Chapter 24 “A big metal door in the ground.”

“Up top, Initiate.” Paladin Maxwell summoned him. He took the gifts of weapons and whiskey, then moved to the top of the bunker. In the hour or so she’d been up there, the overwatch position had been markedly improved. Soil filled bags arranged to provide good cover, gaps left to fire from, even some laid out to sit on.

“Take watch. You get contact, keep shooting till I come get you, or you run out of ammo.” The paladin returned to her armour, taking the steps. She climbed in and began dragging the dead raiders away, two at a time. The weight and smells not an issue in the powered, pressurised armour. Leaving John the light machine gun to keep watch.

He knew better than to fire it so instead he took a moment to get to familiar with it. Collapsible stock, rigid forward grip. Heavy for something referred to as light. Pre-war, factory made, although not cheap and mass produced like his own combat rifle.

He kept watch for a while longer then the armour clunked its way back. John watched as Sara ejected from the armour, leaving it seconds away if needed, yet out of sight. In a process that seemed programmed the armour removed its own helmet and handed it politely to Sara. Who carried it under her arm as she ascended to the bunker top position.

“All clear?”

“Yes sir.” John didn’t take his eyes from the binoculars, trying to make up for staring at the routine process.

“Echo’s got weather, they might risk a flight for backup, but not scribes. We’ll hold here till morning.” That was an order, he didn’t care, he still felt elated. Yet knew the mission wasn’t over, it had only just started.

“Yes sir.”

“See if you can find us some seats downstairs, then walk the perimeter.” Sara slipped the oversize helmet on. This close John saw the green lights inside the visor. Very much in front of the paladin’s eyes, unlike the system inside his. A system that certainty helped today, as it did before.

John scavenged up a pair of plastic chairs pretty quickly, found a couple of blankets to use as cushioning. Then left to walk the short perimeter, rifle ready. The knowledge that whatever the paladin saw, she had him covered. He took his time, staying quiet, careful. Surrounded by nothing but ruins, open ground, then trees.

As he returned he saw what the paladin had done with the bodies. All six bullet riddled corpses left slumped against a thick girder. The coward with the cracked skull placed in the centre. His head looked like a half juiced orange, spilt, dripping, misshapen. Attached to the top of the girder, stretched out along the remaining section of cross beam hung the paladin’s cloak. Turned inside out to reveal a spray painted Brotherhood symbol, his symbol.

John thought about his last encounter with raiders. How he and Robco hid the bodies, poured acidic mixtures onto them to hide the evidence. To keep campfire tales of a truck with a half Sentry bot in the back from spreading.

This macabre display did the opposite, it took credit. It wanted people to see, to know, to remember and tell others. John understood the reasons behind both. He wasn’t sure he liked the way this one made him feel, it didn’t seem right to be proud of this.

“All Clear?” Sara took off the helmet as he climbed the steps, the lights behind the eyes powering down automatically.

“Yes sir.” John tried to hide the questions in his voice.

“Just ask John.” She pulled up a chair and threw him a pre-war pouch. “Don’t eat that in your usual manner, drink and warm your hands first.” John sat, following the good advice, trying not to fidget with his collar. “Take it off, no one’s around.” Relieved, he unbuckled the armour from his chest, ripped open the thin jacket. Welcoming the tearing sound the black fastening material made. He looked forward to that from the moment he put it on each morning.

“The cloak, the bodies.” He couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it.

“Those people, few drinks in ‘em they’ll start to tell others.” She smiled and put on a voice from one of the movies they’d seen. “Tell people of a beautiful warrior maiden and her half-witted sidekick.” John laughed, she’d given him enough comic books to know that sidekick wasn’t exactly an insult. Her voice returned to normal.

“Maybe the wrong people hear about it, say they come looking for their friends. Maybe they see that and decide to just go on home instead.” It didn’t bother her. Given she trampled four charred corpses into marginally recognisable chunks beneath them John wasn’t surprised. Practical, he thought, John hoped he could learn to understand that.

