Chapter 28 “This is the mission.”
Over a week passed since the forty eight hour trip to Farmborough. Leaving just days before John’s mutually beneficial agreement with Elder Maxwell came to an end and he would be able to leave. Parts or not, to free Rosie. He would remain on standby to aid the Brotherhood and get them what John saw as theirs anyway.
John had come to the decision that everyone in his Vault deserved the truth and deserved to live free. He would tell them, the good and the bad. Then he'd present the Brotherhood’s offer to resettle them. Spread out just enough not to put too much strain on the delicate balance required to sustain life in a harsh world. Areas of which would seem like paradise to his fellow enslaved Vault dwellers.
John knew he had a responsibility to each and every one of them, even Oversight. Although they seemed to have it pretty good already. Yet in truth all he cared about, when push came to shove, was Rosie. He’d get her out first, get her to Robco, get her safe. Then let her do whatever she wanted, with or without him. He hoped it would be the former, but accepted the latter would be a fair price to pay for her freedom.
He wondered what she’d think of the solider he’d become in such a short time. Trained by some of the best warriors, in the truest sense of the word, that this world had to offer. Equipped with old world technology and weapons. Not to mention the secrets the pipboy revealed.
John hoped she’d never have to experience the nightmare, dreamlike state. Triggered by threat, reacting with merciless efficiency. However he felt confident that if she did, he could talk her through it. Teach her Grimm’s breathing technique to tamp down the tell tale adrenalin spike.
John knew it wouldn’t be easy. She had a fear of robots from the children’s stories that matched his own fear of wolves. He’d have to teach her to shoot, to fight, to kill if needed. Assuming she actually spoke to him after he used her code, her masterpiece. Without which the vast, cog shaped, high density alloy Vault door wouldn’t have moved an inch.
John spent the last week doing anything and everything to keep busy. Training, exercising, flying cargo runs with Val. Getting more mapping data, along with flying lessons.
Asking Valkyrie to fly cargo was like asking John to break rocks. Utterly routine and boring, which meant John got a good bit of time flying the Vertibird. He still struggled. He couldn’t pull combat manoeuvres, but he found himself more than capable of executing the basics. Aided by the expert seated to his right and the device on his left arm.
He trained at least six hours a day. On foot, running laps, lifting weights, working the heavy punching bags. Then in the power armour. Ejection drills, live fire exercises, melee training with Crixus. Followed by the range with Styx. Using heavy machine guns and miniguns. Or in the kill house, practising with the litany of small arms at his disposal.
That first day back he’d laid out every one of his weapons to take a thorough inventory. To fine tune them, to make them his, he couldn’t even fit them all on one workbench. A five five six, belt fed, light machine gun, heavier than the name implied. Equally useful in his hands or the hands of his power armour, fitted with a short scope and grip.
An assault carbine in the same calibre. Lightweight, precise, next to no recoil. He modified that with the things he’d bought in the Iron Square. Adding the rails to mount an under barrel foregrip. Interchangeable with the cut down pump action shotgun at Acheron’s methodical suggestion. And a short range scope on top. Matched with a simple glass circle, enclosed in steel, mounted at a forty five degree angle. The red dot replaced with glowing radium. The same as the one he fitted to the whisper quiet, integrally suppressed, ten mil sub machine gun.
Sara walked him through modifying the cumbersome, front heavy, combat shotguns she’d picked out. John remained utterly unconvinced of her instructions. Asking repeatedly if she really wanted to cut them down to little more than the length of pistols. Of course she turned out to be right and mocked John with her impression of him. She added a folding metal stock that hinged over the top, doubling as a front grip.
Outside of the power armour it had a nasty kick, however inside it that didn’t matter. Especially with the autoloaders Sara crafted from little more than springs and scrap.
The basic metal holders secured three of the drum mags. Leaving one primed to be loaded by bringing the short shotgun into contact with it. Mounted on the steel thigh. And those were just the guns with his armour. Ready just in case he had to ditch. His life potentially depending on being very loud, or very quiet.
