章 62: Shock due to shortages
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In the dimly lit corner of a dusty tavern near Long 15, an old television buzzed as the news echoed throughout the place. The screen flickered, showing images of the barren landscape of Shady Sands, where locals stood in line for water rations.
"In recent news, the water shortage in the Shady Sands area continues to worsen due to the cut in supply after losing control of Hoover Dam," the anchorwoman announced with a tense yet measured voice. "Senators have proposed a bill to limit livestock activities in order to prevent further shortages, but President Kimball argues the law is unconstitutional and assures that the issue will soon disappear once the dam is retaken."
The patrons barely lifted their heads, long accustomed to the steady stream of bad news. Conversations continued in murmurs, accompanied by the soft clink of glasses hitting the worn wooden tables. The men and women gathered there, many of them mercenaries, traders, and adventurers, had little faith in the empty promises of the NCR government.
A weary worker slumped heavily onto a barstool, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion and frustration. His face, darkened by the dust and sweat of the factory, bore the marks of a man defeated by an endless day.
"Give me the strongest thing you've got..." he muttered, his words dragging as he tapped his fingers on the bar. "It's been a damn awful day. The factory's at a standstill because of the constant power outages, and the supervisors don't want to risk damaging the machines."
The bartender, an older man with gray hair and a tired expression, nodded silently. He poured a glass of dark liquor and slid it over without a word, offering only a brief look of understanding. The worker grabbed it roughly, taking a long gulp, seeking to drown his pent-up anger in the alcohol.
Meanwhile, the television droned on, with the monotone voice of the anchorwoman delivering more bad news to the room.
"We've spoken plenty about Caesar's Legion and the chaos they've brought with their barbaric ways. Our brave soldiers managed to halt their northern advance, but reports from the south indicate the Legion continues its rampage, attacking a sister republic. Not long ago, the conflict between the Legion and the Republic of Río Grande came to an end, but tensions remain high. For more on this, we'll have General Lee Oliver in our next segment," the anchor announced as the news network's logo briefly flashed on the screen.
The worker let out a bitter laugh, downing his glass in one swift motion before slamming it onto the bar with a dull thud.
"Lee Oliver..." he muttered disdainfully. "Always talking about victories and how strong we are. Meanwhile, we're breaking our backs in factories that barely run. And those Legion bastards keep pushing through the south like nothing's stopping them. How long can this go on?"
The bartender, wiping a glass with a dirty rag, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing. The radio, playing alongside the television, echoed the same news. The conflict in the south was on everyone's mind, though few dared to discuss the full scope of the threat.
The tavern began to fill up as more people trickled in, seeking refuge from the sweltering heat and the barrage of bad news pounding the NCR. The air thickened with murmurs of frustration, while the smell of cheap liquor and sweat mingled in the atmosphere. Outside, dust from constant sandstorms swirled through the streets, adding to the sense of desolation that mirrored the hopelessness etched on the faces of the patrons.
With each passing day, the Republic suffered more under the strain of water shortages and power outages brought on by the loss of Hoover Dam to Caesar's Legion. The lights in the tavern flickered sporadically, casting a brief, uncomfortable silence over the room before they hummed back to life.
"This paper's worth less every day," a man grumbled, holding up a crumpled five-dollar NCR bill, his face flushed with anger. "My brother in Shady Sands says the machine printing this stuff hasn't stopped. More of these pretty papers every day, and they're worth less each time."
The man next to him, a worker with calloused hands and tired eyes, scoffed in response. "That's why I switched back to bottle caps. Kimball can't just print millions of caps out of thin air to fund his damn wars in the north, south, and east. At least caps have value."
"Where's your patriotism, you ungrateful bastard!" another man chimed in from the bar, raising his voice above the murmurs. "These are just temporary problems. The president said it himself: we'll retake the dam soon, and everything will go back to normal."
His words hung in the air, but instead of inspiring confidence, they were met with skepticism and resignation. Hard times had eroded the people's faith in government promises. Many, like the worker who preferred caps, had long since stopped believing in a return to normal.