“How come you didn’t shoot them when you attacked?” John had an idea why, he was right, half right anyway.

“First, you need the practice. Second, I don’t waste bullets on raiders.” Given the Brotherhood’s seemingly infinite supply of ammo it showed how little she thought of raiders. “You…you don’t feel bad about killing them right?” Sara was asking, not the paladin, It didn’t change the answer.

“My friend, he told me that every time you kill a raider you save two lives. Yours, and the next person they were going to kill.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Sara nodded to the whiskey and mugs. John couldn’t help but laugh, toasting Robco’s own words with his own whiskey.

“Just one, for now, we’re still on duty. You do not want Grimm to catch you drunk on duty, trust me.” The thought of Grimm somehow catching them seemed oddly plausible. He steadied his hand as he poured a modest whiskey each into the coffee mugs he'd found and cleaned thoroughly. He presented Sara the drink, saying something he thought she’d like.

“Ad Victoriam.”

Sara kept watch, he ate, then switched back on forth over the next few hours. Time dragged. John walked the perimeter a few times, doing up his thick armour and thin jacket each time just in case. But he saw no signs of anyone.

After his third patrol he returned to find the helmet reattached to the active armour and Sara back on top of the bunker. Visibly more relaxed, pouring them both a whiskey. As she passed him a mug, the smell instantly reminded him of the home he’d spent a single night at.

He tried not to think about it, yet his mind wandered to what the half built house looked like now. Probably finished, at least the outside. That would be enough for him, for Rosie. Two more months, and if the elder kept his word he’d be there to meet her, getting her out. Working on how to get the parts they needed later, there’d still be time.

“So, a big metal door in the ground?” John didn’t feel disappointed, not even close.

“Pretty good tip, although not what you were hoping for right? I’m guessing Vault doors are a bit bigger.”

“Yeah, just a little. What is this place anyway?”

“It’s a missile silo. Military, few men stationed here could nuke an army, a city, thousands of miles away.” John heard a hint of admiration in Sara’s voice he didn’t like. “You did real good today John. You moved well, didn’t hesitate, you saved lives.” She looked him in the eye over her cup, “How did you know they were coming up from below?” He knew better than to tell her the truth. That the device on his arm and in his eyes showed him through layers of thick concrete.

“Vibrations, in the concrete, like in the Vault.” He knew that would get her to change the subject. She didn’t want him to think about that place any more than he did. Another thing he liked about her.

“Which one of them is for me?” She gestured to the weapons he’d picked as their reward. “The Chinese assault rifle or the shotgun that’s far too long?”

“I did plan on cutting it down.” He said. She laughed, pointing to her machine gun, never mind the armour below.

“Relax, you want to carry them, keep them both. The a r doesn’t look too bad, built to last those fuckers.” Sara leant forwards in her chair. “Listen John, I want to ask you something, and I want you to take the rest of the night to think before you answer.”

“Now this is just you and me talking, I don’t know what you’re cleared to know and I don’t care. People have kept enough from you.” Sara finished her drink and poured them both another. “You know why we’re out here, the Brotherhood I mean?”

“You’re looking for a Vault, like me.” John was under no illusions about the Brotherhood’s interest in him, or rather the device on his arm.

“We’re looking for a specific Vault. See, when places like this fired their missiles and it all went to shit, the military survived, barely, and became the Brotherhood. Trying to find places like this and secure them, stop them from ever being used again.” John looked around at the ruins, trying to imagine the old world. The closest he could get were the movies he’d seen. No one hungry, no one armed, no raiders, no sign of the Abomination.

“See, the military they had plans for everything. So somewhere out there is a Vault full of guns, food, armour, tech. Everything we need to fight the Abomination. You’ve seen them…there are thousands back west, back home. Thousands. More all the time, because someone found something they shouldn’t. We can’t let it happen here.”

“The only Vault I know about is mine, and there’s nothing even close to advanced in there.”

“We know, trust me. No military would do something that pointless. Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Sara seemed embarrassed for telling the truth. Normally John saw the look of pity held from her face by a smile, not this time.