If John wasn’t in the armour, he used the seven six two assault rifle, left unmodified. Partly not to draw attention, and partly because it felt unnecessary. Its simplicity only matched by its ruthless effectiveness, he didn’t want to mess with that.
The emergency holdout pistol, the one only he and Sara knew about, he kept at the small of his back. John found time to shoot it, usually in the morning. Learning how to draw and fold the magazine into the squared barrel. Getting used to firing fully automatic bursts, hoping never to really need it.
To top it all off, the rose carved pistol, ever near his reach no matter what. Compensator, improved suppressor, extended mags. Single shot under barrel shotgun tube that turned out to be pretty handy, and a reminder of two things.
First what he was doing here. He thought of that every time he saw the artistic grip. Second, how he found his way to the Brotherhood. He thought about that night in vivid detail each and every time he checked the sentinel steel, hollow point bullets. Saved for whoever or whatever deserved one.
John stood as the least skilled person in the unit, certainly the least experienced by a long way. Yet he could handle all these firearms with a high level of proficiency, to say nothing of the melee weapons.
The bladed hammerhead on his multi-tool. The sentinel steel knuckles, his combat knife, the cutthroat razor in his boot. Even the katana sword he could just about use. All of which paled in comparison the two handed warhammer that became a mace and maul at the flick of the wrist.
John felt unstoppable, invincible. Strong in both body and mind, in a way he never could have imagined before.
Despite the arsenal at his disposal, the feeling of being trapped in armour as the pipboy altered time itself gnawed at him. Little more than blind luck, coupled with the superior design skills of Lady Avalon, stopped the crazed, grenade tossing raider. He didn’t like the feeling that the power armour could become a hindrance, at best, right when he needed it the most.
John read as he worked at his bench, mostly the kid’s books, learning that wolves were in fact real. However they were far from snarling, savage beasts the Vault made them out to be. They lived in packs, hunted together, working as a team. Killed to eat, not to deal retribution to those who didn’t ‘trust the Overseer’.
John found the book on dinosaurs fascinating. Giant lizards that once ruled the earth. Towering, long necked creatures that only ate plants. And the clawed, fanged, predators which ate them. Only they didn’t survive their apocalypse.
By far the most interesting of the three ‘Big Book of…’ series was the one on science. Simple words and pictures, making complex ideas understandable.
He read about physics. Having a good grasp of the mechanics of inertia and centrifugal force already. Thanks to the hours of swinging the maul or mace from the hidden chains within.
What really drew his attention was the theory of relativity. He read the chapter twice, lots of it over his head. However he understood the diagrams enough to grasp the concept. If someone moved fast enough time would pass slower than normal for them.
John knew that this couldn’t be what he experienced, not at the speeds the book talked about. But the idea that time dilation existed outside of his head gave him a measure of comfort, along with an idea. The science book explained why thunder follows lightning. Light moving at the fastest speed known, sound moving a good deal slower.
This brought to mind details of the mission to rescue the field scribes that Sara described, things he hadn’t seen. Sara had used the imaginatively titled flashbangs to aid her assault. A grenade that exploded with a blinding flash and a deafening bang. Leaving anyone in range disorientated, unable to fight back, but otherwise unharmed. Ideal for hostage rescue.
John trained with them in the kill house, although he used dummy versions, rigged to fire a blank bullet. They seemed to be the only thing the Brotherhood didn’t have an ample supply of.
Not because of the reusable housing, or the powder charge, or even the detonator. It came down to the substance that generated the bright burst of light. Magnesium, a crucial element in the production of armour plate and electronic systems. Which meant more often than not, stun grenades were cannibalised for the precious element within.
John sat at his workbench, reading about the king of lizards in his dinosaur book. Reloading the magazines he’d just spent hours firing off. A monotonous, menial task, yet of vital importance, and not at all bad with good company.