The television continued to flicker in the corner, casting unsettling shadows across the patrons' faces. As always, the news brought more grim updates. The anchorwoman's voice cut through the tavern's low hum, drawing the attention of a few while others remained engrossed in their own conversations.
"In these times of crisis, it's necessary to tighten our belts," the anchor declared, her tone attempting to sound calm, though it only underscored the severity of the situation. "The head of the Farmers and Ranchers Association claims food prices will continue to rise due to the water shortage affecting crops in the Shady Sands area. Citizens are urged to make careful purchases and cut back on luxuries this year."
The silence that followed was brief yet palpable. Some muttered under their breath, while others simply shook their heads, knowing full well that the hard times were far from over. Rising prices and shortages of essential goods affected everyone, but for the poorest, it was a matter of sheer survival.
"Belt? What belt?" spat one of the workers from his table. "There's nothing left to tighten. I can barely put food on the table with these prices."
A younger patron, visibly frustrated, let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right, cut back on luxuries. Like anyone here can afford luxuries. Every penny goes to just staying alive while those bastards in the government line their pockets."
The tension in the tavern simmered beneath the surface as the harsh realities of life in the NCR weighed heavily on the shoulders of everyone inside. Each day seemed a little darker, with no end in sight to the crises that plagued the Republic.
The frustration in the room intensified, fueled by a sense of helplessness. Complaints and murmurs grew louder, reflecting the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the television continued its broadcast, speaking of austerity measures and promises of recovery that, to many, felt distant and empty.
"Finally, what many of you have been waiting for: we now have General Oliver Lee here to speak about the upcoming campaign," announced the anchor, attempting to inject a sense of enthusiasm that clashed with the palpable tension in the room. The camera focused on the general, an imposing man in a crisp uniform, his expression hardened by years of war and difficult decisions.
The bar fell into a tense silence as attention shifted to the screen. Some patrons raised their half-filled glasses, while others stopped talking, their tired faces turning to the television with a mix of interest and skepticism.
"Thank you, Jane," General Lee began, his deep voice resonating with authority. "We are going through tough times, but our Republic has overcome challenges before, and this will be no exception. The recent loss of Hoover Dam to the Legion is undoubtedly a hard blow for all of us. But I want to assure you that our best men are already preparing a counteroffensive."
"Chief Hanlon led a remarkable defense, managing to halt a crazed group of machete-wielding men, sacrificing hundreds of soldiers in Boulder Town to completely stop the advance of that group of slavers. Unfortunately, his attempt to retake the dam from the forces that managed to escape was unsuccessful," continued General Lee, his tone now more serious. The tension in the room was palpable as he described the challenges faced by the NCR Rangers in their struggle against Caesar's Legion.
"But once the campaign in Baja concludes, we will have the Rangers back in the Mojave to reclaim what is ours and bring civilization to the tyrant who calls himself Caesar."
The words echoed through the tavern, where the tired, dust-covered faces of the workers reflected the doubts many held about this supposed "victory" on the horizon. The promise of the Rangers, once the pride of the Republic, now seemed distant, almost a mirage amidst the growing despair.
"Same old crap," grumbled one of the men at a table near the bar. "Hanlon's bleeding out there, and these bureaucrats make it sound like we're winning. All they ever do is ask for more sacrifices."
"I told you before," the government supporter chimed in. "The Rangers are in Baja. But when they return, the Legion won't stand a chance. We'll take back the Mojave and the dam, and it'll be the beginning of the end for Caesar."
The man who had questioned the situation clicked his tongue, clearly disillusioned. "And how many more have to die for that to happen? Every day it gets worse. While we tighten our belts, they sit in their cushy offices, waiting for everyone else to fight for them."
"Additionally," General Lee continued, his tone unwavering, "the Senate will soon approve a new draft, targeting young men and woman between 17 and 21 to fill our ranks, along with new taxes to fund the essential budget needed to retake Hoover Dam from those savages and push into Arizona, expanding the Republic with new member states."
