Chapter 39: The Drums of War

"Older men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die."

~Herbert Hoover

His vision swam with red as he thundered in the tent, his chest aflame with a grief, which for the moment, burned hotter than the sun. Surprised heads turned to regard this specter of righteous fury, the dancing flames in the braziers dimming before the light that seemed to pour like molten stone from eyes darkened from their shadow.

A trio of men quailed before the deep sound, the huffing of madness from a chest laboring to draw forth anything but the fire that it belched. Something in his mind recognized these men, and in that recognition, they saw their doom in his eyes. He fell upon them, his hands like talons as his powerful muscles corded beneath skin made firm by years of battle and suffering.

The first fell beneath him, terror unmanning him in the most primal way as his fingers closed about the wretch's throat like a vice. The sharp crack heralded the disintegration of his larynx, the complex bone grinding into powder as he squeezed.

The second backpedaled and screeched as his back knocked into a brazier, the hot metal blazing pain into his cooking flesh. That pain turned out to be nothing, for he too fell under the man's rage. Fingers grasped his face and snaked inexorably into soft milky orbs. The man's screams fueled his efforts, until the last knuckle disappeared into the bloody caverns and raked at his soft grey matter.

The final man made it to the tent flap before he was yanked back by his hair. He yowled and kicked like a petulant child, but this was no dishonor, for he was but a child to this god of wrath. The angry god lifted him toward the heavens, as if offering up the mortal to the uncaring stars. Hot urine ran down his arms as the man lost control of his bowels, the fluid doing nothing to cool the furnace that blazed in place of the man's heart.

He brought him down with a roar, snapping the man's back against his knee. He threw the body from him and howled his agony into the night.

He fell to his knees and wept openly, wholly unashamed of his tears.

An eternity of torment passed, when a strong hand fell upon his shoulder. He looked up, his vision made bleary through his tears and saw his friend, a calm bulwark against the storm of his emotions, standing above him. Lanius helped Medes to his feet and guided him toward Caesar, the pair of them having paid witness to the man's storm of wrath.

Caesar looked with sympathy to his valued advisor and friend, "I am sorry for your loss, Medes. Your son was a proud warrior and deserved better than to be abandoned by this scum. It is well that you disposed of them, it saves us the trouble of executing them later."

"Now is not the time to grieve. The defenders of the Mojave have been bloodied, but are now alert to the fact that their doom is at hand." Lanius rumbled, his bass voice providing a strange sense of comfort for Medes.

Medes remembered his duty and stood up straight, saluting his Caesar and his Legate, heedless of how the gore staining his arms spattered as he did so.

Caesar nodded in approval, "You shall have vengeance, my friend. As per your wise council, we are slipping men in through the in-flow pipes to assault the dam from within. You are to lead this cohort."

"Caesar honors me." Medes replied thickly.

"Go, and make your preparations."

Medes nodded numbly, the fire having largely died out in the man. He could not bear to return to his tent and face the reflection of his own maddening grief in the eyes of his son's mother, but again, he had his duty. They would grieve for a short time, then he would do as he was bid and prepare his cohort for their assault. A tiny spark rose up within him at the thought, he would offer up every life to exalted Mars for his son.

His wife left him in the cold dark tent, mumbling about some work she must attend to after they had comforted each other for their loss. He heard the tent flap open and opened his mouth to rebuke his guard when the shadow of a much larger man filled the opening. Skypio, his oldest comrade, stepped into the tent and for a moment, shared his friend's grief. He brought a skin of wine, a vile camp concoction, yet sweet nonetheless for the succor it brought. When dusk threatened, Medes made his excuses, needing to set his cohort in order for their infiltration of the dam.

Skypio entered his own tent, a strange dichotomy of pensive rumination and almost giddy sort of envy for his friend. He couldn't quite understand it. His NCR captive, the slave Reyes, glared up at him from where she had been chained to the floor. Even her state of undress and the raw fury spilling from her eyes could not shake him from his distemper.

He sat on the edge of his bed and despite his usual aloofness toward the woman, began to speak, telling her of the failed assault on the town of Novac.

"Good. I'm fucking glad! Do you hear me? I'm glad you Legion fucks got the snot beaten out of you!"

He didn't seem to hear her, or at least, he completely failed to acknowledge her venom.

