This is my first ever Fallout Fan-fic. I'm hoping it is enjoyable and will accept any feedback on the story. I hope I can get at least a small fan base that will stay tuned the entire time. Anyway let's star my story off, here is a short background, short because most of us should know the background already. And under this is the first chapter.




The War with Caesar's Legion has gone on for four years now. Hundreds of NCR citezens and soldiers have lost their lives to the Legion's wrath. The war is being lost now as Legate Lanius controls his army with more ruthlessness than even the Malpais Legate. The NCR must find a way to bring life back to its army, moral is at an all time low throughout the Mojave. The NCR has conscripted hundreds of average citezens into the army and is sending them east into the Mojave. However these men and women have very little training and many of the veteran soldiers in the Mojave are dead, injured, or retired.

The NCR does have one advantage though. It is the people's will and determination that has made them grow into the republic it is today. Back west stories of the war fills citezens with rage because of the Legion's ferocity. The war may not be going well, but it isn't over yet.

Chapter One









October 3rd, 2281.....Mojave Outpost









"Sergeant Reed Harris, New California Republic Army, 5th battalion, Renegade company."

"Combat experience?"

"None." Major Knight gave Harris a look. It was almost a sad look, like the Major felt sorry for a fresh non-commissioned officer heading to the front lines.

"Your heading to Forlorn Hope, correct?"

"Yes sir." Forlorn Hope was currently heavily embattled with Caesar's Legion. Harris had heard stories of the Legion's ferocity and was afraid. Soldier came home in bags by the dozen, and they were the lucky ones. Legion soldiers have hung, crucified, and burned men they captured. Or turned them into slaves.

"How many men are under your command, sergeant?" Knight asked. Sweat rolled down his face as he waited for Harris' reply.

"Four, two riflemen, an explosives expert, and a medic." The heat inside the outpost was unbearable. Harris' tan NCR trooper armor collected sweat stains along the back, and around the armpits. He removed his helmet revealing his short cut black hair.

"Overall combat training?"

"We each have three weeks of combat training, my medical officer was a doctor back in California." The war with the Legion was getting desperate, and the majority of reinforcements being sent from the west were very poorly trained, five days being the minimal required training time. Harris wasn't a soldier, he was a bartender Vault City.

"That's all the information I need," Knight stared at Harris' face. Harris knew that Knight never expected to see him again, not alive anyway.

"Sir." Harris spun around on his heel and pushed through the line of troopers waiting for assignments. He opened the doors of the outpost and walked outside, welcoming the cool air. It was still hot as hell, but it was preferable.

Harris wiped sweat from his face and flung it onto the orangeish sand that littered the ground. He was a Caucasian man almost 6 feet tall and had eyes that were almost a silver color. He watched as soldiers began marching under the large two statues and down the large hill on their way to whatever assignment the NCR had given them. All of 5th battalion was heading to Forlorn Hope.

He leaned against the wall of the outpost and lid down it into a sitting position. He dug his hand into the dirt and let it fall through his fingers back to the ground. He laid his head back and stared into the sky. There wasn't a single cloud. Rain must have considered the Mojave its enemy.

Images of Legion soldiers ran through his mind. Honestly he was scared, to die, but more so to go through the pain that the Legion was famous for dishing out. Harris wanted to be home, without the fear of the Legion, or the Brotherhood of Steel, or raiders. Three weeks of training and a month of marching to the Mojave had him irritated and the closer he got to Forlorn Hope, the more scared he became.

No fantasies of being able to visit the New Vegas Strip, or even the communities around it entered his mind. All Harris could think about was the war. He had never killed anyone before, a rare thing to say for someone living in these times. Of course he always knew he would have to but to face an army of slaves wasn't something he thought was going to happen in his life.

"Hey Reed, when are we heading out?" It was Noah Rain, Private Noah Rain. Harris' best friend throughout his childhood. In fact their parents had gotten married years ago. Noah had opposite thoughts of the war, he was ready and gung-ho. Noah had complained about the boring life back in California since he was 14 years old. He said it was to safe.