The words hit hard in the tavern, but instead of enthusiasm or relief, they were met with a deep silence of uncertainty. Faces, hardened by struggle, absorbed every word with a mixture of resignation and frustration. The draft, already a contentious issue, now directly targeted the sons of many in the room—young men who had known nothing but the harsh life in the NCR, and who were now being sent to war.
"Now they're going to take our sons too?" a man muttered, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "It's easy to talk about sacrifice when it's not them on the front lines."
Another man, sitting near the bar, clenched his fists. "Taxes and more taxes... all to fund a war that seems never-ending. And meanwhile, we're still rationing water and living without electricity."
The room fell into an uneasy silence once more, the air thick with tension. The promises of victory and recovery seemed far removed from the daily struggles of those who bore the brunt of the conflict, left to wonder how much more they could endure.
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章 63: The remains of attis
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"These super mutants look a lot bigger than I expected... Is that power armor?" I asked while observing from a hill. In the distance, I could see a group of super mutants working on what appeared to be one of their "tanks," a grotesque mass of heavy machinery, all improvised steel and crude reinforcements.
The frumentarii beside me raised his binoculars, examining the same group. "Yes, they seem larger than the usual super mutants... And that one over there, the one overseeing the others, he's wearing several layers of steel, almost like full armor over his skin."
"Well... This is going to be a tough fight. Good thing we have access to the Association's market. If we were relying solely on the supplies from my factories, we might have trouble keeping enough explosives and rockets for these monsters... Any idea how we could lure them out?" I asked, still studying the armored brute.
The frumentarii paused before answering. "Not a clue, legate. They're unpredictable, don't follow human patterns. It might be best to just shoot them now and move forward."
"Fine... Anti-material rifles, everyone. Quickly!" I ordered as my men began preparing one of the rifles. We'd need surgical precision to take down those armored beasts.
We lined up on the hills, concealed among the rocks and brush. The sharpshooters got into position, their rifles ready. I adjusted my scope toward the largest super mutant, the one with the layers of steel over his skin. I could feel the tension in the air as my men prepared for the attack.
"Target the head... three shooters on the big one," I ordered quietly. My scope locked onto his head, searching for any vulnerability between the steel plates. The silence before the storm stretched for what felt like an eternity.
"On my mark... three, two... one... fire!"
The deafening crack of the anti-material rifles echoed across the valley. Several .50 caliber rounds shot straight toward the armored super mutant and his companions, cutting through the air. The impacts resounded against their bodies; the bullets clanged off the steel armor, while other mutants dropped with their skulls shattered.
The armored mutant staggered, his movements clumsy as he tried to comprehend what had hit him. But one bullet had found its mark: a small opening in his makeshift helmet. Blood began to seep from his head as the massive beast dropped to his knees, letting out a roar that echoed across the valley.
More bullets flew toward the remaining mutants. However, the armored mutant stood up, grabbed one of his weapons—a minigun—and began firing in our direction, aiming straight at our position on the hill.
Bullets whizzed past us, striking the rocks and sending up clouds of dust and debris. "Take cover!" I shouted, as we ducked behind the rocks to avoid the enemy fire.
"That freak is still standing!" one of my legionaries exclaimed, reloading his rifle.
"We need to take him down now," I said, quickly thinking of a strategy. "Where are the rocket launchers?"
"Here, legatus!" another soldier responded, with a launcher.
"Good. Aim for his legs. If we can bring him down, it'll be easier to finish him off," I ordered.
The legionary nodded and prepared to fire. Meanwhile, the others provided covering fire, trying to keep the super mutant distracted.
"Ready!" he called out.
"Fire!"
The rocket shot out, trailing a plume of smoke through the air. The armored super mutant turned at the last second, but it was too late. The projectile hit directly on his left leg, causing an explosion that sent him stumbling.
A howl of pain reverberated through the valley as the giant creature lost his balance and collapsed to the ground, crippled but still alive.
