The Life and Death of Alan Sutler

The Hate

The triumphant burst of orchestral music from the speakers snapped the soldiers in uniform into a salute; the civilians and politicians rose and stood solemnly with their hands pressed into the smalls of their backs. The auditorium which the people all stood in was a huge semi-circle, mimicking the theatres of ancient Rome, row after row of seats, enough to seat over 1’000, all facing a podium or, in this case, a vast projection on the wall behind it; even in a room the size of this, indeed it was the largest on the Oil Rig, the faces of all present were illuminated in sepia tones in the absence of the usual white-blue fluorescent lighting. The screen was occupied with a single clip, repeating over and over, of the flag of the Commonwealth, the flag of the United States, blowing softly in a non-existence breeze; the people sang:

“…O! say can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more?
And the rockets' red glare, atom bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

The people, as one, all returned to their seats as the image of the flag slowly transitioned into a field of corn, once America’s most plentiful product, somewhere in the Midwest; as was customary for what would be static clips without, the omnipresent, faint, summer breeze was present in this shot too, causing the corn to sway slightly from side-to-side beneath the noon sun. The voice of the then President (as it was always the elected President), dike Richardson, began calmly over the tranquil scenes, backed by an un-named, equally calming peace of orchestral majesty.

“This is our land, our land of peace and plenty, a land of freedom,” the fields of corn transitioned to the Statue of Liberty. “These are our people, the workers, the businessmen, the defenders of liberty,” for these scenes the Statue of Liberty transitioned again into some regular Joe’s, both men and women, toiling cheerily in an armaments factory, followed by a view along the Pennsylvania Avenue in DC, as men & women in suits & summer dresses respectively went about their business beneath trees in full bloom along the grand and famous avenue; finally, it showed a soldier in the then (though by contemporary standards obsolete) symbol of American genius, T51-b Power Armour and, of course, before a billowing flag.

“These are our people, fighting, bleeding and dying, both at home and on the distant battlefields,” the music suddenly began to fade away, the oblivious audience, as usual, never noticing the exact moment; they were too encapsulated by the rapid change from leafy scenes of glory to that of mutilation, the soldier had been replaced by an Alaskan building blazing and there was now, technically, no longer a soundtrack, the raw audio footage from the strung-together clips, which always started before the other had finished, created an assault on the ears of explosions, bullets firing and screams. The voice too was harsher, almost accusatory, as though they, the audience, had had the power to avert the cavalcade of catastrophes on the screen but had been too lazy or poorly motivated and skilled to do so; whilst this was subliminal intent behind the voice, to impose, it was actually only to the minds of the people that it seemed so, in-fact to the soldiers was a rallying call that they could prevent these things. It continued.

“Caused by them, the insidious rauaging armies of East Asia,” footage from an old Chinese march filled the projection, row upon row of Chinese soldiers were marching towards the camera in perfect unison as though they were going to march right out of the light and into the room, faded, though still present, over the soldiers was the face of a single enemy which suddenly screamed a blood-curdling battle cry at the audience, quite a few of whom shriveled in fear from the monstrous face, the mouth alone of which was double the height of a soldier in power amour; the soldiers present themselves stiffened, containing vicious rage and anger at the herald of their current situation, them, the murdering savages of the East whom the US had tried to stop! “The blood of our ancestors turned the streets red with blood was we tried to stop them!” A nuclear explosion ended the scene on the past enemies of America.

“But even as we consolidate, a cancer is spreading through our once fertile fields, rauaging it as though they were the great enemy themselves!” Images of mutants, of all the Super, Ghoul and regular sub-human variety, where shown, all of them full of murdering, brutal mutilation and terror; some of the weeping of the people was audible in the quieter moments. The mutants were charging at the screen, yelling equally as vicious battle cries (indeed if the people had been in the position, they may have recognized the same screams as the Chinese soldier appearing quite often), firing at the screen, at them! There was almost a scene of mass panic in the room as the people cowered and even some of the soldiers lost it and discharged bursts of red, purple and green light at the looming figures on the screen, there was terror, noise but then silence, it was coming to save them, heralded by the triumphant sting.

There was total silence from both the people and for the first time since the Hate had begun, Star Spangled Banner, only a pure instrumental, was playing again; all of the people picked themselves from off of the floor or snapped to saluting attention, some of the people even crying silent tears of genuine relief at the sight of America, America would save them from the nightmare on the mainland, it would set everything right again, the fields of corn would be theirs to reap. The billowing flag once again took up all of the projection, interposed with that of the face of President dike Richardson; to the people, it had seemed as though they had never seen this graphic though uplifting piece before, when in fact they watched it every day, always at 17:00.

A young man at the front of the room liked to imagine that he stood the straightest of all those present, he swelled with admiration and pride; Richardson would save them all! Alan Sutler thought, even his internal voice sounded like it was quivering as though trying to hold back tears.

Sutler stood with his mother & father in the front rows of the gathering, the front rows typically held by the upper echelons of Enclave society; he could see all the Cabinet members from where he stood, everyone of any importance in the world was around him right now and behind him was the power of the people, a sea of blue jumpsuits and white faces illuminated brown, the people who would put this all right, how Sutler felt for the poor devils on the mainland at Navarro who only had a hundred of so people there to feel this glorious.

* * * * *

The Sutler family were residents of Deck 4, Sector 2, on the massive Oil Rig; the Sutler family had been intertwined with the Enclave for centuries, from the organisations conception on July 11th, 1920. Edgar J. Sutler, the Governor of the State of New Hampshire, was present at the clandestine Republican meeting at the Blackstone Hotel, where, upon other things such as Warren G. Harding being selected as their Presidential Candidate, the Enclave was founded as an organisation to maintain freedom in America and keep socialists, communists and other proponents of welfare states, out of government. By the Second World War however, the Republican and the Democrats united and the true Enclave, as a secret shadow government, was created; since then, through the ensiling of family loyalty, fierce patriotism, pressure to succeed and a little leg-up from the Sutler seniors, there had always been a member of the Sutler family been involved in the Enclave, from the Manhattan Project all the way to the construction of the very facility Alan James Sutler was happy and proud to call home.

Oscar and July Sutler had, upon leaving the Hate, accompanied Tom Murray, Secretary of Energy, down to his apartment for a drink; this left Alan on his own as he wandered aimlessly around the Decks, simply taking in the majesty of the whole structure. I wonder what it would be like to spend so much time outside? To spend time in the Sun without a suit of power armour. He pondered curiously as he walked past the janitor’s cupboard for the fifth time in so many minutes. [censored] Navarro, he cursed internally, his leg twitched, he would very much have liked to kick something across the deck with that statement but there was, of course, no litter and indeed nothing on the floor at all, just a continuous grating, the even colder grey floor beneath only broken up by the occasionally orange light. Sutler was a proud trooper in the United States Army, more specifically a Specialist, his specialty? Marksmanship. Sutler was infact the Squad Designated Marksmen for Sergeant Granite’s squad in the Enclave Control Company, using a German PPK12 Gauss Pistol he had punched a large whole in many a wastelander on his mainland ops. But now orders had came through from the brass that the agreeably senseless patrols and drills, the only sustenance for a trooper aboard the Oil Rig aside from combat sims, that in preparation for the completion and deployment of the Project, that it would be best if they started exposing citizens to life on the mainland and life in direct sunlight.

Of the other 1’000 US citizens in the Enclave, little over a tenth had even been outside, only those on mainland ops or servicing Vertibirds ever got to go outside onto the helipads and even then the wearing of respirators for exposed civilians was mandatory; Sutler sometimes shuddered at the thought that only one tenth the population had ever even felt the ground.

Sutler had been posted to Navarro before, but only for a week or two at a time, but under this new initiative he would spend the next few years there. Then again, he bleakly tried to console himself. The people at Navarro have adjusted and seem cheerful and happy, their tans attract a few good looks from the dames too. He smiled slyly, nothing better than chatting up the dames with stories of the mainland. Besides, we are the people, we’ll need to go home soon and begin rebuilding, by reconditioning people now we are preparing ourselves for the future, today! Sutler hadn’t realised but he had been thinking in propaganda again. He looked around again though at the walls, for twenty years all he had known were these walls. These beautiful black walls, the blue lights, hell even a [censored] ceiling, they’ll all soon be luxuries to enjoy at the end of a long day patrolling the wastes. Sutler had already grasped the notion that, indeed, life without the omnipresent ceiling and the cold glow of the lights would be difficult at first, but that it would be an acquired taste.

Sutler had had this internal discussion many times and yet never seemed to remember having it at all, unthink as it was called, is a form of psychological conditioning integrated into everyday life through propaganda, employed by the upper echelons of the government (who indeed experienced it too as citizens) to maintain order and prevent the citizens from realising the predictable, monotony of their lives and that they are essentially existing so that one day a future generation, post-Project, can retake the mainland. High-risk ages, such as the teenage years, were heavily targeted, internal insurrection would be disastrous and, in the global climate of 2242, could quite literally lead to the collapse and destruction of the US government; the United States of America will not be destroyed by teen angst, a few generations of unhappiness and monotony for the eventually rebirth of the nation was a small price to pay, this was the mentality of those beyond the propaganda.

Extremely well written. It's nice to see another Enclave fanfic pop up hopefully yours will do better than mine fared. Will this include Alan's escapades in New Manhattan?

Great! This is well written. Keep on going, and I will keep on reading.

I watch this in anticipation... and in a chair.

That is not Sutler-Canon as it were, should have part two up within the next few hours.

Thanks Everyone.

The grim prospects before him had even burrowed through the web of propaganda that surrounded Sutler’s brain, he was tired of thinking about what the future had in store, however glorious the rebirth of a nation would obviously be; Sutler then came to the conclusion that a quick shower was in immediate order before suiting up for the ECC’s nightly patrol. State broadcasting had begun again, presumably as everyone returned to their posts from the Hate; its typical daily programming included statistics published by the government, news (mostly on the Project or mainland victories) and most of the time by patriotic music.

“Mine eyes will see the glory of the coming of the storm:
The trampling at the vintage where the graqes of wrath are stored;
We will loose the fateful lightning of our terrible swift sword:
Our day is marching on.

Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Our day is marching on.”

The love, Sutler though as he jogged down the staircase, his loud footstep on each stair adding, like a background drumbeat, to the song. I love how no matter where we are in the corridors the music never grows quieter, I wonder where the speakers are? Indeed another example of subliminal suggestion, the almost always good news and triumphant music would emanate from the walls themselves, the idea being that the emotions of the sorry generations who must live their lives on the Oil Rig should all be focused on something to enforce patriotism, the solution was that the Oil Rig and the Enclave themselves would be venerated, praised and joyously thanked during the Hates and everyday life. The old message that the outside would kill us have been slowly phased out as, more and more, as the day of recolonising the mainland came closer, and as more troops were stationed there.

