry 'em open, get the magnesium out of them, and rig a sort of flashbang. Only, it'll have no bang, but a hell of a lot more flash."
Ssgt. Merrison nodded and popped open one of his pistol compartments. Taking the two power cells out of that compartment, he handed them to Jacobs. Nicole gave up a clip from her laser rifle, and Jacobs used two of his own clips. Taking a screwdriver from his tool satchel, he began prying open the clips. With the precision and care of a surgeon, Jacobs took one the frag grenades from his belt, and, as FC watched in a kind of communal 'Please-don't-blow-us-all-to-hell', he took out the components of the frag and poured the magnesium into the grenade shell.

"All ready, sir. Two things. First, we need to get up there to throw it. Second, I need a bait to be ready. I don't think the scanner will be on the dolly properly before that flare is gone." Merrison thought for a moment.
"Henderson. You're throwing the flare. O'brian, you're the bait. Be ready if Jacobs needs you." Nicole nodded grimly. Jacobs added in,
"Alright, Henderson, take this-" he said, handing his squadmate an 'E-Z Strike' match, "right before you throw it, light the match, drop the match in the flare, and whip it. You've got about a second before it blinds you, so get that thing in the air ASAP."
"Copy that. Throw it fast. Got it." Henderson nodded. "Staff sergeant? One other thing, how are we getting up there without getting wasted?"
"Stay here."

With that, Merrison ran along the trench, making sure to stick to the wall. Clutching a massive green-yellow wrist that grotesquely hung off the edge of the land above the trench, Merrison grunted as he exerted his muscles which, with the assisted strength of powered pistons and servos in his power armor, dragged a super mutant corpse into the trench. Dragging it back to them, he pointed at it.

"You'll be behind me, and I'll be behind this." Henderson refrained from commentary.
"On my mark. 3. 2. 1. Mark."

With the pistons in his boots working overtime, Merrison made a jump, holding his inhuman shield, clearing the wall of the trench. He fell forward on the mutant body to prevent himself from losing his balance and falling back into the trench. Raising the mutant corpse as he regained his footing, Henderson was behind him in a flash, crouch-walking behind the unorthodox cover.

Miers watched as the soldier moved closer to the building, clutching that bulky super mutant corpse. McLaren said, weakly, "I can't get a shot." Miers said nothing, as there was nothing to say. McLaren knew that the only thing he could do was watch, and hope that a shot presented itself. Following them with his rifle, he silently prayed for an exposed patch of skin, a simple weak point where he could place hot, lead-based destruction.

Henderson struck the match. As easy as the brand promised. Holding up the grenade, he dropped the match in, wound his arm back, and as pinpricks of white light began to emerge, it sailed toward the building where two rifle barrels hung over the edge.

Clutching their eyes, Sharps Outpost was a mass of intense white light and profanity. Loud, angry profanity. Jacobs mounted the wall, and he forgot every word in the english language save for one phrase. I will not die. I will not die. I will not die. I will not ****ing die. The robotic dolly's spindly arms grasped the large scanner and placed it on it's square platform slowly, while Jacobs had nothing to do but watch the invisible clock tick off the seconds of his life that he imagined would be his last, and to curse this damned robot for murdering him with it's slothlike pace. It had begun hovering towards the trench when the magnesium burned up it's last stores. As the sniper team rubbed their eyes, they crawled back to their position.

The mutant corpse lay on the ground, unmanned, as Merrison and Henderson had doubletimed it back to the trench. O'brian looked up, saw the snipers re-aligning their aim, and preparing to fire. And all she could think of as she climbed the wall of the trench and raised her rifle was Just my god-damn luck.

McLaren wasn't sure who this fellow by the dolly thought he was, but he was sure that he was about to drill that svcker with a .308 holepunch. As his finger wrapped around the trigger, a blade of red energy lanced by him, causing him to flinch and miss his shot. Just one shot. Give me one ****ing shot! McLaren thought, as his adrenaline brought with it plenty of instinctual rage. Turning to fire at the source of the energy beam, another two bolts of energy flew by him. He aimed the rifle deadcenter, and let loose.

The bullet pinged off of O'brian's armor, ricocheting into the dirt with plenty of leftover force. As Jacobs and the dolly entered the trenches, O'brian dove back into the trench, ignoring the scraqes that accompanied it. That round had been mostly absorbed by the armor, but she was fairly certain she had some internal damage. It felt like, well, it felt like her whole chest was going to collapse and she would die right there, but when she forced herself to evaluate it, it felt like at least one broken rib.

