Snows fell from pale skies, like a ceiling of white asbestos flaking down to smother the earth. Each grain pelted the visor of Michael’s helmet and melted away to obscure his vision with water, but the worst of the weather was the chill creeping into his flesh, despite the layers he managed to fit into his power armor.
To Michael’s front and back were fellow paladins of the Brotherhood of Steel, numbering three dozen and all clad in power armor of their own. They marched up the Pacific Highway to seize the Seattle-Tacoma Airport, a mission of vital importance that would expand the scale of the Brotherhood’s operations in Seattle. Besides the additional dozen paladins sent ahead to scout the path of their advance, there was no nuance in their approach.
There was never a need for such a thing as nuance. They were going to reach their destination and kill everyone who resisted their claim, simple as that. Forward scouts were a mere formality.
Leading from the front with a personal cadre of paladins was Sentinel Abel. He was the commanding officer of the newly formed platoon assigned to the mission, Abel’s First Platoon, an ad-hoc formation of four squads. The squads themselves consisted of paladins who had formed close bonds over years of fighting, earning distinction through valor in the field.
As one of the volunteers added to their number, Michael was an exception to this. Yet the Chains that Bind made him the second most senior paladin in his new squad, Gravy Squad. Divided into three teams, Michael was entrusted with a team of his own. The other two were led by Paladin Oliver and Paladin Sergeant Andrews, the squad’s commanding officer.
They wore suits of Advanced Technical Armor like the other officers and senior paladins in the platoon. The ATA-1b was a post-war Midwestern design, insect-like and eerily close to the Enclave APAs that could be encountered in Chicago. In Washington, it was the symbol of their seniority, the defining feature of a Midwestern paladin. The rest of the platoon were left with T-45s, in varying conditions, but a lucky few in Abel’s personal guard were clad in advanced T-51s.
The snowfall thickened and further obscured Michael’s line of sight. The Wardens of the White could be hiding within the snowstorm from which they derived their name. His vague feeling of worry was compounded by the complete absence of heavy weaponry in their platoon, for a mission that necessitated their large concentration of power armor.
Michael had requested the transfer of heavy weapons to the platoon. Ideally four, for each squad. This request was supported by Andrews, Cormac, and Dan, all three of the paladin sergeants assigned to the mission. More importantly, Abel had also given his support. As a ranking sentinel who was second only to the Elder, his support should’ve secured their heavy weapons. Yet, the request was denied. And if Abel was denied, then Elder Constantine himself made the decision to do so.
The heavy weapons were undergoing maintenance, supposedly. That was the excuse the platoon had been given, but it was unusual to have them inspected all at once. Especially before their advance to the North. It meant there was a window of time where the Brotherhood could not rely on their firepower, endangering not just the advance, but the entire expedition into Seattle.
And while the platoon could’ve waited for the weapons to finish their inspections, Abel decided they would continue without them. For one reason or another, Abel relentlessly pursued victory once he arrived in Seattle. It was only natural of course, but Michael suspected that Abel had hidden schemes. Whatever transmissions he was sending and receiving from his contacts in Portland, it was all part of a greater game between himself and the Elder.
Such scheming endangered the Brotherhood’s cohesion, but Michael couldn’t voice any objections. It wasn’t his place. Some risked voicing their opinions in private, but Michael avoided such careless chatter. Brazenly questioning the judgment of the highest peaks of Brotherhood leadership could see him stripped of his rank, if not shot outright. When Brotherhood leadership made plans, Michael’s part was to carry them out. It was the price he paid to attain the rank of paladin.
The platoon weaved around a wreckage of vehicles on the road, the remains of their drivers scattered in their seats. After passing an intersection, to the right of the highway, there was an open field behind a narrow strip of buildings. Its extent was obscured through the snowfall, but silhouettes moved in the distance. Maybe foliage, debris, or people crouched low. Michael imagined raiders appearing in the distance to open fire on the platoon. Bullets flying, largely glancing off armor, but finding their way into weak spots.
Oliver called out. “Do you see anything Michael?”
Gravy Squad marched in a triangle formation. Andrews’ team in the front, with Oliver’s team on the left and Michael’s team on the right. Andrews slowed the squad to a halt and turned to face his team leaders.
“Sightings?” Andrews asked.
“Nothing, sir.” Michael said. “Probably foliage in the distance.”
Andrews looked down the scope of his laser rifle and confirmed Michael’s suspicions. “Dead shrubbery. Cormac’s squad is screening our advance so the rest of us can focus on the march. You’ll get your chance for glory soon enough, paladin.”