"Target neutralized!" the legionary reported with satisfaction.
We opened fire again with the anti-material rifles, and with his leg crippled, the super mutant couldn't do much to avoid the onslaught. After a heavy barrage of .50 caliber rounds, he finally stopped moving.
With all the super mutants eliminated, we approached the fallen giant.
"Legatue, look how thick his armor was," one of the legionaries said, showing me the enormous layer of pure steel that had covered the mutant.
"This fight will be difficult if there are more like him," I commented, assessing the situation.
I approached the construction vehicle they had modified. After inspecting it, I noticed the electrical system had some issues, but it seemed fixable. Using the tools left by the super mutants, I had the vehicle running again in a matter of minutes.
My legionaries had already claimed many of the weapons from the mutants. They wielded two-handed melee weapons, much larger than the standard machetes they usually carried. Even the minigun was a valuable prize, as such weapons were not easily obtained.
"With this gear, we'll be better equipped to face the threats ahead," Drusus remarked, holding one of the massive weapons.
"Yes, let's keep moving and see if we can find something to lure the super mutants. No more unauthorized engagements; every confrontation with them must be carefully planned," I responded to Drusus before issuing orders over the radio.
For several hours, our scouts moved through the area, searching for possible ambush spots and important logistical targets we could strike to draw the super mutants out. Fighting them in open terrain would lead to massive casualties, something I couldn't afford.
The area was littered with craters from explosions, indicating that these mutants enjoyed practicing with their tank cannons, which were 75mm artillery pieces. The few villages we spotted were filled with humans, all caged and forced to farm.
As our scouting mission continued, we finally identified a high-priority target for these super mutants: an oil well next to a power station. I wasn't certain how the mutants powered their vehicles, but whether it was electricity or diesel, both were supplied from here, making it the perfect place for an ambush.
The only issue was the lack of elevated terrain; everything was flat. The ambush could be risky if we didn't prepare well.
Over the radio, I called for all available reinforcements to join our position, and we began setting up a significant number of recoilless rifles that Todd had sold us. We also prepared portable ones in positions we'd carefully arranged across the dusty plain. Minute by minute, dozens of recoilless rifles were ready and pointed toward the possible paths where the super mutants' reinforcements might arrive.
Once we were prepared, my troops launched an assault on the power plant. Gunfire erupted in every direction; the roars and howls of the super mutants echoed as our shots tore them apart. The hand-to-hand combat between my centurions and the super mutants was fierce, with them wielding massive hammers and swords, taking full advantage of the power armor to crush the beasts.
Cries of praise to Caesar filled the air as we stormed the power plant, clearing out the remaining super mutant resistance and finding several human slaves working inside. We quickly disconnected the power plant from the grid, and in our search, we found several human bones—evidence of the super mutants' meals—alongside grotesque abominations resembling humans but with four legs and tentacles emerging from their mouths.
We began moving the rescued slaves to safety, and upon speaking with them, they confirmed our worst fears: the super mutants were eating the less productive workers and using those vile centaurs as pets and guards.
Immediately, we transported the slaves out of the area and prepared for a possible retaliatory strike from the super mutants. We positioned our forces near strategic points where we had hidden the recoilless rifles, camouflaging them amidst the sparse vegetation and dirt mounds. The wait was tense, every man at his post, knowing that the enemy could strike at any moment.
Nearly two hours passed before we saw it—a massive cloud of dust on the horizon.
I raised my binoculars to observe: a convoy of heavily armored vehicles approached, laden with improvised metal plating. Among them were a few that had clearly been built on battle tank chassis, a sign that the super mutants' response force was going to be a tough adversary.
We waited patiently as they drew closer to our position. We had left the bodies of the super mutants and their centaurs scattered around, a visual trap meant to lure them in. As they arrived, they began inspecting the power plant, but finding nothing, they spread out across the area until they finally stumbled upon the bodies of their fallen comrades.