The Sutler family apartment was an executive apartment and therefore larger than the standard: single lounge, two bedroom affair. The apartment was still typical of Oil Rig apartments, the same dark metal walls with the exception that the flat areas were made more homely by faux wooden panelling (for executives only) or pre-war wallpaper; the executive suites provided an extra room, usually a study for the families bread-winner, and the rooms were generally larger and a private bathroom instead of the communal restrooms and showers which the lower citizens enjoyed. The furniture of the apartment was in the stuffy, Old World, upper class style of straight backed arm chairs and traditional tables, none of the pre-war flair which Sutler enjoyed.

The apartment was empty, his parents at the Murray Household over in Sector 8, My my, Sutler thought cheerfully as he looked around his home. We’ve lived here, in this same apartment for five generations, five generations have sat in these chairs and awoke in these beds. To be an American! Noticing the time, he hopped into the shower and used his recycled soap to clean himself before, now fully refreshed, he dried himself, hurriedly threw on a clean jumpsuit and double-timed down the his armoury on Deck 3, Sector 4.

The Oil Rig had a multitude of armouries, mainly to service the several hundred serving members of the United States Army, Deck 4 being an executive deck it had no large stockpile of explosives or constant trampling of soldiers suiting-up, suiting-down and engaging in live fire exercises. Deck 3’s armoury was of average size and could service 200 personnel.

* * * * *

Power Armour was a real pain to get on, a mess of layers and various pieces of armour, the newbie’s struggled at first but eventually got the hang of it; the fastest time anyone had ever suited up was 7:56, Sutler averaged 9:00. Finally, he was geared up; the suit made everyone a solider 7 2” feet, it was designed from the ground up to be a tool of oppression, a face to frighten foe’s and embolden allies with strength, the pauldrons along could crush a man. It had been known to give a man the effortless strength, enough to beat a man to death in several blows or tear his innards out simply with a punch to the stomach. “Never could get close enough though,” Sutler said sadly, he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “What about you Walter, ever get close enough to let the strength out of these bad boys?”

Walter G. Spencer was an already tall, African-American and a fellow member of Sergeant Granite’s Enclave Control Company, he was the support gunner in the form of a Gatling Laser. “Nope, it’s a real shame, we’ve all heard the stories of what they can do; we’d actual have to be waiting for trouble though to get a chance, like, hiding and ambushing common wasteland dross and we really shouldn’t waste time. The operations of our great country are far more important, the destruction of the mainland cancer will come soon enough and even if we do have to watch from the sidelines, by jingo it will be just as glorious!”

“That’s for sure colleague. These patrols are really just to familiarise ourselves I think, we’ll be the one’s expanding from Navarro.”

“Sure going to miss… this though,” Walter said, looking around the huge locker room as though it were unique in the entire world. “I mean the noble citizens of Navarro seem to have adjusted to life in the sun, but we’ve been there and it just isn’t the same.”

“Yeah, they only have the Hate four times a week, can you remember? Not even with all of us together either but in multiple places because nowhere there is big enough except the courtyard and that’s a massive security risk. The Hate is much less… I don’t know but it’s just not as glorious without the whole nation there, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed colleague I do, spending a few weeks there is real strange, Hates different, sleeping in triple bunks and just doing push-ups in the courtyard by way of exercise because there aren’t enough machines,” Walter closed his locker, and began to walk back towards the armoury administration and exit; Sutler gambled after him. “Still,” Walter said as though reaching for positive points. “We’ll be the first there, the real first to begin colonising post-Project; we’ll be the first progenitor of the mainland race, won’t that be something to go in the Sutler scrapbook?” He laughed and punched Sutler in the shoulder, even as a light tap in Power Armour it would probably have instilled a pain and ache in a regular man for days.
“Well when I think of it like that…” said Sutler, pausing in his thought momentarily as he contemplated this new perspective when it was in-fact an obvious conclusion which he had already come to some time before but only unthought as he would the pangs of guilt he was feeling now for not realising the glorious honour that was bestowed upon him sooner. They paused briefly to punch their equipment cards from “in” to “out” before leaving the armoury and taking a left to climb up several floors to the service lift to the Vertibird Pads.

Sergeant Granite was an initially imposing but friendly man, three years Sutler’s senior at 23, he had a wide, but not unattractive face, beneath his helmet and a jutting chin; he was stout, rough & proud and Sutler felt great admiration for him, following his every order and, in return, being allowed to “aggressively pursue” offenders of Proposition 312, the official doctrine which allowed all US Army personnel complete jurisdiction over enemy-aliens on US territory. It was a justification for the people at actually vent the rage they were fuelled with rather than just balance it out with equal love and adoration for the government.

Beside Granite was the other member of the squad, Augustus Autumn, Sutler’s best friend since school and a fellow resident of Deck 4 courtesy of his father Lt Colonel Autumn of the United States Chemical Company. He had inherited the families southern accent and often accompanied Sutler on double dates if Sutler had managed to arrange any; Autumn was young, handsome & strong and enough to make sure Sutler got some gratitude his way for finding such a charming man. Sutler had always professed that it was the accent, which outside of several similar families (much like Sutler’s own) which all came built on the immovable bedrock of tradition, was rare amongst the citizens.

Sutler and Spencer saluted Granite who returned it once they had finished, “Gather round gentlemen!” Granite boomed down his head set, it was always loud on the Pad, the sea was almost always rough and the sounds of the Vertibirds props crashing into the air right above their heads didn’t help either. “Gah just get inside.” Sutler looked around, the roof of the Oil Rig, he had never really looked out across the ocean from here due to the large structure’s of warehouses, service lifts and hangers; one could never go up to the upper roofs without good precedent.

Granite got down onto one knee to give the men a boost into the bird, in Power Armour it could be a real pain to get into the damn things in a hurry. Once all were inside Autumn hoisted him up and slammed the door behind him, a few seconds later (time enough for them all to find a seat) there were two loud thumps on the right-side of the fuselage indicating that the technician had finished recharging the bird. There was the usual customary feeling of taking off before all settled to normality.

Things may seem slow but I'm getting there, new to this whole fan-fic thing, never really had the patience before and kept quiting before the end.

Sutler had never been in a Vertibird that wasn’t cramped, they were always filled to the brim with equipment and personnel before being sent on their way; sometimes, despite knowing full well that the Vertibird was the creation of Enclave genius and infallibility, Sutler couldn’t help but be a little squeamish at the thought of the torrents of the radioactive ocean beneath him, what a horrific final few minutes that would be. He shook his head and looked around at his colleagues, in addition to Granite’s ECC there was another, typical, squad of six troopers who were all hustled in the centre of the Vertibird, who were murmuring inaudibly, and a pair of technicians on the seats beside the ECC who were debating whether it was now safe to remove their respirators.

“Your first time leaving the Rig?” Walter asked the one beside him, both kind and sympathetically. The technician nodded by way of a response, he looked nervous and was bouncing his knee from the ball of his foot. “It’s alright lads, keep your respirators on till we reach Navarro. We’re getting reposted their so consider yourselves lucky that you get to go back home. You aren’t being permanently posted?” Another shake of the head from both technicians. “Well colleagues Navarro is a fine place, you should be comfortable, if nothing else, there.”

The standard Vertibird flight-path, as far as Sutler knew, took them close to San Francisco before beginning a northerly heading to Navarro, the journey took an average of about forty minutes travelling at just below 300 mph. It often rattled due to turbulence, at first it was an unsettling experience and many citizens suffered from motion sickness as Vertibirds were the only vehicle regularly employed by the Enclave. The journey was as uneventful as ever, a few hands of poker over ration stamps & a few dollars followed by a few rounds of “We the People” before the Vertibird came into land; the floor rocked slightly as the suspension took the massive load of the bird very well, a few tens of seconds of taxiing later and the bird finally came to a halt.

A technician banged twice on the door before pulling it out and sliding it aside, Granite kept his squad back until the other had left and then motioned Sutler and the others to leave. Walter patted the technician on his back, “Good luck colleague, you can take your mask off now.” The technician complied and smiled nervously, Sutler noted that he looked nauseous.

“The unclean air of the mainland is a little different to our wonderful air back home, be grateful that you will be going back to it soon colleague.”

Granite disembarked last and stretched his arms around Sutler and Autumn who were the closest, Navarro certainly was another world apart from the one they had left behind. All of Navarro was bathed in orange light from the setting sun in the west, the base itself was like the roof of the Oil Rig stretching for as far as the eye could see; before the war, Navarro had been some kind of industrial facility, designed by the glory and infallibility of the Enclave to help them recolonise the Homeland after the communists resorted to the final, cowardly solution that only a sadistic hive mind could.

It was a place of great unfamiliarity, in the most easterly part of the compound were huge cylindrical towers lined with collapsed walkways & catwalks, taller even than the great auditorium of the Oil Rig; alongside them were vast, squat vats. Sutler had no idea of there pre-war function, Storage maybe of the ancient pre-war resource oil which the Rig itself was once dedicated?, this had always been Sutler’s hypothesis; regardless of their old practicality they now served as nothing more than observation posts. The rest of the facility was a hive of hangers and concrete buildings, force-field checkpoints and barricades, the old roads were cracked but still mostly usable by the fleet of US Army trucks the Enclave used to transport the massive amounts of supplies from around the base.

Sutler looked around the place, as a group of technicians ran towards him with the intention of servicing the bird, the fleet was always very busy. “Will you grunts get outta here and let Raul do his work please, your all always leaving the place a damn mess wi’ your heavy boots, scuff marks all over the floor of this beautiful creation of our ancestors; landing was pretty shabby too by Raul’s opinion, it was Whitman right? The good colleague has already lost one of our machines.” Sutler looked at the man, he was of average height, with a face of presumably Latino decent, a greasy green jumpsuit of a mechanic and the odd habit of referring to himself in the third person; Sutler had seen him heckling the arriving Vertibirds before when he was last at Navarro. “Raul” pushed his way past Sutler and the squad before jumping, admittedly quite nimbly, through the open hatch of the Vertibird.

“What a curious colleague,” Walter said in his characteristically bemused fashion, he had always been a laid back guy, probably why he got on with everyone.

“Yeah that’s Raul, some kind of technophile, seen him around here before. Best mechanic on the mainland, he knows those machines inside out,” said Granite. “Well colleagues, I suggest you all get yourselves to the gym for an hour, followed by dinner and then bed, we have early patrols starting tomorrow, dismissed.”