"The loss is of little consequence. What really strikes me, is how Medes is reacting to the death of his son. I saw him in Caesar's tent, how he butchered the survivors with his bare hands. I saw the grief that almost crippled him within its madness. It was sublime. It was one of the most profound things I had ever witnessed. Raw, unfiltered, powerful! I've always admired Medes… he was my Decanus, once upon a time. He was harsh but fair, and was well loved for it. To see him laid low like the arrow of Paris through Achilles' heel."

Skypio turned to look at Reyes, and she was stunned into silence at the intelligence shining in his eyes.

"I would give anything to experience that depth of feeling. But I fear nothing, and so I love nothing."

Skypio continued to stare at Reyes and she found she could not break the connection of that gaze. It was as if his philosophic humours were expecting for her to provide some kind of answer. Her eyes narrowed; she didn't care if this brute found deeper meaning or not. He was her enemy and would always be her enemy. She braced herself for the neanderthal to grasp her chains and throw her upon his bed. She would wriggle and kick, bite and claw. But in the end, as it always did, she would end up bloody and broken as he penetrated her over and over again.

She had looked away for a moment, and when she looked back up, she had to restrain her surprise. The man had simply gotten up and was striding for the tent flap.

"We attack soon. The next time you see me, I shall be bathed in the blood of your fellow soldiers. And I will take no pleasure in it."

There were muscles spiking with displeasure that she didn't know she had. As always, Ashur strode ahead of her, the air between them bereft of small talk yet suffused with companionable silence nonetheless. They had returned from a hectic schedule of scouting after surveying the carnage at novac, paying particular attention to other Legion movements and the NCR's reaction. If Ashur's estimate was correct, they had mere hours before the Legion commenced their assault. The Commander had directed that his two intelligence assets get what rest they could, for their skills would be sorely needed when the hammer blow came.

The Brotherhood members they came across gave them the right of way, each one nodding or saluting in respect as they sauntered past. It filled Jacky with a measure of pride to have been elevated from wasteland scum to a respected warrior to a Brotherhood who prided themselves on martial ability. She was lost in the glow of self-congratulations when she impacted the unyielding surface of a CMC-405 light combat suit, the sudden collision eliciting a yelp from both her and her unwitting target's lips.

Ashur raised a brow in mild amusement, the equivalent to a guffaw from a more gregarious person. But he at least extended a gloved hand to help both women from the deck.

Jacky rubbed a forming bruise on her forehead and cast an apologetic smile toward the pretty blonde woman, Sophia. The French medic was verbose in her apology, her accent coming to the fore as she fussed over her.

"It's alright." Jacky waved off the medic's attempted ministrations, "It's just a little bump; I should have been paying more attention."

"Merde! Je suis vraiment désolé!" Sophia repeated, her brows knitted in concern.

Jacky couldn't help but smile, the sweet woman was always so kind and projected an aura of motherly concern at all times. Even now she… wait. There was an undercurrent of fear, a trembling and pensive ocean of feeling just beneath the façade of sympathy that the woman always projected. Jacky wanted to help the woman who always put the needs of others before herself, so she probed a little deeper, not meaning to invade the medic's privacy but eager to finally pay back some of the debt she felt she owed to her.

A gasp escaped her lips when she peeled back a layer and found a monolith of guilt so imposing that it cast her mind under its dark shadow and made her shiver in its utter lack of warmth. Why would Sophia feel such guilt? Had someone died under her care? Did it have something to do with the fear that seemed to scream from the depths of her subconscious?

She saw a glimpse of children in bondage and heard the gravelly voice of an older man. A voice that compelled her to treason.

Jacky came to and found a curious look in Sophia's eyes and an almost angry one in Ashur's.

"Sorry, my mind was a little addled there for a moment. Ashur and I were on our way to get some rest before our next mission, I have the feeling that we will need it." Jacky faked a little laugh.

"Of course. Again, I am so very sorry. Please come see me if you change your mind about getting that looked at." Sophia calmly reassured, her accent diminishing as her overwhelming concern finally wavered.

Jacky pulled Ashur along and waved a farewell to the medic, who continued on her way through the corridors of the bunker.

"We need to speak to the commander, now." Jacky whispered fiercely to Ashur's questioning gaze.

"You should not have entered her mind." Ashur warned.

"I know… I, I just wanted to set her at ease and maybe see what was bothering her. I felt something. Something that seemed out of sorts for her. And I think I know what it is."

"Anything you say to the commander regarding what you found will be considered suspect. Psi-interrogations are notorious for… misunderstandings."

"I wasn't interrogating her!"

"Regardless, you peered into her deeply held thoughts without her consent."