The sight of their dead ignited chaos among them. The mutants rushed en masse to examine the corpses, clearly enraged and confused. It was then that I lowered my hand and gave the order.
Dozens of explosions erupted simultaneously. The recoilless rifles unleashed a devastating barrage of projectiles on the armored vehicles. In just seconds, the impacts tore through the vehicles, turning them into fiery scrap heaps. The improvised metal plates offered no resistance to our weapons' destructive power. Super mutants were thrown into the air, some caught in the blasts, others shredded by shrapnel.
As the columns of smoke rose into the sky, the screams of pain and rage from the super mutants filled the battlefield.
"Don't stop! Reload and fire at their reinforcements!" I commanded as our lines reorganized for the next phase of the attack.
The surviving vehicles tried to retreat, but our snipers and remaining recoilless rifles already had them in their sights. Another wave of fire was unleashed, this time targeting the larger tanks in the convoy. The resulting explosions were massive, shaking the ground beneath us.
Volley after volley of projectiles sliced through the air as my legionaries encircled the super mutants. Trapped among the wreckage of their burning vehicles, the mutants who tried to flee were slaughtered without mercy. The legionaries, efficient and deadly, left no creature alive. One by one, the super mutants fell, until the last of the reconnaissance force was dead, leaving a battlefield strewn with burning wreckage and bodies.
Once the area was secured, we began searching for any useful information. Among the wreckage of one of the armored vehicles, we found a relatively intact communications device. Upon careful inspection, we discovered the long-wave frequency they were using to send and receive orders. When we tuned in, we could hear the distorted roars of their leaders issuing commands. Most troubling of all, it confirmed that more super mutants were on their way.
We knew we didn't have much time, but having intercepted their communication gave us a critical advantage. With their frequency in hand, we could anticipate their movements and fortify our defenses.
"Legate, we've cracked their frequency. More super mutants are coming, probably a much larger attack force than this one," Drusus informed me while adjusting the communication device.
"Perfect," I replied, a slight smile forming on my face. "This time, we can plan their annihilation with precision. We won't let them breathe."
Orders were issued to all legionaries to begin reinforcing our defenses. More recoilless rifles were installed, additional ammunition was distributed, and defensive positions were reorganized around the battlefield. We even salvaged some of the giant super mutant weapons, which, while heavy, could be used by my men in their power armor.
"Stay sharp," I said as I walked among the troops. "Do not underestimate these creatures. They may outmatch us in raw strength, but they lack our strategy and discipline. Make every shot count."
The hours dragged on as we awaited the next wave. Finally, in the distance, we once again saw that same cloud of dust darkening the horizon. The rumble of heavy vehicles and the growls of super mutants echoed through the air as they drew nearer, their numbers even greater this time.
"Everyone in position. No one fires until I give the signal," I ordered, my gaze locked on the enemy.
The super mutants advanced, more organized than before, forming a solid attack line with their vehicles at the front. This time, it wouldn't be as easy.
The ground trembled under their feet, but our positions remained perfectly hidden among the dirt mounds and ruins. As they approached closer, I raised my hand, waiting for the right moment.
"Fire!" I shouted.
Dozens of recoilless rifles fired in unison. The projectiles streaked toward the enemy, slamming into their vehicles and triggering a series of massive explosions. The super mutants, caught in the crossfire, attempted to retreat, but it was already too late. Fireballs lit up the battlefield as their vehicles were torn apart, and the monsters were cut down one by one, surrounded by legionaries in power armor wielding recoilless rifles and rocket launchers.
With most of the enemy's vehicles reduced to smoking wreckage, my legionaries moved forward with surgical precision, weaving through the debris and gunning down any surviving super mutants before they could regroup. Some mounted a last, desperate defense, but they were swiftly dispatched by our snipers and support troops.
The second wave was crushed without mercy, but I knew this wasn't the end.
"Begin gathering any equipment we can use. And keep that radio frequency open. I want to know if more of them are coming," I ordered as my men began scavenging the battlefield for useful items.
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