“Hey, is it too late to change my call sign?” Styx took the dinosaur book from John’s bench, shouting across to Sara. Sat filling out paperwork on the comfy seats by the bar. “Tyrannosaurs, got a nice ring to it.”
“Well you could." Sara didn't look up. "But that thing looks like it might have been useful in a fire fight, so I don’t think it really suits you.” John laughed. He’d only seen Styx in training, he knew Sara wasn’t serious despite her tone.
“Turn to page thirty.” Before John could suggest the lumbering plant eater to join in the running joke that Styx did nothing, a pitch perfect note rang out behind him.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Ronin, the Lady requests your presence.” He turned to see Scribe Groves, the latest addition to Lady Avalon’s glass walled room. Arm still broken, face still bruised, although not enough to stop her smiling. “Did I get that right?”
“You did Jen, Ronin can find his own way, come have a drink.” Sara liked Jen, John rarely saw her talk to any scribe if she didn’t have to. Jen however, earned Sara’s respect. Staying on task while held by animals, refusing to be medevaced. Briefing the elder despite being tired and injured.
Compared to the knight’s hangar, the steelworks bustled with activity. Most of the knights were in the field, leaving their unit on standby. John being the only one capable of opening a Vault, if they found one, meant his unit needed to be rested and ready.
John made his way around the edge of the operating machinery. Clanking, pounding away at red hot metal. People unloading block after block of heavy alloy. Tipping buckets of spent casings into sorting racks. The sheer volume of noise followed him up the stairs till he entered the glass walled room above.
At night the room felt different. Lit only by pre-war lamps, most of which were off, save for the one Lady Avalon had on over her drawing board.
“My lady.” John waited, patiently, for her to finish drawing.
“Ronin, you’ve come prepared I see.” John held out the katana, allowing the lady to draw it herself. He watched as she felt the weight, the balance, looked down the spine and checked the edge. Then she finally struck it with a thin metal rod, listening to it resonate with her attuned ears. “Let me guess, Quentin tried to impress Tempest by giving her this and she gave it to you.”
“He gave it to Valkyrie, then Sara gave it to me.”
“That poor, poor boy.” They laughed together, knowing Val’s fleeting passions moved faster than the bird she flew. “Still, he’s coming along nicely.” She sheathed the blade with a satisfying sound. “I understand you are leaving us soon.”
“Yes my lady. I have people to help, but I’ll stand ready when I’m needed, I owe the Brotherhood that and more.” John planned to get Rosie out, he hadn’t thought beyond that. He forced himself not to.
Not to picture his house at Robco’s Rest. Fire burning, radio playing. Rosie reading a book in a comfy chair while he dozed off, whiskey in hand. The thought had a powerful allure, so much so that he daren’t imagine it often.
“To be a lone knight is no easy thing. You remember the tales of your namesake, the things they had to do.” She held his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “Of course they didn’t have me.” It wasn’t arrogance, instead well earned confidence. A feeling that had been building in John also. She pointed to a steel box in the corner. “Open it.”
Inside John found spare internal armour parts, held in place by ceramic moulds for external plates. Magnifying safety goggles, blocks of different looking metal. And a thick wire, coiled tightly, mounted to a fusion core powered generator.
“It’s a field repair kit, plus an induction forge. Creates an electric filed that super heats metal, lets you work it. I had planned something a little more...exotic for your reward, yet time is short and there is much to do.” The lady picked out a stack of books. Metallurgy, smelting, casting, chemistry, magnetism. Artistic reference books, and rolled a stack of large drawings, storing them in a long metal tube.
“Follow my instructions, although not too closely, your imagination needs practice not your hands.”
“I will, thank you. I actually had an idea already.” John knew the master craftswoman would like that, he sketched out a crude drawing.
“Interesting, a little unorthodox perhaps, but doable.” The lady immediately drew an improved version of his idea.
“The only thing I can’t figure out is how to detonate them in place, instantly.” John’s idea involved mounting a stun grenade to each steel arm, secured with a wire to pull the pins from inside the armour.