The soldiers of Foxtrot-Charlie trudged back to base in silence that night, th only sound was the soft whir of the repulsor lifts on the robotic dolly as it carried the scanner they had fought so hard to recover. They kept their guard up for the remainder of the trek back to the Capitol Building, but each and every one of them was exhausted from a combination of the immense emotional intensity of combat, the fading of massive pumpings of adrenaline, and the physical exertion that had let them do what they had needed to do. It had been a long, long night.

Epilogue

Miers sat in silence. McLaren, too, was quiet. The murderer had escaped. They had tried, but they had failed. That was alright. McLaren had tried his hardest, and Miers appreciated that he had done so. But he was not truly surprised. No, there was only one person that could, that would, kill this murderer. And it was Miers. And if he had to wait a day, a week, a month, or a year, he would do it. For he was no longer just a sniper. He was a detective. A warrior. A justicar. And he could wait in the shadows for as long as he needed to. He would track down Kacinzky's killer, and he would succeed. For he is the shadow of justice that shall follow this murderer to the ends of the Earth. For he is the darkness. And the darkness is patient.

A few mistakes there, soldier.

Miers aligned his sights with the squad leader's temple

You mean McLaren.

svcker with a .309 holepunch

You mean .308

Otherwise, excellent job, soldier. But you may have heard the phrase "Even a good soldier goofs up on lack of sleep". Don't overdo it, OK?

:D

Edits to be made after I finish this reply. I started working on this at 12:15ish my time, and got it out at about 1:08, so yes, sleep has been replaced with writing. However, I just feel so racked with guilt that my chapters are so few and far between that I just feel like, c'mon man, I have a responsibility to put something out here for you guys! And to you personally, D., your comment just made me feel so proud as a writer that I figured it was a good time to write a chapter I had planned out. I'm actually a sophomore in high school, so your comment about getting into the mind of the modern soldier was really encouraging.

Alright, off to edit this bad boy!

Epilogue >stares in horror< .... that's it? That's all? NOOO!!!

Well, anyways, it would be swell if there are more, and well, by the way it is, I think that you have planned everything out? Hopefully will see something more!

Oh, no. It's not an epilogue to the entire story. It's simply an epilogue to this story arc. The last three posts have been one story arc, and the last one posted was the end of that three-part chapter. This is not the end of Letters From The Mall. Sorry to cause any confusion.

Great job. Really.

The operator sat down at his post, the scanner array. With it's newest attachment, they could divine whether this entire expedition had been in vain. Colonel Warren stood behind him, staring at the screen intently as the young tech calibrated the many different settings of the scanner. It hummed a gentle whir as he set up the parameters of it's scan; from the far end of The Mall, all the way back to their position. If what they had come for was here, they'd know within the hour.

Merrison sat on his cot, looking down the sights of his rifle. When was the last time he'd had a chance to give it a fine tuning? He thought back to before their mission. A mission that came along just like so many before it, and like so many before it was expected to go fine and, naturally, veered off course. But this one... he lacked the words to explain it. Never before had so much time passed in such a short period of time. It made no sense, and yet that was all he could think to himself, sitting in his tent, looking down the sights.

Pvt. Wallace walked from the general infantry tents. She must be a lisbian. Her loss.

McLaren tapped his rifle barrel in a slow, thoughtful beat. Another day.

Azruhkal gripped his cane as he walked unsteadily, still recovering from the horrendous beating that insolent super mutant had doled out to him.

Miers cleaned the separate, disassembled parts of his sniper rifle. Laser rifle next, and then the pistol.

The corpse of a ghoul bodyguard sat still, as it had since it's decease. The quiet of the room was pervading, with it's only occupants being two corpses that could decay no further in death than they had in life.

Gunnery Sergeant Mack hollared, "Cover!" but the initiate wasn't quite fast enough. Hardened rubber training rounds pounded his back in a barrage of simulated gunfire. That'd leave a mark. Or twelve.

Henderson stared at the wall of his tent. That pilot. Ripped to shreds. His very body torn limb from limb by simple, primal cruelty. It was terrible. Why had it needed to happen? Why couldn't they have simply... not done it?

Ripper paced back and forth. Disgusting hovel, the lot of it. His troops continued to accrue, but that did not ease the burden of waiting.

The Knight who guarded the outer entrance to the monument on the right took a cigarette from the Knight on the left. Lighting it, he inhaled. As he coughed, he handed it back. Helps the nerves, my ass.

And Colonel Warren watched the screen, as numbers and codes and data of all kind streamed across the screen whilst the operator typed, paused, and would respond to the sensor array's prompts and queries. He stopped typing for a moment and looked up at the colonel. "It's there, sir. We found it. Primary objective is under the Washington Monument."
"Good news, at last. Thank you, son."