Sorry the post is a little shorter tonight (or today), keep leaving it so damn late to write some more. We're leaving the prolouge for the first act behind now and starting to get into things a little more. Who ever the hell reads this thing stay tuned

Just wanted some kind of feedback from anyone who actually reads these things, what do people like, dislike and such? What can be imporved and what, if anything, is good? Should get another up tonight if anyone is interested.

Intresting, I can't really think of anything. (I really never do, meh.)

Too tired at the moment, but so far so good.

GOOD JOB!

Nicely written, flawless execution of grammatical rules. It has plenty of detail and description, but the problem within that is your dictation. You know, your word choices, part of your style of writing. Everyone writes differently, different perspectives, different detail, different dialogue. But they still want to convey to the reader the image in their head, want to show the characters for who they're. The problem I had with your story(at least in the first two chapters) was that you tell a story much like a journalist. This doesn't mean it's bad, and I certainly don't want to mess with the flow of your writing, it just can make the story dry. It can also lead(and it seems to be happening, at least in the case of Adam) to a two dimensional character, one that the reader can't attach much feelings towards.

All in all it can make the story more boring, and though the detail may be there, the readers mind will often slip and that image that you wanted to be so clear, is now foggy. Of course this is just how I see it, it's still a well written story, and I can't complain on much. This is just my humble opinion, continue doing what you do.

Good Luck.

Granite descended nimbly from the rock, he scrabbled partly down it before finishing with a leap, causing a cloud of dust to explode from his feet. Sutler had no idea where they were, everywhere looked the same out here, just endless planes of blistered ground and powder like dirt, interspersed with rock formations and cacti. Soon, this shall be a fertile land again, Enclave science will prevail! Sutler thought determinately, the whole world will be green again. This is our land. Patrols made up the majority of everyday operations on the mainland, the Enclave was essentially being trained in the lay of the land by pointless-patrol after pointless-patrol; just like there lives it was a dull and repetitive chore which couldn’t quite penetrate the bedrock of “glorious” propaganda which convinced them that a vital service was being performed.

“Right colleagues, nothing on the horizon ahead. Stay frosty.” For the mainland, the outlying area’s around Navarro aren’t all that bad, Sutler thought. Sutler was on six and had decided to take a moment to look around at the wasteland; they had a good vantage point (as the area around Navarro was predominately hilly) of the endless wastes stretching on as far as the eye could see. At least our great ancestors had the forethought to build Navarro where the effects of the communist plague would not reach it, Navarro is surely the only safe place on all the mainland.

“Strong and peace-fu-ul, wise a-nd brave…” began Walter, who by far had the best voice in all the group.

“Fighting the fight, for the whole world to save!” They all sung now, it was popular amongst he troops. “We the people do ceaselessly strive, to keep our great con-stit-ution alive!”

Suddenly Granite stopped dead and raised a closed fist in the air, instinctively from days of combat sims, the rest of the squad crouched onto their haunches, readied their respective weapons and approached slowly, making as little sound as their armour would allow. Granite and Autumn were prone behind a cluster of rocks looking down upon a shallow valley; at the bottom of the valley, amongst the brown grass and earth, were a trio of well-armoured people, at least in comparison to the usual dross that had the great misfortune to stumble across the path of the ECC. There were two men and a women, Sutler noted; they all wore similar armour, a brown coloured piece which covered the torso and shoulders, and hats similar to that which Sutler remembered seeing in old history books, cavalry hats? he thought. Granite gave no order to engage, they merely listened. The women was banging rocks together over a pile of dry kindling, a man behind her took a drink from a bladder and continued to unpack some simple looking, post-war utensils. The third man was obviously the one in authority, he stood a few feet away from his team with his back to them, perusing over a flimsy map.

“We stop here for some Brahmin meat and one portion of your water supply each,” the man in authority said, he had some funny insignia on his armour which Sutler couldn’t recognise, probably some tribal pattern.

“Still got a few days to go till we get to the Den and kill that slaver bastard.”

“Metzger’s had it coming for a long time,” said the women savagely, not looking up from her task. “The whole Den has, it just can’t civilise itself without NCR aid, we Ranger’s will begin that peace.”

“What do we do?” asked Autumn, more curiously than nervous, the men may be powerful by mainlander standards but they were inevitably going to be dialling with one of the finest squads of the US Army, and had only post-war armour and a collection of puny submachine guns and a semi-automatic rifle to defend themselves with.

“Same as always, who wants to say the line?” Granite chuckled.

“May I colleague?” Said Sutler with mock politeness, as if he were offering to hold open the door as opposed to tauntingly gloat over a trio of helpless inferior beings before pasting them all over the rocks the were trying to craft a fire in front of, for no greater reason than that they simply existed.
Sutler readied himself, grasped his Gauss Pistol and stood up, an imposing shadow cast over the valley by his huge armour. “Y’all illegal aliens of US territory, Prop 312 orders us to kill you all… with extreme prejudice!” Sutler couldn’t even wait till he had finished before he fired off a quick double-tap; unnecessary he would admit, gauss weapons rarely required another shot, but very satisfying all the same. The first round hit the women just below the right lung and shot through her at 686 mph, tearing a 20cm diameter hole across her torso; the only delay between rounds was the split second it took to squeeze the trigger again, the second round struck slightly higher than the first due to the recoil, which even the power armour couldn’t completely suppress, and hit her just below the shoulder, annihilating the entire upper-right torso and sending the remains of the arm careening behind her; Sutler laughed mercilessly, how it makes a fellow proud to be a soldier! he thought. The rest of the squad rose from cover as Sutler fired, they knew from experience that Sutler could rarely say his whole line before unleashing the torrent of hate fuelled rage at the cancerous vermin that kept them from the mainland. Within another few seconds it was over, three broken piles of severed limbs made up the spot where, only seconds ago, three enemies of the state, of the flag, of the people had once languished, plotting the murder of a “slaver” presumably no less evil, twisted and vile as they were, in-fact, themselves.

“Right, Corporal Spencer take point, Sutler cover him, me and Autumn will take the rear.” Though they descended to the camp cautiously it was all in vain, nothing came out at them; Sutler kicked one of the more complete victims of Autumn’s plasma fire, the mainlander he had struck down had his face frozen in a perfect picture of agony, Sutler grinned sardonically. Aside from the smouldering whole were the burning, bolt of green plasma had pierced his heart, the corpse was in good nick; in the wars of old, souvenirs were often taken from the fallen foe but Sutler and most others didn’t take up that particular practice. The memorabilia of the mainland was technically all of theirs anyway and once the Project had saved them all it would be their again, besides, at the moment it was crawling with mainlander disease and filth.

The mans stetson had crumpled at the back when he fell but Sutler was presently distracted by the insignia on the badge at the front, a bear on it’s hind legs.

“These people call themselves the New California Republic, from what mainland ops gathers they are quite large and more organised than most of the other societal dregs around here; they know nothing of us of course, never make it home to tell or even to send a radio message…”

“Hah, they shall soon be nothing more than a footnote in the annals of history colleagues, one of the many organisations which tried to take this great land from us and failed due to the ingenuity, infallibility and, of course, integrity of the Enclave of the United States of America!” Walter yelled proudly.

“Mine eyes will see the glory of the coming of the storm:
The trampling at the vintage where the graqes of wrath are stored;
We will loose the fateful lightning of our terrible swift sword:
Our day is marching on.

Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Glory, glory, to the Enclave!
Our day is marching on.”

Singing uproariously, the pride of a whole nation on the cusp of salvation beating defiantly against the communist horde in their hearts, the Granite’s squad continued on their patrol route, running into nothing more than a pack of over-sized moles; after a home-sick week at Navarro they returned back to the Oil Rig via Vertbird, for what could be one of the last times, mainly to spend a last few days with their family their before leaving, their gear and personal effects already being sent. It was 3rd, March, 2242, a day which would live on in terrible infamy…

Can I just say - absolutley brilliant! Loving it so far.

Though Sutler had only been back aboard the Oil Rig for a day, it seemed like he had never left such was the connection between him (and indeed all citizens) and the Oil Rig whose four mighty pillars held aloft the salvation of America. Sutler checked the clock from his comfortable position in an old armchair, it was four in the afternoon and he was enjoying his final days aboard the Rig, his family apartment which had housed five generations of Sutler’s would soon be swapped for one bed on a triple bunk, a meal at the canteen and an only half as glorious patriotic demonstration as the Hate; but by Richardson’s wisdom if it was necessary for the restoration of American liberty then Sutler would not be found wanting no siree! His folks had allowed him some of the family heirlooms to keep him company on the mainland, most notably the ancient photo album which documented the Sutler clan back to 1912, along with this the final camera owned by the family from before the war fur Sutler to begin documenting his own life which was going to be radically different from that experienced by the majority for the past century and a half.

Sutler’s father was out at one of the many committees he devoted his free time to after being diagnosed with the early stages of arthritis by the Deck physician; the hours of physical fitness and target practice had now become the “Committee for the Extension of the Hate” and “The House of Most American Activites”. Mom was in the bedroom looking for a dress for her own “Book Club” which see had on a weekly basis, this week being O’Brien’s “The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism”; the Sutler family being a member of the political class had transcended there jumpsuit wearing, back-of-the-hate regular citizens and enjoyed the comfort of a fine, dark suit along with the rest of the politicians which made up the elite of Enclave society.

Julie Sutler was a tall women, with a kind face and dark hair styled into a beehive, she came out wearing the same dress that she wore everyday, with her hair in the same style as everyday. “How do I look sweetheart?” She asked. Sutler looked up, put his hand to his chin and “Hmm”ed loudly and over-dramatically as though gauging her appearance, she smiled, put her arm around his head and pressed it against her side. “Thanks Alan, I’ll be back before your father; why don’t you go and find Autumn or put in some target practice, Sergeant Granite said you were as excellent as usual as the Squad Designated Marksmen on your last Mainland operation but you can never be too good, that’s what Richardson says, we are all in this together after all, fighting the fight for the whole world to save.”

Sutler found it so uplifting when his mother spoke in patriotic jingles and hugged her back with his free, left arm. “We are all in this together aren’t we?” He said, swelling with pride at his contribution to the cause. “I’ll find Autumn and clock in another few hours at the range.”

* * * * *

“Your mother is really nice Alan, father talks about my mother sometimes, I wish I could have met her,” Sutler and Autumn lay prone in the sand atop a rock formation, below them a squad of Chinese soldiers patrolled, they were thorough and never rested their guard and if Sutler didn’t act quick enough then they may be spotted by the communist hordes.

“Sorry about that Autumn, no colleague should go without a mother. Anyhow, back on target, we got six communist devils passing beneath us but they’re not taking chances, we may be compromised.” Though technically an anachronism they wore Advanced Power Armour for the simulation. “Right what we shall do…”

The sim suddenly cut out and Sutler regained consciousness; the pod slid open and Sutler leapt out, beside him Autumn was scrambling out too. Emanating from the walls instead of State Radio were the usual klaxons which signaled a drill, however the voice that spoke immediately told them that a drill it was not, the man sounded frantic, panicky and his heavy breathing was being picked up by the microphone.