Jacky shivered as they walked, wrestling with her own guilt on that count, "I get it! I fucked up! But I think that Sophia might have had something to do with the ambush you suffered when you fled the Umojan outpost. I think that the Dominion has her children."

"So, the vaunted Cassandra Moore is missing, presumed dead? And of the thousands of troops under her command, less than a thousand returned. I must say General, I expected better from you. The Senate is raking me over the coals over the Mojave campaign as it is."

General Oliver could only murmur an apology at the President's rebuke. Damn that Moore! Though he had fully sanctioned her operation though it played into her personal vendetta against the Brotherhood, a successful skirmish before the main battle looming with the Legion would have done wonders for morale. As it was, he felt as if he was wading in the morass of despondency every time he visited the troops. They walked slowly toward the monorail station as they talked, the General more than a little on edge at the amused glint in several of the staff members accompanying the NCR's executive.

President Kimball sighed, "Look, I know luck is a fickle bitch, especially in war. I was just hoping for a bit of good news when I got off the tram, not a report of a devastating loss. We need to win this one General, I can't stress that enough. More than our political capital is at stake here, the future of the NCR is riding on this."

"Speaking of that, our intelligence reports indicate the Caesar will be making his move soon. He received another wave of reinforcements and now outnumbers us almost 2 to 1. It will be a close thing when the attack comes."

The president gazed at him for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak, shutting it again when a shout came out to them from a running messenger.

The man's chest heaved with exertion, as if he had run all the way from McCarran. Kimball waved down his security detail, who were moments away from riddling the poor trooper full of holes. The man made his salute to the two of the most powerful men in the world, admirably without a hint of nervousness… though that could have been overwhelmed by the man's obvious consternation over his tidings.

"Report, corporal." General Oliver muttered, a palpable sense of relief coming over him at the distraction.

"Sir, we've just received report of a major attack on the settlement of Novac. Chief Hanlon himself led a force of rangers in the town's defense."

"Jesus!" Kimball swore. He waved his people onto the tram, ignoring the disappointed looks from many of them and muttered protests. He pulled the General and the messenger well away from the train before whispering harshly, "What else?"

The man looked around, as if in sudden fear at being alone with the two men, "Estimates placed Legion strength at a cohort, approximately 3 to 4 hundred men. The so-called Terrans anchored the defense and somehow the Legion was forced to retreat after a brief but bloody battle. The rangers report that Hanlon and at least 8 other rangers were killed."

"A handful of rangers and those Terrans beat back hundreds of Legion soldiers?!" Kimball cried, agitated.

"The Brotherhood of Steel deployed a force in support, they got a count of about twenty."

"Damn McNamara." The President growled, ignoring the confused expression coming over the messenger.

"I'm glad that the town is intact," The President explained, "but with the Brotherhood's involvement, their loyalty will fall to them and to the Rangers that defended them. Many people often forget that the Rangers are NCR and so will consider this a victory despite our presence, not because of it."

Politics. General Oliver shook his head, though he knew that the President was right. If only Cassandra had succeeded! It would have been unfortunate for Novac, but the position of the damnable Brotherhood was now strengthening at the expense of the NCR… at HIS expense.

He and President Kimball shared a look, as if silently communicating their mutual understanding. The General's star was fading and unless he could salvage something from this campaign, the President would not long survive their defeat.

President Kimball opened his mouth, but anything he was about to say was ripped away from the massive firewall that swept them off their feet. General Oliver shook his head and coughed his throat raw trying to expel the smoke that tortured his lungs.

He got up on all fours and crawled over to the sprawling form of the President, relief flooding over him as he witnessed the rise and fall of his Commander-in-Chief's chest. What the hell just happened? He looked over to where the messenger just stood and saw a single boot standing amidst the flaming wreckage.

The General looked around and nearly collapsed in shock at the devastation that had been wrought on the platform. The monorail was simply gone, the twisted remnants of the rails hanging like sickly vines as flames continued to lick at their forlorn shapes. The President's entire staff had been boarding it when the explosion occurred… it was safe to say that they were all gone.

He tried to banish the evil sense of satisfaction that threatened at the edge of his thoughts… though they snickered at his misfortune, they had been loyal to the President.

A medic ran up to him, grasping him by his arms though he couldn't hear the man's shouts as anything more than a muffled noise plucking at the lowest range of his hearing.

"See to the President!" He roared, his deafness lending his voice volume.

