Chapter 66 “They’re having meeting about having a meeting."

John stepped out of the Vertibird in the middle of Excalibur Outpost, dressed in his civilian gear. “Hey, John.” A man he half recognised walked up to him. As he tried to remember the man’s name, Rosie headed in. “Are you here to join up too? Lot of us are, after...you know.” The recruit had come from the Vault. John looked around, seeing more half remembered faces pointing and smiling.

“Knight Blake.” Sara called out as she strode over, face stern and wearing dark glasses in the low sun.

“Paladin Maxwell, sir.” John stood to attention, watching the initiate realise his mistake.

“Knight Blake, is this initiate injured?” Sara had a wry grin the initiate missed.

“No Paladin Maxwell, I do not believe he is.” John rolled his eyes.

“Is he in possession of mission critical intel?” Sara kept a straight face.

“No Paladin Maxwell, I do not believe he is.” John took a half step back as Sara took off her glasses to glare at the recruit.

“Then why is he standing around instead of running my course?!” She yelled. “Move it!” The initiate stumbled into a run.

“That was fun.” Sara had a smile beneath tired eyes. “Did you enjoy that?”

“A bit.” John smiled as Sara punched him in the arm.

“It’s good to see you. How did it go?” Sara asked, keen to get a report.

“She needs a few days to sit down with people, decide if they want to take the meeting.” John could tell she’d hoped for a better answer.

“They’re having meetings about having a meeting. Fucking wastrels.” Sara’s frustration showed through.

“It’s a big ask.” John still didn’t know what the answer would be. “We need to be patient.” Sara grunted.

“Well, while I put my feet up, report to Crixus. Time to do something about that gut.” She teased, John looked in better shape than ever. He whistled for Fen, already making friends and getting fussed over.

John found his old quarters, opposite Sara’s. He’d thought the quarters quite comfortable once. Now it seemed cramped, cold and dingy. He dumped his gear bags, laid out a bedroll and water for the dog. Then he dressed in a fresh set of green fatigues, with newly made patches bearing his callsign.

John didn’t find Crixus in the hangar. He headed out into the yard, finding his friend giving a lesson to the new recruits. “Ronin, good to see you Brother.” Crix greeted him warmly. “Perhaps you’ll favour the group with a demonstration.”

“Yes sir.” John couldn’t remember the last proper sparring session he’d had.

The initiates stood in a semi circle, quietly paying attention. John found his footing in the dirt, squaring off against Crixus. He batted away a flurry of jabs, getting moved backwards. He countered by dropping his shoulders and throwing body blows, pushing Crixus back.

“Never let your opponent dictate the field of battle.” Crixus shouted, getting his breath back before launching another flurry of jabs. John caught an arm, turning his body and weight to lever it back.

“Never attack the same way twice.” John shouted, remembering the pain of the hold. He remembered the next lesson too, and tripped his friend. “And never show the enemy mercy, for they will not show it to you.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

John helped his friend up, getting a nod of approval. “Two laps. First six back here are with me, last six are with Ronin. If I were you, I’d be in the first six. Move!” Crixus turned back to him as the recruits started running.

“What am I supposed to do with them?” John felt out of depth in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

“Best we can do for them is to build their confidence. Teach them to shoot straight and follow orders. You can handle that.” Crixus had every confidence in him.

“Alright.” John knew he could do that, having already trained the people from the Vault.

A few minutes later, John took his six recruits to the range. “You, front and centre.” He picked a woman at random. “Single shot, aim and fire when ready.” John waited till she aimed, then fired his pistol. He hit the target in the head without even trying. She flinched and hesitated. “Dead. Next. Too slow, you’re dead.” John fought the urge to send them on a beasting lap.

“As a general rule, raiders can’t shoot straight. Being able to put sustained, accurate fire downrange will keep you alive.” John saw them paying attention. One raised his hand. “Go ahead.”

“What about greenskins, sir?” He asked what they were all thinking.

“The first time I saw a greenskin, a friend of mine blew one’s head off with a rifle just like this.” He picked up one of the Vault made rifles that had been brought onto the outpost. “Make no mistake, they are deadly. Fast and strong, without restraint. But they are not organised, not disciplined, and not capable of working as a unit. Which is why we’re going to wipe them out.” John let his words boost the confidence of the initiates. “Providing you wastes of clothing and boots learn to shoot straight.”

John spent hours getting them ready for what he knew lay ahead. It was the best he could do for them.

A bark drew his attention as Fen ran ahead of Sara, two pre-war pouches in her hand. They headed round the back of the hangar, eating lunch outside like they used to.

“Don’t.” John shook his head as Sara and Fenris ignored him. She tore off a piece of the century old lasagne and gave it to the dog. She laughed as the dog turned away from a second piece.

“I fucking told you a dog wouldn’t eat that.” Sara pushed the food away.

“Want my chilli?” John offered, not enjoying the food as he once did.

“I’m not hungry.” Sara looked like she hadn’t been sleeping.

Sara got called away with something, John went back to the initiates. He put them through a rigorous afternoon of drills and exercises. He spent the last hour talking, answering questions mostly.

He started back to his quarters, stopping in the yard. He saw a pair of legs sticking out from under his Vertibird. “Valkyrie.” John dodged the spanner thrown at his shin.

“Fuck you.” She rolled out and sat up, face smeared with grease. “Have you been flying actual pigs in my aircraft?! The cabin’s filthy, the glass is streaky, tires caked in mud.” She looked around as if she wanted something else to throw. “What did I teach you?”

“A clean bird is a safe bird.” John knew better than to make excuses. “I’ll get right on it.”

“You better take your shirt off while you do.” Val’s annoyed tone didn’t match her grin. John crawled under the bird, shirt still on. “You’re no fun.”

“For what it’s worth, the pigs weren’t happy about it either.” John smiled as Valkyrie laughed at one of his better stories.

John spent an enjoyable couple of hours talking while cleaning the bird to Valkyrie’s exacting standards.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” Valkyrie seemed satisfied with the now pristine Vertibird. John followed her into the busy hangar. Proctor Reed glanced up from his clipboard long enough to smile and wave. John walked up the metal stairs and out onto the small flat roof. They found Sara and Rosie sitting on the couches, drinking and chatting. They both seemed brighter.

“How was your day?” He asked as Rosie put a blood orange and vodka in his hand.

“That’s classified.” She answered playfully. “I saved you some soup, it’s in your room.”

“My room?” John knew she wouldn’t want to stay in there.

“Recon bunk in the hangar.” Rosie straightened her black fatigues, running her thumb along the patch with callsign on it. John had wondered how she’d cope wearing a uniform again. Yet the black fatigues suited her. As did and the attitude that came with them.

John checked the time and clicked on his radio. The upbeat music stopped, Sara leant forward as Lady Luck’s voice came through. “Well that’s it for today my children. Mr Goodnight’s up next, reaching out across the wastes. Looks like a storm’s coming my children. Stay safe out there.”

“We’re on, tomorrow at noon.” John heard the code phrase he’d arranged. Sara sprang from her seat.

“Rosie, find Charlie. Get your civilian gear and meet us at the bird. You too John, wheels up in ten.”