Warren turned and walked towards the communications suite. He had a report to make, and an attack to plan.

:ahhh: <---- This is me running around in complete joy from reading this whole thing before signing in. It took me AGES; great work Dracth, really great work, I loved it and still do. Continue writing!

Dracth, may I give you some friendly advice?

I know the feeling of having your readers disappointed with you for not posting. After all, I am a writer myself.

But it is better to take some time to do things right, than to rush something half finished.

Your last post...need I say more...?... was rushed, and it looks more like the notes for a chapter than the real chapter.

Do your exams, kiss your girlfriend, and your mum, pet and walk your dog, talk to your homies, and THEN write and if you don't like what you write, leave it until you have time to go over it again.

You will be a better writer for that.

I don't know, I really kind of liked this short little "this is what the rest of the story arcs are up to" montage. I often read these stories as if I'm watching a very good and epically long movie. And this little bit really would have fit in well after the end of one of those story arcs.

They add little bits of personality as well, and also foreshadow very well the things to come... (Still waiting to find out exactly what the Enclave is looking for!)

And, of course, your own life does come before this. I'm a senior and currently applying to colleges while juggling football and school, so I'd never be able to keep something like this up.

Good job, and keep up the amazing work.

Well, the decision to make it a 'montage' kind of chapter was a snap decision, yeah, but the story itself was supposed to be a quick wrap up. Originally, the entire chapter was going to be the text from the sensor array screen, but when I realized that 1) It'd be a paragraph long, and 2) I couldn't do it without going back into my normal style of writing, which kind've ruins the novelty of writing from a different literary perspective. I'm actually happy with the quality of that chapter, just not the length of it. If, however, that really is a major turn-off for readers, I'll do my best to keep the chapters long-ish.

Any notes on grammar/writing getting better/worse?

Also, muchos gracias, Terducken, I appreciate the compliments just as much as the criticisms! :mohawk:

Lol, I was just strolling the thread when I saw "Warren"
Did you get it from the DoTW? or is it just a coincidence?

amazed that you're still keeping it going, thumbs up!

DoTW? I'm afraid I don't know what that is, but regardless, thank you for the support, and I hope that this story continues to earn it!

DoTW = The Defenders of The Wastes, clicky in my sig
But yeah, keep it up

Doh! No, I've read a fair bit of Defenders, I just didn't make the connection. I thought you were talking about a video game or something. My synapses seem to be suffering friendly fire!

Awesome..just epically awesome.Thry to get more in,I just finished reading them all,and i am impressed.

"Stop the vehicle, boy."

Lieutenant James Thaddius Whitmore Krath pressed his foot on the brake, and their all-terrain ground to a halt. He hated his middle name, all of them. His father wasn't one to stick to societal norms, whether or not society was still around to provide norms at all. Turning his head, he looked at the man in the passenger seat.

"General, we can't-"
"Quiet, boy. I am a hunter. First and foremost, I must hunt. So if I see prey, I will track it, and I will kill it. You know this."

The lieutenant sighed as loud as he dared in the presence of his CO, while the man got out of the All-Terrain Wheeled Transport. It was nothing more, truly, than a truck with a little armor plating and a few basic modifications letting it handle the rough terrain of the wasteland, but the Enclave had a bizarre fascination with naming each and every one of their toys. The senior officer leaned into the truck, taking from the side of the seat a magnificently-maintained rifle. It had oak panelling, with a Yao-Guai tooth pointed forward on each side of the underbelly of the barrel. The one marring of the weapon was the immense number of notches along the left side of the wooden stock.

Bringing the rifle butt to his shoulder, the man fired a single shot, and the once-approaching figure of a fiercesome rabid dog slumped forward, the last bits of it's momentum sending it sliding into the dirt. Looking towards it, a satisfied smile crept across the hunter's face. His aide put his hand on the general's shoulder. "Sir, the Expeditionary Forces are expecting us. We'll be late."

The general turned, his head upturned ever-so-slightly. He looked on past the lieutenant, whilst still addressing him.

"For God's sake, boy. You are a Krath. We are never late. Our arrival is dictated by our will, no one else's."
The lieutenant nodded, suppressing a sigh. "Yes, sir."

Brigadier General Theodore Tyberius Krath climbed back into the passenger seat of the transport. He had hoped that making his son his aide, he'd have been able to teach him the importance of their line, but it certainly was not something done over night. Clearly.