“Attention all citizens, this is not a drill!” The anouncer took an audible gulp of air. There’s been… pass me that [censored] clipboard. There has a been catastrophic failure of the cooling systems of the nuclear reactor, the temperature of the reactor is currently increasing by 6% every ten minutes, due to security systems in place mean power output for the reactor has fallen by 56%. Due to similar security systems, all major bulkheads will seal to minimise flood risks which may occur due to power shortage. All citizens are ordered to immediately make there way to topside and await evacuation, women and children first! All US Army personnel are to immediately begin evacuation protocols, your families will be safe, your families will be safe, the Enclave is going to make this right! The President is currently unavailable for comment. Stay tuned for further emergency announcements!”

Keep on keeping it up.

3rd March, 2242

Sutler and Autumn continued to stare upwards at the ceiling, where the sound of the speakers was always loudest, in a state of shock; they had had countless drills for every conceivable kind of emergency, but now that it was actually upon them… Sutler began to tear off the Simulation interface suit and reequip his armour; his family would be all right but he had to get to his post to facilitate the evacuation! He beat his previous record and turned to Autumn who too was almost ready, Autumn put on his helmet and looked up at Sutler, they exchanged a silent nod of comradeship, “[censored] is getting tense, let’s go do our damn duty!”
Others’ were running out of the simulation room, presumably having been ejected from their sims at the same time, and running in all directions whilst pulling on helmets and checking weapons. The simulation room opened onto the central causeway, a great corridor which usually played host to marching bands and parades, the public park of the Oil Rig and yet main highway; people were running everywhere, soldiers crashed too an fro in their heavy power armour as citizens scuttled between them, there were several main stairwells on this deck and troopers had already taken positions outside them, ushering the terrified people within. “My God…” Sutler gasped, even the Hate was calmer than this. “Where’s our checkpoint?”

“Autumn tore his gaze away from the scenes of panic, “Down in the lower levels, near the old docks… and the reactor itself.”
Sutler carefully double-timed through the sea’s of people down the causeway, his state of shock had been somewhat repressed by the sense of national duty, now is not the time to panic, I am a soldier of the United States Army, the Enclave will prevail!” Not crushing the mash of citizens with his armour as he ran past was a nightmare, things must be sheer pandemonium on the upper levels, Sutler shuddered, the thought of the people being so frightened generated within him a sense of failure, it was his duty, after all, to prevent things like this, he was the vanguard of peace, freedom and democracy!

They came to the way downstairs and Sutler groaned into his helmet mic, there were floods of people coming up the stairway, “Your position downstairs colleagues?” Asked a sergeant who stood beside the doorway, gentling pushing the people in the right direction and dispensing comforting statistics and advice as they left. “Your just going to have to slowly make your way down, the last thing we need blocking the stairwells are a long chain of people with broken feet and toes thanks to the mighy treads of our power armour!” The soldier puzzled as to where that little outburst had came from as Sutler & Autumn nodded before edging their way past the throng.

“It’s a good job our pre-war colleagues built designed this place so well,” said Autumn with the obvious air of trying to spread some patriotism on a bad situation. “Otherwise people may have suffocated in these stairwells.”

Once they had gotten to the bottom of the well to Deck 1 things were not so bad, Deck 1 housed the main engineering sector, the reactor itself and an ancient docking platform where they would be posted, making sure that everyone was out of the lower levels. Granite and Spencer were all ready in position in a small waiting room just off the grand lobby, they saluted Granite who then returned it.

“Attention all citizens,” the announcer was back on the State Radio, he sounded calmer, as though someone had given him a dose of Med-X. “Reactor output has now been reduced to 43%, sea water is now being taken on as a solution to the rising core temperature which has risen 66% since the last Public Service Announcement. Any United States Army personnel in Column number four be advised that running through the middle of the column is an emergency cooling system pipeline. Further announcements will be held.”

Granite looked down from the ceiling at his assembled crack team; grimly he said, “All right men, we need to complete a sweep of sectors one and two, Sergeant Kefling and his men are covering the other sectors. It’s been twenty minutes since this nightmare begun; let’s get anyone in the lower levels out of this mess.”

Granite led the men, in single file, through the engineering sectors, aside from the usual hum of the machinery nothing stirred; they passed an open vent which someone must have been in the process of repairing when the klaxons sounded, an open box of tools next to it seemed to have been kicked over when the technician fled the scene. Suddenly they stopped, “Is someone there? Colleagues.”

Granite lept into action, he sprung in the direction of the voice; a middle-aged women in an olive utility jumpsuit was sat on the floor clutching at her ankle. “I fell when the klaxons sounded and sprained my ankle, there was nobody around, thank God that you gallant boys have come back to look for us. Silently, Granite bent down and put his left arm under her knees and his other behind her back before hoisting her into the air; she winced slightly as her ankle knocked against Granite’s side.

“Mind the toolbox,” Spencer called out as Granite came back, he merely crushed it beneath his boot.

“What?” Granite looked down, “Close call, wouldn’t want to trip and fall on you…”

“Gertrude Kreger.”

“Well Mrs Kreger, I’m going to carry you up to the Vertibird pads and get you out of here, though judging from the announcement that may not even be necessary. Almost on cue, there was the brief patriotic jingle.

“Colleagues, I have an important announcement, our engineers have begun the cooling process of the reactor, within the next few minutes once it begins proper we should see a total return to normality, a great triumph of Enclave ingenuity in the face of terrible adversity. Glory to the Enclave!”

“Glory to the Enclave!” They all called out, they even heard people on the decks above calling it out too; Sutler even punched the air with his fist in triumph, of course a simple technical problem like this would not be enough to destroy the United States!

“Richardson is still unavailable for comment though we believe now that the crisis is over he will be able to return from his very important work and…” the announcer stopped for a moment as though something had distracted him and then suddenly he screamed.
“Agh it burns, it burns my throat. Agh, where’s my respirator? Trooper help me!” There were a series of violent coughing episodes before somebody clicked off the microphone. The assembled company all managed a terrified look at one another, before Mrs Kreger began to cough violently and shake, blood begin to leak from her nose and eyes and she screamed with pain, she screamed at Granite. “Get me water, anything just make it stop, it’s like everything is on fire!” Her screams tailed out as Granite continued to look helplessly at her, powerless to stop the women dying in his hands, she vomited all over herself before her head lolled to the side; Granite dropped her in shock and stood with his hands frozen as he looked down at her.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” The sound of heavy, fearful breathing filled helmet comm. systems; the men, now seemingly leaderless, rushed back to the waiting room, wanting nothing more than to distance themselves from the body of Mrs Kreger. Once back in the waiting room Spencer sat in a seat and cradled his head in his hands.

Suddenly another trooper came double-timing down the stairwell, he almost did a double-take at the sight of the squad sat there. They turned and looked at him, his power armour had visible scuff marks and was dusty, clearly a mainland operations trooper who must only have recently came back; the Sergeants were particularly hard on filthy uniforms on the Oil Rig.

“Trooper what are you doing down here, shouldn’t you be co-ordinating the evac, there’s nothing down here.”

The man looked at them for a second, then, with a noticeably dry mouth which caused him to cough he said.

“Horrigan, the freak in there, he did this.”

They all looked at him, stunned, Frank Horrigan, the machine-man who had been mortally wounded at a military base excavation and who had been seen punching a deathclaw in half with his mechanical fist.

“Explain yourself trooper, Horrigan maybe some kind of freak but he wouldn’t betray the Enclave he’s one of us.”

“No, he threatened the now deceased Dr Curling and made him release the Curling FEV-13 Strain in here. Horrigan thought… that it would turn all of us into mutants like him.”

Sutler was in shock; thank God that Granite had the perseverance to keep asking question because he and the others were experiencing something which must be akin to shellshock.

“I see…” said Granite. “Well why are you down here?”

“He’s preventing access to an old Oil Tanker, the Valdez which docked here recently, it’s part of the… evacuation plan.”

Granite pounded the palm of his fist with his hand, and grunted heavily into his mic. “Of course, Richardson wouldn’t allow the entire Enclave to hinge on the Vertibirds, the Secret Service must have been onto Horrigan and brought the tanker in as an emergency but Horrigan acted first, and now I’ve just had to hold a women who’s insides were roasted alive and who bled from her face whilst she screamed at me to help her and I could do nothing!” Granite looked at Sutler and the men. “Let’s get the bastard.”

* * * * *

They had stacked up on the bulkhead door, which was closed, and were waiting for Granite’s signal, Sutler was scared, Horrigan was a titan, he would be by now means as easy a foe as the NCR had been. The trooper who had told them of Horrigan, it transpired, was a Private John Smith, he was armed with a Winchester Plasma Caster along with Autumn, Granite would take point with his Yuma Flatts Pulse Rifle and Spencer and Sutler would bring up the rear, Spencer as fire-support with his Gatling Laser and Sutler as the Squad Designated Marksmen with his Gauss Pistol. Granite looked behind at the assembled men and nodded slowly with an odd finality.

The bulkhead latches disengaged and the door slid upwards into the ceiling, Horrigan, on guard, merely looked over at the door and was greeted with a bolt of purple energy which momentarily blinded the mountainous man, Horrigan fired his underarm plasma cannon blindly in the vain hope of hitting his unknown assailant. There were more bursts of energy fire as the squad moved in, Sutler’s feet were moving without him even thinking it and then all of a sudden he was clear of the doorway and Horrigan stood stumbling before him. This man has killed so many, think of the children burning to death, clutching their throats in agony Horrigan, think of the [censored] children you bastard! Sutler, fuelled by new torrents of rage began to pull the trigger as fast as he could managed, another huge bolt of energy from Horrigan melted straight through the wall behind Spencer, who too, was giving Horrigan all he could. Through the torrent of fire though Horrigan was regaining his senses, his armour was akin the Advanced Power Armour and was most resistive to energy based attacks, he looked squarely at Spencer and prepared to end the lives of the obvious traitors to Richardson’s regime before him when he suddenly felt unimaginable pain across the backs of his legs.

Smith had taken shelter behind a security console, which Horrigan then blasted in half, but had seemingly succeeded in activating the defensive systems of the room, seven pairs of 5mm Gatling Guns were pouring waves of fire over Horrigan, though most bounced harmlessly from his torso, those behind him had scored multiple wounds at the back of his unprotected legs; he howled in pain like the stricken animal that he was and whirled around, after blasting the security console, and sliced the nearest turret in too with the huge bayonet beneath his over arm. But it was all over, the men rained down blow after blow on the fallen creature till he could stand no more, Sutler personally had emptied two full magazines from his Gauss Pistol into every conceivably weak point that he could think of.