Even if he couldn’t move the armour quickly enough, he knew the blinding flash would still travel instantly. Followed by the deafening bang shortly after, relatively speaking. Neither of which would affect him thanks to the visor systems. Buying just enough time to shift the normally responsive armour.
“That’s easy enough, we’ll use an electric charge, add a base plate, as long as you understand magnesium is a rare and precious thing.” She smiled, “Luckily for you we found more than staballoy out there. Two things, you’ll need to clear it with Tempest, and you’ll do the work yourself.”
“Yes my lady.”
John left the heavy repair kit, taking only a note to Proctor Reed. His efficient manner put to good use as he ordered people in the steelworks to move this and that. He shook his head at the note, initialling it quickly and sending John to the armoury.
It took a good while before someone came to the window, the late hour perhaps. No doubt short staffed, manpower diverted to the steelworks. John didn’t mind, it gave him time to anticipate any questions the unit might have about how he reached his idea.
He’d thought about telling Sara everything, more than once, but never did, not wanting to risk being able to leave.
After almost as long again John collected the small polymer box and returned to the unit. Sat by the bar, trading insults, anecdotes, drinking blood orange juice mixed with vodka.
“What have you got there?” Sara knew, her earned knowledge told her from the box alone.
“An idea.” He placed down the box and laid out the improved diagram. “I was reading about lightning, it reminded me of these grenades, I thought this might work.” John tried to sound casual, like it just occurred to him, not that it had been on his mind for days.
“You know these can ignite stuff right? You get covered in oil, or if there’s gas, you’re gonna get real hot real quick.” Sara took the metal cylinder fitted with a pin and safety handle from the box, holding it up to make her point.
“Strictly for emergency’s Boss.” John managed to keep up the casual tone. Despite thinking about the power armour set ablaze, then imagining that in the slowed time
“Given one of us could be standing next to you during this emergency are there any objections?” John waited as Sara asked her team for their input, as a good leader should, none came. “Nice idea, make the clasps detachable so someone can take them and vector the base plate, better get to it.” Sara winked and sent him on his way.
John almost got back to his bench before hearing a skittering noise at his feet, realising instantly what’d been set in motion.
His eyes darkened as if closing, before actually doing so. The sound of pinging became muted, even before he clasped his hands to his ears. Then time slowed to teach John a new respect for the words flash and bang. He felt the flash more than he saw it, heat followed by a shockwave that rattled his bones. A sound like thunder a few feet from him.
Time snapped back as John opened his eyes, unsteady on his feet.
“Contact right!” Without thought he drew the pistol from his hip, turning, aiming, stood ready. His response drilled into him, earned. “Stand down.” John did. “You understand the lesson right, you set one of those off better have a good reason.” Sara looked serious.
“Yes sir.”
“You stayed standing, drew clean, not bad. Find the casing and I’ll buy you a drink. I’m sure you’ll have time to fit it tomorrow.” John did, the impromptu drill being the highlight of his week.
John had been dispatched as a door gunner for Valkyrie. Sara in the left seat, as they flew supplies to a team working on the remnants of an old town. Scribes were testing the electricity generators before stripping them down and shipping them off to be of use somewhere else.
Perched on the edge of the cabin, John looked out over the ruins. Little more than a handful of streets remained. The rest broken beyond recognition, twisted out of shape by the shifting earth below.
John felt better just being in the field, at least he could scan with the mapping pulses. Only four days, a short Vertibird flight, and a vast metal door stood between him and Rosie. Assuming the elder kept his word. John still didn’t let himself trust that he would, although it didn’t make any sense for him to stay.
Two months of mapping hadn’t found anything. Their best lead came by chance, and that hadn’t turned up anything either. Not as far he knew at least. John couldn’t see any reason not to remain on good terms with the Brotherhood.
If Rosie wanted to go her own way, or even if she just needed time to herself, he thought of staying anyway. He liked who he was here, respected, trusted, included.