As they drove in silence, Theodore reviewed the situation. When he wasn't mired down with the business of making sure the many remote bases of the Enclave were functioning in accordance with regulation, he liked to get into the field. Whether it was hunting beasts, or fighting men, it was all a grand game to him. While he'd have loved to stay at Colonel and keep an active field commission, it would not have been acceptable for a Krath to stall amongst the grunts. They were natural leaders, after all. It certainly wasn't something you could just grow into overnight, certainly not. You were born a leader, or a follower. The only factor that remains afterward is how well you do that which you are born.

He looked up. He could see it. The mass of wide buildings radiating a palpable sense of man's fear and hatred and defeat.

Oh, this was going to be fun.
---------------------------
Two Hours Later
---------------------------

"Alright, everyone. Stay sharp. Here they come."

The sensors had picked them up as they entered The Mall, and their human spotters eyed them shortly after. Brigadier General Krath had made their outpost his newest pasttime. Stories of Krath were common amongst the Enclave. No one denied that he was arrogant, but he was also bold. And the mix of strength and cunning needed to back it up. He made no effort to hide his love of big game hunting. Probably got a great deal of pride out of it, too.

The outpost had sent out a patrol to escort Krath and his aide to the encampment, and they waited tensely as the transport reached the front of the capitol building. One of the privates nodded at something the patrol leader said and got into the transport after the two visitors had disembarked from it, and drove it around to the back of the Capitol Building.

The general was the vision of the civilized hunter. Walking up the bleak, rubble-strewn steps, his face was regal and proud, his signature hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

As they arrived at the outer perimeter, Warren, flanked by Merrison and O'Brian, jogged out to meet them. He stopped, formally saluting the Brigadier General, and his flankers followed suit. Krath returned it non-chalantly, while somehow managing to retain his air of superiority. His aide, the lieutenant and son of the Brigadier General, returned the salute respectfully.

"General, Lieutenant. We're glad to see you made it to the camp without incident. If you'll follow me-,"
"Certainly, Colonel." The Brigadier General briskly walked with towards the camp, and Warren had to use a restrained burst of speed to keep up with him.
"You both must be rather exhausted. General, I, of course, invite you commandeer my quarters as needed. And I'm sure we have a cot for you as well, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir."
"Indeed, Colonel. I'm obliged. I would first, however, like to discuss something of great import with you. You don't suppose your men here could help my aide find his quarters, do you?"
"Certainly, sir."

Warren nodded at Merrison, and O'Brian caught it as well. Gently placing a hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder, she said, "This way, Lieutenant." and the three walked off towards the barracks.

Warren and Krath walked towards Warren's command tent. Looking inside, they found it empty.

"Warren, I assume you know why I picked your expedition for my tour."
"I have an inkling, sir."
"Speak."
"I assume the general knows that we've found the primary objective under the Washington Monument, and is curious to know what exactly that entails, sir."
"No wonder you're in a command, Warren. Well, you're right. So, now that we're clear, I want to know. What is it that you found?"
"A way to survive, sir."

Warren looked at the general. Everyone knew that numbers were scarce. There was no infrastructure for a population to grow in. Your army was whoever you got to follow you, and the best you could do to keep them fed was split up the food you pillaged. The Enclave had more organization than that, of course, but it didn't change the fact that they simply weren't able to produce the numbers needed to maintain a war machine. Until now. Warren continued,

"Sir, our technicians found records of a facility that had previously been considered nothing more than a rumor. It was a facility dedicated to working on a process that was entirely experimental. However, these records indicate that the process was finished. Perfected. Within two weeks of the bombs falling. It never got a chance to be used, but we now believe it exists."
"Where is this facility?"
"According to our scanners? Below the Washington Monument. If records are correct, it's radioactive-neutral, and lined with enough steel to withstand a direct hit and then some."
"Good, good, but Colonel, you still have yet to explain just what exactly this mysterious place is."

Warren took a step away from the table that they stood at, looking Brigadier General Krath in the eyes.

"A cloning facility, General."

Oh my god! The Clone Wars begin! Send in the droids!!!!!!

Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, wiseguy.

O.M.G!

I just had to read 3 pages of this to catch up! God I missed this story while I was gone. I even can see that Cory did miss my...though he misspelled my name! >:( (j/k)

Also, you said you were a Sophomore? That means you'd be a Junior now...just like me! Who says teens can't write, eh?

Ah, actually, I'm a Sophomore now. When I started Letters last April I was deep into my Freshman year. Glad you're liking the story! Of course, it wouldn't hurt if you gave ME a little extra to catch up on over in Redemption, eh?

Awesome, as always. Had to read past 3 pages, just like Fuzzy, but it was well worth it!

Glad you're enjoying it! :mohawk:

Honestly, I like this story more than Redemption...