He stood on shaking legs and found that the messenger had clearly shielded, unwittingly, him and the president with his body. He would commend the man later, but now he needed to see to the President's safety. Clearly this was an opening move for the Legion, to take out NCR leadership before their attack.

"Secure the president!" He added to the throng of troopers rushing to the scene, "Get him to McCarran and guard him with your life, or it's your ass! You hear me troopers?!"

Their mouths moved in what General Oliver assumed was an affirmation. He felt his strength returning to him and gestured to a squad to come with him. He needed to get to the dam now!

"Commander, sensors have detected a massive explosion in New Vegas."

Nolan looked up sharply from his discussion with Captain Griff, "What? What happened?"

The adjutant looked meaningfully at the Terran commander for permission, only proceeding at his silent nod of assent.

"Conducting detailed sensor sweep, standby."

A few tense moments past as the men and the command center crew watched the adjutant jerk her head in a pale mimicry of human movements. Finally, her eyes flashed with the completion of her analysis.

"A chemical explosive has been deployed to destroy the monorail station. Sensors have determined that there were several casualties. A person of some importance has been wounded and is being rushed to Camp McCarran. The human identified as General Oliver is proceeding to Hoover Dam."

"It's the President! It must be!" Nolan exclaimed, his eyes shining with opportunity.

"I would put the Legion's frumentari high up on the short list of folks that would conduct that kind of terror attack on the President." Griff mused, "And we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth… Ashur and Jacky are out though, they've been run ragged over the past several days and need some downtime."

Nolan was not going to be deterred that easily, "Christine is looking for some more 'field' therapy, and I can understand why. Veronica will naturally want to go with her, and though she is a scribe, her field experience is ample."

"The NCR has been bloodied, but Camp McCarran is a hard nut to crack. They'll need backup." He considered for a moment, "It's been awhile since I've tasted some action, I'll bring a squad myself. If we hit them hard and fast as soon as they begin to redeploy to Hoover Dam, we can have their President in our custody and leverage that to getting the bear out of the Mojave."

Nolan slammed a fist into the console, "Yes! We could negotiate a lasting peace between the Brotherhood and the NCR. My people have long worried over the fate of our main headquarters at Lost Hills. This gives us a chance to reconnect with the Council of Elders."

"Adjutant, prep the dropships. Signal Pearl and have her vector some banshees for air support. Nolan? You get to tell my wife where I've gone."

Griff didn't give Nolan a chance to respond, jogging from the room like a man ten years his junior. He was strangely elated at the idea of being strapped into a hardskin again, leading men and women against long odds. He missed it, though he was entirely certain that Sharon did not. Thankfully, she was busy in the infirmary of the main BOS bunker attending to the large number of NCR casualties that still required medical attention.

He lazily returned salutes as he exited the command center and jogged to the barracks, the blocky structure welcoming him into its cool interior with a wave of nostalgia. He took a right past the main mustering foyer and past the small galley until he reached the heavy jaws to the arming chamber. He steadied himself with a deep breath before placing his hand on the door access.

The yawning portal opened wide with a series of reverberating slams, shaking the entire barracks and permitting him access to the arming chamber within. With more power, a second arming chamber would be available, allowing two troopers to suit up at once, but they opted to attach the tech reactor, providing specialized power to the main arming chamber, granting them the ability to arm up marauders, firebats, reapers, ghosts and medics.

Hrmm… reapers, their jump jets would come in handy at the dam, plus their dual pistols could wreak havoc among the very lightly armored (by Terran standards) Legion soldiers. He'd have to have some trained up before the big push by the Legion. He had keyed in the command for his personal hardskin and had walked to the center of the chamber on autopilot, his long absence not having dulled his muscle memory. He couldn't quite contain his grin as the machine whirred into life and began machining the dark grey combat suit into place around him.

He exited the barracks some minutes later, pausing for a moment of nostalgic admiration at his up-armored form. His Captain bars shone brightly against the collar of his hardskin, and though it had been built to his specifications, it wasn't quite the same as the suit he wore during the campaign against Mengsk. Still, it worked well enough.

His squad was already assembled and waiting for him, Sergeant Petreko standing like a blonde statue at the head of the formation. He hadn't spoken to her in some time, and wondered how she was getting along in the wake of Private West's death. They had taken losses before, but somehow this loss seemed to affect the normally unflappable sergeant more than most. It wasn't that there had been anything romantic between them, as Griff was reasonably sure that Petreko preferred more feminine company, but something akin to a big sister type relationship. West had been a big dope, but had that genuinely friendly farm boy aura.