“Nooo,” yelled Horrigan, he had been blasted clean in half and had fallen onto his back, his faceplate looking straight up at the ceiling.

“You [censored] scum,” Sutler hissed, he ran at Horrigan determined to look into the monsters eye’s as he finished him but even like this Horrigan still managed to swat Sutler away with his arm.

“What have you done? You traitors, honour, courage, Semper Fiiii…..”

Sutler got up and emptied the rest of clip into Horrigan, screaming bloody murder as he did so; Autumn pulled him back.

“It’s over Sutler, it’s over, we need to get out onto the docks and help get anyone left aboard and to safety.”

Sutler stood over Horrigan’s face, he tried to think straight past the rage that had pent up inside of him. Without saying a word to Autumn he stormed off towards the bulkhead to the docking platform, though once out on it even Sutler appreciated that he had never seen a room so cavernous as to fit a ship this big, it must even be greater than the Great Auditorium Sutler thought. He looked down and saw the sea! The rough churning of a dark and fathomlessly deep sea, it made Sutler a little sick just thinking of how deep it must be so dark was it. The tanker too was one of the largest things that he had ever seen, it had docked roughly in the center of it’s massive size and Sutler had to turn his head all the way, in both directions, to take in it’s whole rusty frame. PMZ Valdez was just barely visible at it’s helm, the late afternoon sunlight pouring into the dark dock made it difficult to make out anything but a haze.

Smith it transpired had already ran aboard the tanker, and Granite after him, presumably to the bridge, Sutler reckoned.

Autumn and Spencer had took up positions either side of the gantry up to the open door in the side of the hull; nobody spoke, they had stopped thinking and were simply obeying orders and protocols like machines, people will need guiding aboard the tanker, flank the entrance; regardless that they had seen nobody on the entire level aside from Mrs Kreger…

After an indeterminate amount of time, Sutler began to make his way up the gantry, nobody had came, even that fact had started to become apparent to him. He had just got aboard when he almost fell over as the very ground itself gave a lurch. Sutler listened there were, audible in the distance, the sound of huge turbines spinning and also the sound of footsteps up the gantry. Sutler turned looked out of the open doorway, the gantry was gone and the ship was moving! His eye’s widened with shock as he saw Autumn and Spencer race up the gantry but there was no way for them to get in, Sutler had no idea what to do but could only stare in horror when suddenly Autumn seemed to take off, he scrapped face-first against the hull of the ship before just grabbing onto the open ledge of the doorway. Sutler fell to the floor and pulled him in before looking for Spencer, he stood solemnly at the end gantry staring back silently at them.

“He threw me…” Autumn said, gasping for air.

Sutler looked from Autumn, who was on his knees regaining air, and back up to Spencer who gave a single salute and remained stood to attention until Sutler couldn’t even make him out anymore.

“Where’s Granite, what’s going on Sutler? Why is this thing moving, there’s nobody on it is there?”

“We need to get topside, we need to see what’s going on,” it was remarkable that the two men in their power armour and training sounded like a pair of frightened school children.

The tanker was a maze of tunnels and passages, despite it’s complete lifelessness there were old barrels, some of which still glowed with the embers of a recent fire, there were rotten but still usable mattresses from old pre-war beds and near the a flight of stairs upwards, which Sutler and Autumn ascended, a cafeteria with tables and chairs all somewhat neatly laid out. They first new that they were getting closer to the deck by the ever increasing audibility of the sea outside which crashed against the hull of the tanker, Sutler was starting to feel a little queasy. Before them was another bulkhead, one of seemingly hundreds which they had had to pause at and spin the rusted wheel before kicking open, it was the fact that some had opened relatively easily which had led them here anyway, on the hypothesis that they must have been used recently.

The final door way burst open beneath Sutler’s boot and the dazzling rays of the sun shone directly on Sutler’s face, squinting and with his hands in front of his face he slowly made his way outside until his eye’s adjusted sufficiently (even with the standard auto-tinting lenses of his helmet). He moved his hand out of the way and was struck dumb by what he saw, the Oil Rig in all it’s glory was there before him; Sutler collapsed to his knees, he had seen pictures of it before but never like this, the closest that anyone had seen of the exterior was nothing more than the slits through a Vertibird cockpit windscreen. Now he could see every detail, the four mighty faces atop each of the four columns which contained a lot of the citizen housing, the massive rooftop which was an airfield (though Sutler saw nothing take off) unto itself and the towering funnels and radio masts. It was a sight that he had never dreamed of seeing, people had gone whole generations without even going outside and now he, Alan Sutler, could see the Oil Rig in it’s entirety, even from the outside she is so beautiful Sutler gasped, he was still on his knees.

Suddenly, an orange fireball erupted from underneath the Oil Rig and there was a crack like thunder, the ship was miles away now, it’s efficient engines taking them further and further away from home. Another explosion, this time from what Sutler remembered to be the port side of the Oil Rig, around about Deck 3/4. The whole roof of the Oil Rig was ripped in half by a colossal explosion, pieces of twisted girder flying every where; Sutler had gasped but was then knocked backwards by another explosion so great that he had clamped his hands over where his helmet detected external sound to try and drown out the deafening roar, the source of which, it was starting to sink in, he didn’t want to admit was happening, the whole sky was glowing white and by the time it had dimmed enough for Sutler to open his eye’s the Oil Rig was gone! Save from a plume of smoke rising from the ocean into the sky, one of the giant faces was slowly sinking and the ocean was on burned red from the fire of the burning remains which still floated on the surface; Sutler passed out.

Evening - 3rd March, 2242

A great crowd had appeared at the “vagrants dock”, without warning, the dock which was usually only in use when all others were full due it being inhabited by “foreign devils” in the word of the Emperor. However, only some hours previously all of the inhabitants had suddenly disembarked from the ancient oil tanker which they squatted in and filtered into some of the grotty Baijiu bars which made up the outskirts of Shi Town; the tanker had returned and from it had rapidly retreated a sizable group of strange, greatly contrasting individuals all of which, however, were in a despicably filthy and dishevelled state despite their jubilant atmosphere. The crowd was still present and speaking in a hushed manner when another just as peculiar group staggered out of the tanker.

Granite was first out, when he had heard the blast he had rushed frantically around until he found his way onto the tanker deck, greeted by the plumes of smoke rising from a burning and empty ocean, on the deck, Sutler had collapsed and appeared to be unconscious as a silently weeping Autumn had pulled Sutler aside, Granite merely stared in terrified awe. He looked around the docks and realised were they were, even through his shell-shocked mind he knew that he would have to remain on hand to explain to Sutler and Autumn, whom he correctly assumed, would have no idea where they were.

Sutler and Autumn followed Granite and exited the open bulkhead door near simultaneously, it was Sutler, through his puffy eye’s, who first really took in where they were. “My god…” Sutler gasped, reaching as though through an automatic response for his pistol. Granite was watching and ready, he seized Sutler’s arm.
“What? We’re in China sir! Horrigan was a communist agent, they’ve won the war!” Sutler was almost hysterical.

“Sutler! Get a grip, we have not been beaten and this is not China! It is San Francisco China Town district. Autumn, you getting this?”

Autumn was white under his helmet, he had not immediately reached for his weapon like Sutler but had merely been stunned, he was unaware that a place like this existed on the mainland; he nodded.

“Don’t do anything, follow me.” Granite spoke in a monosyllabic voice, instinct had partly retaken him from the state he had been in, he was on auto-pilot, getting his men out of here to think was all that was in his conscious mind whilst he unconscious one was still screaming. The crowd had given them a berth which they had not afforded the previous group, they had immediately noticed the very high fire-power that the trio of men were packing and the fact that they all stood a good seven feet tall and were seemingly more armoured than even the “Brotherhood” soldiers which had been rarely spotted on Shi Town; even the Shi soldiers, which had never quailed in the face of an enemy, looked reserved, though they were wielding relatively advanced hardware, they wore little more than vests in comparison to the hulking black, insectoid-faced individuals.
Granite slowly led the way, he inspected the faces of all of the people he passed, they looked malnourished, dressed in unidentifiable similar looking rags and had Asian faces like those from the legions of Chinese soldiers which he had so often seen marching towards him. Sutler’s eyes darted furtively, beneath his helmet, from scruffy person to scruffy person as he slowly trailed behind Granite, whom Sutler had unconsciously assumed knew what to do, Sutler couldn’t think, his mind was blank; his superior surely knew what to do and he would place all of his trust in him. Autumn, it could be said, was the worst of all, he felt nothing and merely looked at his feet as he walked; his mind locked deep in thought which he never believed possible.

Granite had led them to the end of the pier and suddenly stopped, an official looking man in seemingly slightly better clothing, over the uniform rags he wore a utility vest and belt and had a cap pulled over his dark eyes; the man had been talking to another next to him (whom had retreated when Granite had looked at them) about something which Granite. Granite approached the man who cowered back until he realised that he was against the railings and all that was behind him a dark, cruel and fathomless brine was all that awaited. He spoke at them in an insidious language which recalled Sutler to the battle cries of those he had seen in the hates. Granite loomed over him, “What did you say?” He growled threateningly.

“I say nothing mister. Please go with the other man like you and the others.” He looked terrified and glanced around for a Shi soldier, one stood nearby, clutching his G11 very tightly but not approaching.

“That’s exactly what I heard, tell me dog! What others are you talking about, tell me!”

The man continued to cower, “He looked like you, black metal insect, he led people in blue and yellow and some in rags. That is all, he push through the crowd and into city. Please!”

Granite turned away from him and looked at the others, Sutler didn’t understand the significance and neither, it transpired did Autumn.

“Did any of you find Smith?”

“Er… no sir.” Sutler stammered.

Granite silently turned and continued to keep leading them through the docks, they never talked as they walked through the remains of the city, despite it’s exotic nature; Sutler had blocked it out on the sheer grounds that he did not believe such a place was possible, it was a nightmare from which he would awake eventually., Autumn mused silently to himself upon a subject matter which he was certainly not keen on sharing and Granite, who had been fuelled on instinct, had almost flopped, his reasonable thought was returning to him and with it extraordinary pain, somewhere in the ether a difficult question was swimming; it was like a jigsaw without the complete picture, he had answers and reasons but for what he could not fathom. Even the large amount of background noise couldn’t distract him from his automated path to who knew where, just out of this place so that they could think, which too loomed on the horizon; they would at some point have to admit that the Oil Rig had been destroyed.