“No you’re right, you’re absolutely right.” He wanted to trust Sara, he just couldn’t shake Robco’s note from his mind.

“We’ve been out here over five years John. We’ve followed leads to dead ends, just like today, and we haven’t found a Vault. Even with that thing on your arm, two months.” Sara tried to be positive, yet her practical nature showed through.

“I have to be back in two months Sara, I’m sorry.” He had to stay firm on that, for Rosie.

“Of course, of course, you get your girl out, find a place, live the wastrel life. Shit, you deserve it more than most. But we need your help, and those people underground need ours.” John saw her mind working, running options, planning for each scenario. Her father’s daughter.

“I know, you’re right. I guess I didn’t really think things through.”

“Doesn’t matter, what matters are the facts on the ground. Worst case scenario, you don’t find the parts or the scribes can’t come up with a work around. We can resettle your people, spread out, no more than any one place can handle. It won’t be easy, but they’ll be free.” John tried not to think about the Vault much, yet it gnawed at him. Knowing exactly what everyone would be doing at any given moment. They were his people.

“Yeah, ok, that sounds good.” Certainly better than the alternative, suffocating under the lie they lived.

“Then there’s you, and that thing on your arm.” She sighed, exasperated with her own practicality, “It’s only a matter of time—”

“Before someone tries to cut my arm off, so I’m told.” He thought something, then said it aloud to make it real, “Let them try.” Even Sara believed him, the familiar smile back on her face.

“Pretty tough to cut someone’s arm off if they’re wearing power armour.”

“Do you know what an Aspirant is?” John shook his head “Someone who wants to be a knight.” Sadness crept in Sara’s voice he hadn’t heard before, not from her. “My father’s hus…my unc…a man who was like a second father taught me, when I was a little younger than you. Any knight can take an aspirant, I can train you for two months. Not nearly enough time, but for you, maybe just enough to keep you alive out here long term. Long enough to help us find what we need.”

“What do I have to do?” He knew her well enough by now to know this hadn’t been an easy plan for her to suggest.

“Training to be a knight isn’t like the kill house, you’ll be out in the field. Your life depending on the knight next to you.” She paused to emphasise her point. “Their life depending on you.”

“What happens after two months?” He wouldn’t risk them finding out about Rosie. They wanted his help, they were asking, Sara was asking. Despite them both knowing the Brotherhood didn’t have to ask for anything.

“I will ‘assign’ you to Shadowtown, and reach out as needed. But John, you really need to hear me on this. Break your oath as knight and deny a Brother aid, you’ll be cast out. That means any knight has standing orders to kill you on sight.” She poured him another drink, he felt like he needed it. "Normally, this far east, no one would give a shit.”

“But for the thing on my arm.” He’d figured that out a while ago, he felt glad Sara could be honest with him. “All I care about is getting Rosie out in two months, I have a place for us. If it means keeping her safe, I’ll do whatever it takes.” The only real choice he had was to see it as a choice. Besides, he thought to himself, that place could be full of pipboys, it wouldn’t match the firepower they already had.

“Good, good, listen, it’s not going to be like before. I know the Brotherhood hasn’t been exactly brotherly for you, that’s gonna change. I promise. Just understand that simply wearing that armour out here means something. It means you’re part of something bigger, better, hopeful. But it makes you a target, animals out here, they’ll strip you for parts.”

“I’m a target anyway right, better to be a bulletproof target.” Better to keep Rosie from making this choice. He thought that might have lightened Sara’s mood, it didn’t. He could see it in her face now, the look he’d seen before in quiet moments. Weighing options to find nothing but the best of a bad bunch. Trying to weave between her duty and her own personal boundaries. It seemed heavier than the armour she wore.

John made his decision. However he respected her enough to hold his answer till the morning, as she had asked. Instead trying to lighten her mood once again, then wishing he hadn’t.

“If I get to be a knight do I get a nickname, a call sign?” Sara laughed,

“Sure you do, Mole Rat.”