"Sergeant? Report."

She snapped a text book salute then spoke in a clipped tone, "Two medics, six marines and two marauders, locked, cocked and ready to rock, sir."

He smiled and nodded, grateful for the steady professional he always got from the NCO. He stepped up next to her, facing the squad while Petreko performed a smart about-face… which was hard to do in power armor.

"Alright ladies, mission is simple. We're air dropping into the middle of Camp McCarran and kidnapping the NCR's President. They aren't going to give him up easily, but they'll be undermanned since most of them will be redeployed to the Dam. We are likely going to run into some of the crew that retreated from the assault a few days ago, so that could work in our favor, I doubt they'll be eager to get another taste of this." A few chuckles at that. "Priority is getting the President out of there alive. We need to hit them hard and fast, but let's not turn it into a bloodbath. Put down who you need to then move on."

The marauders groaned at that, Punisher grenade launcher weren't exactly subtle tools. "You two, I'll need you to cause some damage to the buildings," They perked up at that, "do enough mayhem to give the NCR something else to think about. Any questions?"

There were none, so Griff nodded to Petreko who barked out orders and had the squad double-timing it to the waiting dropships, their heavy footfalls raising clouds of rust colored dust. The squad split into two, Griff taking one and Petreko taking the other. Griff was joined by a grinning Christine and a somewhat more sober Veronica while he noted a small number of Paladins heading into the other dropship. They were in the air in moments, giving him just enough time to sync his command channel with the Brotherhood soldiers even while bracing himself against the multiple G maneuver.

They were joined in minutes by a trio of banshees, Pearl announcing herself and her flight over the coms with an almost meek hesitance. Griff could empathize, a simple mistake had cost her people and she had to find a way to understand that she could use it to mold herself into a better pilot or let it reduce her to a shell of her former self. With her age and experience leading the Boomers, he imagined that she would come out of it better than before.

He had little time for further rumination, as the ramshackle outskirts of New Vegas came into view. Though they slowed considerably, the dark grey walls of Camp McCarran came into view, dark ant-like figures rushing about in answer to their sudden arrival.

"Put us in over the main courtyard! I'll lead team 1 to secure the area, team 2 will find the President." He looked around as the dropships moved into position, the wind whistling against the contours of his hardskin, "Over there!"

He pointed at the main building, unnecessarily as his command suit sent a data burst to Petreko's suit. "Focus your search to that building!"

With no further preamble, he leapt from the dropship as soon as the wind their engines kicked up died down enough to stop buffeting him.

He brought his Impaler up and fired a sustained burst at the feet of several NCR troopers, the staccato of mini-explosions immediately in front of them providing ample cause to let caution overwhelm valor.

The rest of his squad spread out in a wide ring, the marines focusing their fire at suppressing the NCR response, such as it was, and the marauders gleefully firing their punisher grenades at any structure. The NCR soon learned to not take shelter there, after the first few of their comrades found their defilade blasted out from around them.

Credit to his team, they resisted the urge to gun down the panicking NCR troopers, merely encouraging their flight with very close tracer fire.

Meanwhile, Petreko had hoofed it to the main entrance with her squad at her heels. She paused and pointed at the marauder accompanying her team, the man nearly bouncing with anticipation as she backed away enough for him to blast open an entrance. The door and several feet of wall on either side blew inward under his fusillade, the roar of protesting concrete and shattering glass drowning out the few cries which rose from within.

She charged in and grit her teeth as she knocked aside a trooper that was too slow in retreating before blasting at a trio of soldiers busily setting up a mounted 50 cal. She regretted that she had to be the one to be contrary to the Commander's wishes, but she would slaughter a thousand of them before allowing another of her squad to be threatened.

She pounded up some stairs, the rails on either side pressing in on her armored form but presenting no obstacle to her advance. She grimaced at the squeals of screeching metal as her marauder attempted to do the same. She made the top landing and glanced down, sighing heavily at the antics of the much larger man as he struggled to even make the first steps.

"Travers, stand down. You, Michaels and Hobbes will hold the foyer while the rest of us find Kimball."

The man's shoulders slumped as he gave up the fight then tried to reverse course, popping free with a clang when his teammates grabbed hold of his arms and yanked him back. The remaining two marines pounded up the stairs once he was clear, one of them patting him consolingly on a massive shoulder plate.