They had been walking in this oblivious state for an hour, without realising that they had long since left Shi Town and entered the ruins proper; they had been sighted by numerous scavengers and press gangs but they all, correctly, stayed clear. Sutler looked around at the ruins, towering buildings reduced to skeletal structural girders by decades of decay.

It was in the outskirts of the ruins that Autumn finally spoke, “Granite, about what you mentioned earlier, I’ve been thinking and your right; those security protocols in the lobby required nothing less than Presidential authorisation.”

Sulter too stopped and looked at Autumn. “What are you implying Autumn?” Sutler asked hesitantly.

“That it is a concrete fact that those turrets required Presidential authorisation to activate them, yet that Private Smith just went over and activated them during the battle, he needed Presidential authority. Do you understand?”

Sutler did not understand, “Then the President surely must have given him authorisation, there is no other alternative.”

Autumn cleared his throat, “Do you remember at the docks, the communist worker said that a man who looked like us had left with people clad in blue and yellow along with people in rags, we were the first on the tanker Sutler and who on the tanker could possibly be wearing rags?”

“I don’t know who, though I do know that the tanker was not always there, I think, they must be people from the mainland.”

“And the people in the blue and yellow? Sutler, the people in rags and the people in blue & yellow were the people from Vault 13 and the tribal villagers.”

Sutler scoffed both derisive and aggressively, his temper was building up, whatever Autumn was hinting at Sutler didn’t like it. “How could the people from the cells possibly escape…”

“For [censored]s sake Sutler,” Autumn raised his voice and cursed loudly, it was not often that a citizen employed the use of such words. “The meltdown must have triggered some kind of release, the prisoners some who through the chaos of the evacuation made it to the tanker before Horrigan and us.” Granite had stopped now too, he looked at Autumn.

“Smith?” He uttered stupidly.

“Exactly,” Autumn said, his voice had sunk to just above a whisper in Sutler and Granite’s helmet mics.

Sutler interjected angrily, “Smith was one of us Autumn, he told us about Horrigan’s treachery and saved our lives!”

“Then where is he Sutler! Where the [censored] is he?” Autumn was yelling at Sutler now, something seemed to have clicked in his brain which Sutler was unable to comprehend. “Sutler, just try and think about the facts, he initiated something requiring a Presidential access code, he led us to the tanker which the prisoners from the mainland knew the existence of before us and now he is gone, having been seen leaving with the prisoners. What I am saying Sutler is that that… man infiltrated us from the mainland, possibly Navarro, initiated the meltdown to free the people, killed President Richardson, it’s only logical to assume that he must have had something to do with the release of the Curling-FEV, and escaped on the tanker before fleeing the scene with the people he came to rescue. Sutler, what I am saying that Horrigan was innocent and that we just helped the destroyer of the Oil Rig and the killer of all those people escape.”

There was nothing but silence in the street where they stood, aside from the faint bit of pre-war litter that was rustled by the breeze.

Evening - 3rd March, 2242

There was a full minute of silence between the assembled company; within Sutler’s brain, the two giant gears of patriotism and loyalty were grinding together horrifically as the gravity of what he had been an accomplice, admittedly unwilling, in doing. He fell to his knees and brought his fist down on a nearby piece of pre-war debris, pulverising it; even Sutler realised what had happened now.

“We have just aided in the escape of potentially the greatest terrorist in US history, we have just struck down a colleague and assisted in the escape of all of those prisoners aboard the Oil Rig.”

“Sutler we didn’t know; it had already happened by that point, nothing would have changed!” Cried Autumn, his voice almost pleading and hysterical.

“That’s not the point!” Sutler snapped up at Autumn, though he didn’t look up at him. “Just because we… lost,” the word sounded foreign and alien to him. “Doesn’t mean that he won, he escaped with all of his people and we could have at least made certain that he didn’t evade justice, all those people killed, our lives would be miniscule price for justice!”

Autumn and Granite silently agreed, they were all speechless, looking at Sutler who was still on the floor. Finally, Granite broke the silence.

“We can’t mention this to anyone, ever, you hear; you’ve never spent any extended amount of time at Navarro, the place makes you see things differently. I can’t explain it but if you had been posted there earlier then you would understand. If we tell anyone about this then we’ll… nothing good will come of it.”

Sutler looked up at Granite, “Of course we have to tell someone, the leadership has to know what happened.”

“No!” Granite yelled. “You cannot tell anyone about this ever, I can’t explain, whomever is in charge at Navarro, the information will do no good.”

“How can you say that, how could you doubt the ability of our leaders?”

Granite sighed, he didn’t really know how to explain it himself. “Look if you won’t do it for a colleague then I am directly ordering you as a superior, you will mention nothing of this to anyone at Navarro, same to you Autumn.” Autumn nodded in agreement.

“The truth will out Granite, someone will eventually learn what we did and we will face the penalty for our actions. How are you going to explain how we escaped the Oil Rig yet had to walk to Navarro?

Autumn stepped in, “Look, we may not even make it to Navarro, none of us knows where it is and we don’t have any supplies”

Granite was scowling at Sutler, he turned up to Autumn. “Your right, what we need now is food and water, otherwise nothing will out.” He gave Sutler another scathing glance which even he wasn’t sure Sutler deserved; the man could see no wrong in the Enclave, neither would Granite usually, something just told him that telling a politician at Navarro wouldn’t make anything better.

“I say we make our way back to San Francisco, beat down a few Commies and take what we need, we’ll… we’ll follow the coast upwards and god-dammit we will find Navarro!”

Sutler got up, “Agreed, agreed.”

It took the men another hour to make it back to San Francisco, the great old gate to Shi Town was before them but they had agreed not to go too deeply into town, the last thing needed now was attention, especially from communist devils like those who lived here. It was rapidly darkening and Sutler realised that he may actually have to spend a night here, amongst the enemy. In front of them was a what the locals called a Baijiu Bar, named so after a Chinese alcoholic spirit which was fermented by the locals here; they were the refuge of the peasants. It was a small place built into a pre-war building which had somehow managed to remain intact whilst those by it’s side lay empty with fallen timbers and rotting walls, the only thing which even made the place noticeable in the gathering darkness was a string of multicoloured lanterns made from potato crisp packets. A many voices, speaking quickly and in the same devil’s tongue could be heard emanating through the rickety boards over the windows.

“Place is probably as crowded as the Grand Atrium, though without the atmosphere,” Autumn noted as they approached; it would be a hit-and-run, blast the door down, kill everything which stood in their way and grab as much as they could before the local Jǐngfāng huángdì arrived on the scene. Granite took point with Sutler and Autumn forming a roughly triangular formation as they approached, damn I wish Spencer was here, Granite thought. A bum, with a hood pulled low over his head and wrapped in rags, mumbled in Chinese before responding to the heavy footsteps; the man yelped in fear and sprang away.

“Let us hope that this is the reaction of the mainlanders in there,” Granite said gruffly, gesticulating towards the Baijiu Bar with the barrel of his Pulse Rifle. “We really don’t want to use any more ammo than we have too.”

Wow, for four days this seems so small, only two pages on Word. Well guys, thanks for reading if you still do, had a lot on the old IRL plate at the moment and it may not be getting better soon; but no excuses, I get stuck in patterns and when I don't write for a night or so I need to will my [censored] into writing more, been watching X-Files too, the first series I bought for dirt cheap considering it's 24, 1 hours episodes. We've been through 23 default Word pages now, those who read, and we're only just getting started so thanks for reading. A typical, 3 default Word pages post will be up within the next 24 hours, and I will get a more organised, less dis-jointed thread done too.

*reads*

*see X-Files*

*for shame*

I believe that it was the X-Files which inspired the Enclave, an international shadow government called "The Syndicate" actually runs all of the world with contacts in every facet of governmental organisation, they even have a plan to aid an alien genocide called "The Project". I like X-Files.

I was thinking that the Enclave was inspired by the Empire.

Evening - 3rd March, 2242

They approached the Bar but waited, cautiously outside, something else Sutler was experiencing for the first time today; whilst Sutler had no fear of whatever was in the bar, the circumstances were so different. He had never engaged an enemy in the city before, much less the actual enemy, the communists; here they were, from the great projection to reality. Granite was watching the bar, people had been drifting into and out of the bar for some time, “Are they intoxicated?” Sutler asked.

“Indeed colleague, difficulty in maintaining balance is a common symptom of intoxication, in addition to slowed reaction time and the removal of inhibitions. Needless to say greatly reducing combat efficiency.”

“I don’t understand what then could possibly be gained from consuming such a liquid, though I understand our pre-war counterparts were fond of it.”

“Enough,” Granite said authoritatively. “Got any ideas on this operation.”

“Well,” Sutler interjected. “I’ll take point, you two have the disadvantage of being equipped with rifles, Gauss Pistol is fully semi-automatic, no delay between shots aside from the time taken to pull the trigger and the powered combat armour negates almost all of the recoil which would usually render such fire impossible; nothing stops these rounds, especially not a pack of wafer-thin, underfed, communist peasants. Figured I’d just go in firing from the hip and blast through them all, I mean, it’s not exactly like we are in much danger from these people.”

“My hypothesis,” said Autumn. “Is that they all react like that peasant there, like the…” Autumn choked on his words and memories. “Like the docks, where they all just parted to let us past, I even heard some people get pushed over the railing into the water as they all recoiled from us. What if we make it through the bar, without incident and then when we attempt to make them hand over supplies, they swarm like communist beatles all around us, what if they gather people to fight us; sustained fire, especially from the case-less rounds I noticed all of the soldiers carrying will surely find a weak spot eventually.”

“Sounds to me like it would just be easier for us to go in and start shooting, hit-and-run as quickly as possible. [censored] these commie rats, [censored] their way of life, their families and all they stand for,” said Granite passionately. Sutler silently nodded and in agreement and, after an almost un-noticeable delay, Autumn nodded too. “Autumn, you and I will switch to side-arms and rippers, these rifles are useless in such quarters.

Sutler took point, he grasped his pistol loosely by his hip and kept it trained forward; Sutler didn’t, although he wanted to, kick the rickety little door down but instead pushed it slowly open and stepped over the threshold. It was as small as it looked from the outside, the actual bar only slightly larger than that of a typical pre-war lounge but was as packed as a theatre in comparison. Flimsy round tables were scattered around the room in any order, around every one was at least six peasants, all of whom were clutching small glasses full of a sickly brown liquid with varying levels of volume between patrons. Small beatle-like waiters, as hunched as the average peasant, were scuttling between tables carrying trays laden with the glasses. The whole scene was bathed in dim orange light from more paper lanterns, with only a single working light bulb held over a table close to the bar, surrounded by at least double the people than the other tables, all yelling and waving pieces of paper; even louder than the rest of the noisy crowd. However, all of that stopped when the trio stepped into the room, there was a moment of terrible tension, all of the peasants looked at the men with horror; a man near them mumbled, in his foreign tounge, “Insect men…”

And then began the horror, Sutler fired indiscriminately, without mercy or even aim; he kept the pistol close to his hip and rotated slowly around the room, firing a round in every direction. The round hit there target essentially instantly, each pull of the trigger instantly resulted in five squechly explosions of gore from peasants abdomens and blood-curdling screams of pain. Sutler stopped firing after a few seconds when Granite and Autumn moved in, the risk of friendly fire was too great; Sutler ceased the indiscriminate killing and drew his ripper, immediately seizing a peasant, whom had been cowering behind his chair in the corner, and plunging it like a dagger into the women’s throat before dropping her back to the floor to bleed out.