Val touched down with her usual flair. Leaving John a short walk with the somewhat portable heavy drill. Sara carried the thermite charges, requested by Scribe Groves. She met them outside the one of the twenty or so buildings left standing off the main road. Carved stone columns either side of the open door frame.
“Shit, they didn’t have to send you guys, I told them it’s not a code victor.”
“Jen, it’s metal, it’s big, it’s a door, and it got us off base. Besides, you don’t get to have all the fun.” Sara went in, leaving the heavy drill for John, its true weight felt as he left the power armour on guard outside. Not that he needed to, there were at least three other knights patrolling and two sniper teams on the rooftops.
Inside everything had been stripped down, stacked, ready to be taken. Wood panels, panes of thick glass, pile after pile of pre-war paperwork bound with string. Set deep into the concrete back wall, round steel, dull silver, ringed with locking bars connected to a central handle.
“You know what that is right?” Sara asked, her excitement apparent.
“A vault, as in a big safe. Like in the movie we watched.” John smiled, mostly because he hadn’t seen Sara this excited in the last week. John knew she had concerns. The folding, covert pistol tucked away at the small of his back proved that. More and more though, John got the sense she’d given it to him out of an abundance of caution, to ease her own mind.
John ate a pre-war pouch while Jen and Sara planned their attack on the steel door. Lacking any digital interface meant he could do little else. Between them the women seemed to know a great deal about this type of vault door.
Sara tapped with her switchblade while Jen listened with a stethoscope. Spraying bursts of paint from a can every so often. Taking breaks to sing bits of the songs, like the hero in the movie set in the mountaintop casino.
John at least made himself useful with the heavy drill. He knew about drilling steel, slow, steady, stopping to cool the bit. The only odd sensation being the pull of the electromagnetic brace tugging at the metal weapons and parts in his under armour.
With the last of the six holes drilled, Sara returned, carrying the charges. Brown powder in cut lengths of plastic pipes, that could melt steel, apparently. John knew better than to doubt her.
“Jen, how we doing on those fuses?” Sara could barely contain the excitement in her voice as Jen wired up and set the charges. Ushering them out as she unspooled enough wire to trigger the thermite from outside.
“Hit it.” Sara copied the words from the movie and Jen touched a micro fusion cell to either end of the exposed wire. Instantaneously turning the inert brown powder into fizzing, hissing spots of white heat. Melting through the inner locking mechanism. Spewing noxious smoke up and out through the long broken windows.
John felt a clang on the back of his helmet as Sara struck it with an oversized pry bar, cueing him to advance. He drove the armour forward towards the still smouldering, steel door. Transferring the momentum into the two handed warhammer and bringing it down in a perfect swing.
The warhammer struck the door handle with a burst of sparks and an echoing clang. Ripping away the molten inner workings as it span round, hinging the so called vault door open slowly.
Sara’s excitement barely faded as they set about the far less dramatic task of opening the smaller lockboxes that lined the three walls of the secure room. She held the pry bar in place, John used a single powered arm to force it into the narrow rim around the box. Levering it backward, popping open rectangular slots.
It took hours, with Sara unarmoured and in close quarters. John went slower than he needed to whenever he could. Having already disarmed the mounted stun grenades at her request.
On occasion John would rupture the inner box by mistake, sending items he couldn’t make out spilling onto the floor. He’d freeze as Sara gathered them up, handing them off to Jen outside, cataloguing the loot and box number. When she wasn’t trying to swing the mace with her one good arm.
“Go keep an eye out for Big Eddie and his goons.” Sara must have seen John’s confusion through the armour, “Take a break, just help me get that table back in here first.” John moved the metal table with ease, then ejected from the armour outside. Breathing a deep sigh of relief at no longer being confined in a small space at risk of injuring his friend.
He ran a few lengths of the street, trying to ease his frustration through exercise. Unable to avoid counting the hours he had left before leaving.