The next few minutes was a whirlwind of kicked open doors and short bursts followed by strangled cries and bloody gobbets of flesh sprayed along walls. Her suit's HUD allowed her to discriminate against enemies who posed a threat and those that were unarmed and clearly not in a position to resist.

Her suit pinged like frozen peas flicked against tin as a number of 5.56mm rounds impacted against her back. She whirled to a trio of NCR troopers, their service rifles braced against their soldiers as they continued to fire at nearly point blank range. She admired their courage, as they held their ground despite the pale cast of their skin and the nervous perspiration breaking out over their foreheads.

One of her marines bull-rushed them, scattering the paltry formation and sending the hapless soldiers flying. They groaned as they lay on the ground in various degrees of dishevelment. From the angle of their arms and legs, she could tell that they had suffered a number of broken limbs. For their sake, she hoped that their medical science was more advanced than their weaponry.

A single office remained intact, and judging by the squad of men who braced themselves at the single entrance, likely contained their objective.

She stalked over to them, her marines flanking her. Acting in tandem, they stomped to a halt several feet in front of them, the impassive glare from their helmet visors reflecting the soldier's fear back unto them.

She sent a silent signal to her boys and as one, each of them lifted their Impalers and pressed the bayonet release next to the trigger guard. With an ominous 'snikt' two feet of serrated steel sprang from just beneath their barrels. She tried to stymie her laugh as the group of NCR troopers fell back in a clamor, several distinct puddles forming on the ground.

Directing her men to keep watch on the largely ineffective squad, she pushed the door open with a single blow from her off hand and winced as the ancient wood flew off its hinges. Potshots rang out from within and impacted her armor, the nanoforged steel doing its work and deflecting the rounds effectively. She stomped into the room and drew her sidearm and in a smooth movement, shot the four men standing cordon around a tall man in a business suit.

To the President's credit, he didn't wince or flinch even as his men fell around him, clutching bloody and painful (yet survivable) wounds.

"President Kimball, I'm Sergeant Petreko, Raynor's Raiders. You are coming with me."

General Oliver raised the binoculars to his eyes for perhaps the tenth time in as many minutes. His men were engaged in a flurry of activity around him, adding to and reinforcing the sandbag revetments dotting the pinnacle of the Dam. He kept watch on Fortification Hill, the site of Caesar's main force and headquarters. He could discern movement in the camp and was sure that the beehive of activity there and the echoing sounds of beating drums, meant that the Legion would attack at any moment. He was woefully unprepared and outnumbered, damn the Brotherhood! Damn the Legion!

With the bombing attack on the monorail, he had to detail 2 companies just to guard the president, leaving him with just 2 full strength and 1 partial strength battalions to meet the vanguard of Caesar's assault. 1 battalion was set to secure the inner workings of the Dam itself, trusting that the CO would deploy his men effectively and keep the Legion from crawling up through the dam to overthrow their surface defenses. With 3 companies in reserve, he had a single battalion with him on the dam and the adjoining cliffs.

"Sir! Sir!"

'Of course… something else to go wrong.' Oliver thought, as the messenger rushed up to his position.

He returned the corporal's hasty salute, noting the bright red shade of the man's face. He fought to catch his breath and haltingly informed him that McCarran has been attacked and the President taken.

General Oliver pinched his nose as pain blossomed in his head, the stress nearly overwhelming even his vaunted bearing. His mind drew a blank, as if the mechanism of his thought process ground to a halt at the report. He took several deep breaths, girding himself for the necessary order. He could lose the dam, but he could not lose the President! Neither option appealed to him, as either would doom his career. Of course, he'd have to survive the battle to suffer whatever censure awaited him back home. First things first.

"Tell LtCol Baxter to detail 2 companies to retake McCarran." He ordered tersely, his every effort bent toward not chewing out the reluctant messenger. His anger spiked as he realized that the Corporal wasn't paying attention and very nearly rebuked the young man when he noticed that the man's gaze carried past the General…

He sighed again and turned around, his heart sinking that much further as he beheld the ordered ranks of Legion soldiers marching inexorably toward the Dam. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam was about to begin.

A/N: This story is nearly finished! I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but the epilogue will be like the one presented in the game, with title cards and narration relating the fates of several people and factions. We will achieve a sense of closure by hearing about New Vegas itself, Freeside, the Followers, the Great Khans, the three Families, the Brotherhood and more. And of course, our Terran friend's attempt to return to their own universe. Thank you for reading! Reviews always welcome.