After a period of time less than a minute, it was all over, Sutler looked around at the devastation, blood had been sprayed all over the walls and pooled on the floor around the bodies, oozing from chest cavities the size of a human head as the 2mm EC rounds drilled through multiple people at just below the speed of sound; solid chunks of organ, muscle and other innards slowly slid down the walls, from which, Sutler discerned, it could be told that nine out of his twelve shots had blasted trough the thin walls and gone out the other side into what was presumably the kitchen. The floor was a mess of bodies and broken glasses, most were not dead but bleeding out slowly; one such man had fallen, face first, by Sutler’s feet, the man tried to tug feebly up at the giant, but Sutler felt nothing and put the man out of his agony when he stepped forward and plunged his foot through the man’s upper torso.

Granite had walked over to inspect the table beneath the solitary light bulb, figuring it must be something of significance; the table, slightly larger than the others and of rectangular shape, had been knocked over by the weight of people who had been blasted backwards. Scattered across the bodies, onto which the table had fallen, were small, cream coloured tiles no larger than the upper joint of a human thumb; Granite crouched onto his haunches and picked on up between his index finger and thumb, after wiping the blood away he could see nothing more than a mystic looking symbol, which he glared at before dropping the piece into his palm and crushing it into small fragments.

Autumn had vaulted the bar and opened the door into an even smaller back kitchen, he looked around and saw nothing but bottles and a few greasy, unwashed counters.

“This place did actually sell food right?” He asked wirily.

Granite had picked up a stalk of corn from a plate on the floor, “Look here,” he called. “Corn, the lifeblood of America, the feeder of her armies, now feeding communist vermin;” he dropped it to the floor in disgust. “But to answer your question then, yes, food must be present here somewhere; water too hopefully, I don’t want to have to make it to Navarro on this brown [censored].”

Sutler looked to Granite, “I personally don’t want to make it to Navarro on any of this stuff. For God’s sake it was prepared by the hands of the barbarous enemy, who knows what this stuff is like.”

“Sutler, like it or not, we need supplies to reach Navarro; in all of American history we are not the first to have eaten food of questionable hygiene. Just for a few days, we’ll be fine; besides we have no choice, the power armour makes you strong and movement effortless, but after three days of nothing to eat or drink, well your going to be a liability to us. If you like we can all be tested when we get to Navarro,” this was an honest suggestion as opposed to a satirical remark.

Sutler didn’t argue, he just followed Autumn into the “kitchen”; they had soon managed a bag of corn stalks each and had succeeded in finding a still for the Biajiu, near which were bottles of water. They looked clean enough, but Sutler and the other all held the waters clarity as questionable at best. Were communist supplies not some of the worst in the world? Sutler thought as he looked at the still. Hence there current losing of the War? To supplement the water that they had found, they also took some of the dark brown spirit; the whole operation had taken up a little less than half-an-hour. They had been interrupted twenty minutes after the initial assault by a party of peasants whom obviously regarded visiting the place as something of their monotonous routine; they were blasted through the open doorway and onto the streets, partly resulting in the trio’s swift departure from the scene and into the ruins. It was nine o’clock by Granite’s reckoning and the men stumbled upon a flock of destitute peasant beggars squatting in a building on the outskirts of Shi Town, a few heads burst beneath boot later, Granite and Autumn remained in their suits, the gyroscopes of which allowed the wearer to fall unconscious and still remain standing, whilst Sutler took the first shift; even without the uncomfortable and unusual sensation of sleeping upright in a suit of armour, it was a long time before anyone fell asleep that night.

Evening - 4th March, 2242

As morning dawned over Shi Town, the men escaped into the surrounding wilderness, on the first full day of a massive trek north, on the first full day after their whole lives had been ended, on the first full day of the new Enclave.

At the great risk of being unprofessional, I have decided to retconn something into the story, the word "colleague", which I envisaged as a more capitalist version of "comrade", had now been replaced by "compatriot" which has a more nationalist bent to it, seeing as how their aren't any businesses in the Enclave.

March, 2242

Sutler had been out onto the mainland before many a time, but he had not expected this. To his understanding, Navarro had been primly placed in a region which the Enclave had correctly calculated, of course, to be moderately safe from the nuclear war and that everywhere else would be blackened, scorched Earth; one would simply have to find where the ground became less like ash and Navarro would be nearby. The reality of the situation was that the whole horizon in three fronts was blistered, brown ground interspersed with dead looking grass, cacti and rocks. Once they had cleared the ruins, Granite had followed the San Franciscan Bay and along the Western Seaboard.

The days had trickled past without incident; the three men, almost always in sombre silence, simply walked and kept walking all day, not even pausing to eat their single ear of rationed corn and water, they simply walked, ate and slept upright in shifts. It was only after a few days that anything notable happened, they had rounded the Bay only hours previously when they noticed that the usual debris that littered the beach, over a centaury of wind blowing litter and other junk around the world, began to appear more familiar appearance; it was Sutler who first noticed, the lower section of a metal tube tipped with a few spikes of melted glass on one side and a twisted remains of a wall mount.

He went instinctively, almost hungrily, for it but Granite, who had noticed, pulled him back; “Sutler, it will be covered with radioactive particles from the explosion.”

“But Sir, it’s history, an actual piece of our home…”

“Sutler, it was cast out by a series of miniature nuclear explosions before drifting here in the radioactive ocean. We cannot introduce contaminants onto our armour and Navarro.”

Sutler looked back longingly over his shoulder from Granite’s face and at the trail of relics dotting the beach; what he wouldn’t have given just to take something, but he knew that Granite was right.

It was on the night, after four days of walking, that the day’s second ration coincided with the usual beginning of the first night shift; they sat around in a tight-nit circle, in almost complete darkness aside from the light reflecting from the half-moon. Sutler felt awful, nowhere near the “Model of the Perfect Citizen” from the weekly Civil Committee for Proper: Attributable Tenacity, Realistic Individuality & Obligatory Training; he had only got out of his armour three times to excrete, and even then, he had removed his helmet only to eat for a few minutes everyday as the rationing left them always hungry, his body was filthy and his hair was stuck to his head from sweat and grease.

He looked around at his compatriots, all must have been like he was, absolutely rotten beneath their proud armour, which was now showing signs of mainland exposure; caked in dust and grime from the knees down. They all sat in the darkness and Sutler took multiple bits in rapid succession out of the corn, he reached for his water and felt nothing, he checked the other side of his belt, nothing.

“[censored]”, he cursed loudly, causing Autumn and Granite to look up from their own ear of corn. “My water has gone; I didn’t drink it all, it must have broken loose from my belt.”

Granite looked around as though confused, “Well compatriot, I don’t know what to suggest, you will have to consume the brown alcohol.”

Sutler had a look of abject horror, “I will not, I cannot consume such a vile poison.”

“You have no choice Sutler, we are all running low on rations, that is why we took the liquid, we knew the water, as sickly as it was, would eventually be consumed.”

Begrudgingly, Sutler removed one of the bottles from the pouch on his belt and eyed it suspiciously; his hand shook slightly as he un-screwed the lid, Sutler closed his eyes and gulped down the liquid. It was a lot thinner than he expected, though his tongue would feel things floating in the liquid with his tongue, his throat almost felt like it was burning and then he spat the liquid out and dropped the bottle; he began to take deep breaths.

“It burns, it burns my throat!”

Granite and Autumn looked up at Sutler, Granite crawled forward and grasped his shoulders, despite how horrible it was watching Mrs Kreger, he couldn’t allow Sutler to die like them alone. “Sutler, keep breathing, your going to be fine.”

“It still burns,” Sutler panted; it took another minute to calm Sutler down and make him realise that he wasn’t going to die like those on the Rig, the bottle, having been dropped hurriedly by Sutler, had spilled all over the ground. They moved again by first light, by noon, Granite decided to move back inland, his reasoning was never explained by Sutler and Autumn trusted him explicitly; even after nine hours nothing had happened, endless unrecognisable wastes in every direction. Sutler and Autumn plodded aimlessly behind Granite, Sutler then realised that he could never be a leader; leaders are made of something special, something different, Granite was a leader, Sutler was a soldier.

Granite had estimated it around five in the afternoon, when he stopped, looked around; he was experiencing a heat haze, everything was becoming blurry but he fought on regardless; he was on the verge of… he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what, but something final.

“Sir? Sir!” Autumn yelled, he was stood on top of a rock and waving at someone in the distance; Granite shook his head slowly and turned around, walking sluggishly towards Autumn, so did Sutler. Coming from the east, and not to far away, was a group of black figures, being evening, Sutler couldn’t quite see through the blinding glare of the setting sun; he formed each of his hands into roughly the shape an “L” and clasped them both over his eyes. Blocking out the rays he made out what the shapes were, “Good God!” Sutler yelled in triumph, “Troopers, troopers up here!”

Together: Granite, Autumn and Sutler sprinted for the troopers on the horizon, leaping over the rocks and obstacles in their way; they all however came to an abrupt halt when the troopers levelled their weapons at them.

“Hold it right there, troopers.”

Granite pushed Sutler and Autumn aside and looked down the soldiers as much as he could in his dishevelled state, “I am Sergeant Granite of the Enclave Control Company, with Specialist Sutler and Private Autumn; the sons’ of Oscar Sutler and Augustus Autumn Sr. We have out identification present.”

Unasked, they all produced their papers, handing them to Granite who handed them to the soldier; he looked over them and nodded before handing them back.

“Apologies compatriots, we have orders, the nature of which I have not yet understood; everyone coming in from the surrounding outposts is being checked; I assume that is where you are from?”

Sutler and Autumn were tense, Granite however spoke fluently, “Yes compatriot, we were engaged in a classified operation for Mainland Ops when we were unable to regain communication with the Oil Rig, in our confused state of trying to establish radio contact we were ambushed and our radio’s were damaged. We’ve been trying to find our way back to Navarro ever since, I assume that we are close then?”