"That's Sergeant Harris, Noah."

"[censored], sir." They exchanged a laugh, at least Harris had Noah in his squad to fight alongside. It would make the Mojave almost bearable.

"As soon as Renegade company gets its marching orders."

"Damn, with that Major Knight guy in charge, we'll be here for days."

"Would that be so bad?"

"For me it would, I actually think doc Marks wants to get moving too." Doctor Steven Marks was Harris' medic.

"Yeah, maybe." Harris wiped another bead of sweat that was rolling down his cheek. He turned his head to Noah, his short red hair and mustache gave him the look of a rancher even though he grew up in the confines of Vault City. "You know, maybe when the war is over we could invest in some land here, marry some pretty local girls and settle down."

Harris didn't mean it of course, he was hiding his fear of death from Noah. The ploy didn't fool Noah, he could tell when Harris lied. Of course though he agreed, perhaps out of pity. He knew Harris wanted to be back home and that he wouldn't be here in the first place if it weren't for the NCR conscription.

The sun beat down on the two men, steam rose from the broken pavement. Harris pulled his 9mm pistol from his belt and inspected it. Sunlight reflected off of it and shined into his eyes.

"Reed, are you willing to use that thing?" Noah put his hand on his shoulder. "Because you know the Legion will rip your guts out if they get the chance."

"I'll do what I have to do. That's all anyone can ask of me right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"I don't know if I'm ready to lead a squad though."

"They made you a Sergeant during training, Reed." Noah was staring straight at him now. "They must have seen some kind of leadership ability in you."

Harris didn't answer. Instead he just stared blankly in the distance. Noah was right of course, Harris just needed something to make him accept that his life might end in this war. He decided that he needed to get drunk.

"Anyway, I heard the barracks has a bar. Let's check it out."

"Taking your old work with you, huh, Sergeant."

"Your damn right I am."

They both hopped to their feet and walked to the barracks. They couldn't remember anything past that conversation that night.



_______________________________________________________________________



Major Polatli had another report on his desk. Three more troopers went missing last night. Five had been confirmed dead, an two more were injured. He grimaced, the reinforcements from California were due in a week. They just needed to hold off the Legion's onslaught until then. The Major leaned back in his chair and drank more out of his warm water bottle. He let out a long exaggerated sigh, this damn camp would be his death.

Gunfire sounded outside the tent. Then the sound of explosions. The Legion was at the camp's outer border again. This Decanus Dead Sea was a relentless foe. His forces seemed t be unending as not only did he control Legionaries, but mercenaries from the Great Khans as well.

A stray bullet ripped through the cloth of the tent and tore through the head of tactical officer Zeers. Blood spurted on Polatli's uniform as he dove for cover under his desk. Gunfire continued for another hour of so until the Legion had backed off. Another casualty report was going to be on his desk within the next 24 hours.

He left the tent through the flap that passed as a door. Soldiers ran around the camp, picking up wounded and recovering dog tags from the dead. At this rate the Legion would be done with Forlorn hope within the month, even with the reinforcements. All of Polatli's commendations and experience meant nothing, he was outmatched. Not because his strategy was flawed, but because the quality of the Legion forces far exceeded that of his own.

His patrols would have to stop, all forces needed to be pulled into the camp immediately, Polatli felt that sometime in the near future Dead Sea would attempt a major assault. He needed to be ready.

A week until his reinforcements arrived, they needed to hold out. It seemed even more impossible every passing day. Food and ammo reserves were dwindling. The NCR flag above Forlorn Hope flew with tears and holes. It fluttered on however. If a flag could continue to survive, so could the troopers.

That font is very difficult to read.
The default font works just fine, why not use it?

I'm eager to read on, but the font is annoying.

I enjoyed what I read but the font irritates my eyes a little too much. Could you edit it please?