“Indeed compatriot you are, come sir, a bed and shower await you at Navarro.” Granite, Autumn and Sutler all smiled beneath their helmets. It was with the last light of the day that the men reached Navarro, the hills around it, when they reached them, seemed familiar. After sprinting, after the squad that had found them, up a hill it came into view; never before had Sutler associated Navarro with anything so beautiful.

I don't know if this seems rushed, too-short or not, to me it does but things have been running high IRL, my Grandad was rushed into hospital yesterday and is essentially on his death-bed for the next 24 hours; after that I may not have the time to keep up regular updates, for those who care. I will try and keep things going though for any of my little group of readers .

I was sorry to hear about your grandad. I do hope you keep the story going when you can as it's been brilliant so far.

That svcks, sorry to hear.

8th March, 2242

Sutler could see all of Navarro by the day’s final light; though it was some distance away, he could vaguely pick-out the appearance of, what Sutler would hazard a guess as, many tents in a rough formation in the massive central courtyard. Vertibirds too could be glimpsed on the far-side of the compound from where they were standing, they sat immobile on the tarmac beside the, presumably, fully occupied hangers; they must be from the Oil Rig thought Sutler, he still held out hope that his family had escaped, being closer to the upper levels. He could see the open US Army trucks moving rapidly along the facilities roads, the contents he couldn’t make out. Any other details were a blur, they were too far away, and still had the dead forest to navigate around before they could be welcomed home.

Eagerly descending down the hill, Sutler’s view of Navarro was lost to the deadly forest of twig like trees and plasma mines. The walk around the forest took another good twenty minutes and Sutler had noticed that the other troopers had slowly stopped functioning as guides and now stood behind them, watching them attentively. They finally rounded the forest to an old road of crumbling, blistered tarmac which they followed towards an old Poseidon Energy Petrol Station, which Sutler remembered was Navarro’s cover, lest any mainlanders actually make it through Enclave territory in one piece. The old sentinel, Chris, was gone, replaced with a squad of Enclave troopers rushing in and out of the old building whilst an officer oversaw the operation. Granite approached him and saluted, as did Sutler, Autumn and the squad that picked them up. The leader of the squad which had picked them up however, skirted around Granite and whispered something into the officer’s ear; Sutler watched nervously. The officer turned to them, judging by the insignia on his uniform Sutler gleaned that he held the rank of Lieutenant, had been awarded the Purple Heart twice and served with the Department of Energy.

“Excuse me compatriots,” said the man in a friendly manner, but Sutler was still nervous. “I’d like to ask you a few questions concerning your arrival here; you.” He pointed at Sutler, “tell me why it was that you were out in the mainland, yet you did not contact this installation to request a pick-up.”

Sutler gulped, “well sir. We were engaged on a classified Mainland Ops operation for the Enclave Control Company, the nature of which, I assume, is still classified sir. We lost radio communications with the Oil Rig at roughly 4pm on March 3rd, we lost the radio to mainlander fire, we tried to find our way to Navarro by finding the coast and simply following it until we thought we might come across Navarro; we would all like to nominate our Support Gunner, Corporal Walter Spencer, for a Soldier’s Medal to be awarded posthumously.”

“If I remember correctly, the circumstances for the Soldier’s Medal are for heroism outside the field of combat, what happened?”

“He saved me from a collapse at the top of a cliff,” Autumn stepped in, his voice steeped in reverence. “Knowing full well that it would mean that he would fall off to his death.”

“Do you have his holotags?”

“He fell into the ocean sir, he never surfaced.”

“I see, and now you’re here; you came across Sergeant Locklear and his men who were conducting a routine patrol and were undoubtedly relieved to come across some fellow compatriots?”

“Well, yes sir,” said Sutler.

“May I see your papers?”

Sutler, being closest, had the task of receiving Granite and Autumn’s papers and, in addition to his own, handed them to the office; who scrutinised them carefully before looking up smiling.

“Well, it appears that we have two prominent members of the executive class, the youngest of the Sutler and Autumn clans. Your father will be very much relieved that you have returned safely,” he was looking at Autumn, who gasped.

“Father made it off the Rig?”

“Indeed he did, I believe that he was one of the first to escape; he helps our physicians here,” the officer leaned over to a nearby trooper and whispered in his ear. The soldier saluted and marched off in the direction of Navarro, the officer turned to them. “Sorry Specialist Sutler, I am afraid that I don’t recall seeing your family around, and I would remember such prominent people as Oscar and July Sutler. I’m sorry.”

Tears weld in Sutler’s eyes behind the faceplate, but in all honesty he had already come to accept as he wandered the past five days. “Thank you for your sympathies compatriot…”

“Oh, Lieutenant Israel Gannon, US Army and Department of Energy.”

“Well thank you Israel.”

The men all began walking the narrow path through the mines to Navarro, Sutler looked to the Poseidon Energy Station but Autumn beat him to the question.

“What’s going on in there sir?”

“There was an emergency escape route running through there and right into the complex, it has been permanently destroyed due to new security regulations by Acting President Halt.”

“The Secretary of the Interior?”

“Yes, he was the only member of the cabinet to escape the Oil Rig explosion.”

After following the twisting path through the forest for ten minutes the trees began to clear and the wire fence perimeter and gatehouse came into view, as they left the trees behind they were met by a sergeant backed by a pair of troopers wielding Winchester Plasma Casters.
“Hold it right there, I am going to have to see your papers before I can authorise your entrance.” They, again, all handed their papers over, including Lieutenant Gannon, Sergeant Locklear and his men; the trooper, quickly scanned each of the seven citizenship papers which were handed too him and returned to the checkpoint behind him to type something into a computer terminal; after a period of a few minutes he returned to them and handed them their papers back before flagging the group through all at once. “Your all cleared for entrance, welcome to Camp Navarro compatriots.” The trooper saluted the men and one of his Winchester wielding men let the strap over his shoulder carry the weight of the weapon whilst he raised the main gate.

The first thing that Sutler noticed was a pole about a story high topped with a pair of loudspeakers, beneath it was a 18” rectangular television screen similar to a typical, pre-war Radiation King; the middle-aged face of Acting President Halt took up the majority of the screen and his voice blared from the loudspeakers above.

“… in steadfast dedication to the cause we shall all reap what we deserve; compatriots, the Enclave is not dead! Long live the Enclave!”

The courtyard before them was a farcry away from what it had been only last week when Sutler had last been to Navarro, it was indeed littered with, presumably, tents occupied by refugees from the Oil Rig and, judging from what Sergeant Locklear had said, the citizens stationed at the other outposts of Camp Andronicus and Camp Andaius had been called to Navarro. It was getting darker now and indeed some of the people were returning to their tents, one mother in a jumpsuit was calling out for here son, who came back clutching a baseball, she hugged him before beginning to cry slightly and led him inside; at the sight Sutler felt a bit teary too.

Suddenly their was a cry from behind them, and everyone nearby looked to its source, a pale man was sprinting towards them with his arms outstretched.

“Augustus!” Yelled Autumn Senior as he flat out, sprinted despite his age, despite his age towards them; Autumn ran to meet his Dad and was fortunately accustomed enough to applying to lighter touch with his armour, otherwise the hug he held his father in might have snapped the old man in two. Despite the cold armour that encased his son, Autumn Senior hugged him back all the same, he head rested against the Advanced Power Armour’s huge curved shoulder protector; between the blubbing, Sutler could only hear from his distance, “I thought I lost you boy.”

* * * * *

It one a very thorough shower and several MRE’s, after registering with an emergency set-up in the cafeteria, that Sutler found himself alone; he had been assigned a bunk in Charlie Barracks last week in anticipation for his move to Navarro, some things were still in his duffle bag but he hadn’t got them out yet. Granite, Sutler believed, had been assigned somewhere completely differently; he now sat alone, the words of Halt washing over him.

“We will rebuild what we have lost and destroy those who took it; we are the Enclave, the glorious Enclave. Long may she rein, long may we rein.”

Suddenly, the nearby door slid open and the officer from earlier, Lieutenant Gannon cane in, he smiled reassuringly and sat down beside Sutler. “Whilst I couldn’t see your face earlier, I know obviously that it must have torn you to see your friend reunited and not you. You obviously aren’t the only one here who has lost someone, indeed most lost all, but you are one of the few whom aren’t accustomed to life on the mainland are you?” Sutler shook his head. “I was thinking, I and my wife were posted here last year and so have an apartment permit, well, we’re all going to be pressured into taking in extra people and I thought that maybe you’d like to be ours. Navarran apartments aren’t as nice as those back home, essentially just a room the size of a lounge on the Oil Rig with a double bed for a family and a sofa, well we can get a bunk in their and another storage locker. What do you say?”

Sutler, though still looking down at the ground, smiled beneath his helmet and nodded, “I think that I would like that sir, like it a lot.”

“Please, I know you’re one of the Sutler clan, and a loyal compatriot; whilst I am your superior, off-duty you can call me Israel, you’re going to be family after all. Come, I’ll show you our place and you can meet the wife, I’ll let her make the introduction, she’d kill me otherwise, whilst I go and get you signed into my apartment.

The single room was little bigger than the typical Oil Rig lounge, a blonde women with a kind face and wearing a citizen’s jumpsuit, whom had obviously been waiting on the sofa for their return, got up and shook Sutler’s armoured hand. “Well pleased to meet you Specialist Sutler, I’m Roxanne Gannon, now please take that helmet off and let me see your face.” Sutler obliged and unconnected his helmet connections. “That’s better, why did you put your armour back on straight after your shower?”

“Well ma’am,” she looked at him and smiled. “Sorry, Mrs Gannon, okay sorry, Roxanne. I am a soldier and I put my uniform back on with pride, even if it can be uncomfortable at times, Sergeant Dornan will not find me wanting.”

She smiled again, “Honey, I think compatriot Sergeant Dornan has more important things on at the moment, he’s really shook-up, quite a departure from character; beneath his tough and gruff personality he’s as weak as us all.” Sutler looked a little shocked. “You know what I mean, vulnerable to such shook, he comes off so… him and now he’s like us; he does so love the Enclave and his wife was on the Oil Rig so I am not saying he’s a coward. Well you must be tired after your near week out there, get ready for bed, I won’t keep you any longer.” She reached over and pecked him on the cheek before following her husband out of the room.

* * * * *

Sutler was in his new “home”, the Gannon’s are really kind Sutler thought. In finally facing the prospect of some real sleep however, he was rapidly becoming to tired to process any thought, painful or otherwise. Only the one usual bedtime procedure remained, Sutler saluted.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Enclave of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one Enclave under our President indivisible, with liberty and justice for all humankind."

The lights were already off, from the floor, Sutler didn’t get up but rather crawled into bed and fell asleep within a minute.