For a moment, Michael considered that Andrews misjudged his intentions. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but it was expected of a paladin. Fighting was their duty, their reason for existence. Not whining about their worries or fears. “Sir, yes sir.” Was all he said and Andrews nodded.
“Very good. Let’s keep moving or we’ll get left behind.” Gravy Squad moved with speed to rejoin their position at the rear of the platoon’s marching column. Once they had settled back into marching cadence, explosions resounded in the distance and the platoon came to a stop.
“What was that?” A paladin asked. Michael wasn’t sure of her name, but she was one of Oliver’s.
“I think those were explosions.” Michael said flatly.
Oliver chuckled. “Maybe grenades.”
“Quiet down.” Andrews snapped and turned his attention to the squad’s designated radio operator. “Any news?” The radio operator shook her head.
Andrews pointed his rifle in the distance and stared down his scope. “I see laser fire. Cormac’s in retreat. We’re under attack.”
The faint shriek of laser fire echoed down the highway alongside the popping of gunfire, growing louder as they approached. Cormac and his squad reunited with the platoon as they fired their laser rifles at whatever was behind them. Cormac’s roars echoed down the highway. “Contact! Contact! Warden’s incoming!”
Abel barked orders. “Curly Squad, we’re front and center. Dan, take the left. Cormac, you’re going with him. Andrews, take the right.” Abel’s paladins arrayed themselves along the width of the highway, forming the center of the platoon’s line. Dan and Seltzer Squad ran left, occupying a small church with Cormac and Windy Squad. Andrews and Gravy Squad went right and sheltered in the ruins of a two-story house.
There was a lull in gunfire while the platoon took up their positions. Gravy Squad’s house was strongly defensible with paladins posted at every window and door and its second story provided a commanding view over the surrounding fields. Enough of it through the snowfall, at least. Curly Squad stood along the highway, using the vehicles littered on its length for cover. Seltzer and Windy Squad were secure in their church, but lacked Gravy’s second story view. Structures to their front further obstructed their line of sight.
Andrews aimed his scope toward the left flank. Fighting echoed from the direction of the church. “Raiders approaching our left. Those buildings are covering their advance. The raiders have yet to appear down the highway. Why aren’t Dan or Cormac reporting their situation through the radio?”
“Perhaps the snowfall is interfering with the signal?” The radio operator said.
“Maybe the radio is broken again.” Oliver said.
“They’ve been recently maintained. The scribes gave their go-ahead.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not broken again. Maybe there’s a reason we trust knights to maintain our weapons and not our scribes.”
“To be fair,” another paladin said, “We trust the scribes to maintain our bodies. They’re not good with weapons, but they’re damn good medics.”
“Fair is fair.” Oliver said and pointed out a window, towards the highway. “Contact.”
A dozen raiders appeared down the road and the fighting extended to the center. Abel and his paladins in Curly Squad sent bursts of laser fire against their enemy, who promptly returned fire with their ballistic weapons. The raiders mainly carried police-issued weapons or civilian firearms, but a surprising number were equipped with pre-war military equipment.
A few of the raiders ducked behind cover and slowly approached towards Curly Squad, moving between vehicles and exchanging fire every so often. The raiders who didn’t find cover received laser blasts for their bravery. Those who weren’t immediately cut to pieces were knocked onto their backs, grievously injured regardless. There were many dead, but a small handful returned to their feet to continue their suicidal attack, their frenzy fueled by chems no doubt.
It’s how those people were. Savage raiders in the Midwest were much the same as those in Washington or Oregon, Michael had witnessed it firsthand. All fury, all psycho, no self-preservation. It’s why they were dying in the dozens. Raider blood pooled in the snow like a river along the highway, but the raiders continued to grow in number. Replaced faster than could be killed.
Over a hundred raiders were fully visible now, living and dead. If Michael didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the raiders numbered well into the hundreds with the way they expended their lives so casually. With little regard for the dead already around them, even among the more cautious raiders, they would have made fine initiates for the Brotherhood. If their savagery could be tamed.
Despite the numerous enemy advancing down the highway, one of Abel’s paladins advanced out of cover to fire on the enemy, probably one of the younger paladins too eager for glory. While their T-45 power armor was sturdy compared to flesh, it was lacking compared to the armor on a T-51, and the paladin withered away under focused fire. Targeted by nearly a dozen raiders with automatic rifles, rifle rounds if Michael heard correctly, the paladin was forced to retreat back to safety.
A raider ran forward from cover and fired at the back of the paladin’s head at close range. An explosion knocked the paladin to the ground. The helmet seemed to be intact, but shrapnel must have gotten through the weaker armor on their neck. Another paladin opened the raider’s chest cavity with laser fire and adjusted their position to fill the hole in the center as best they could.
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“Those raiders managed to get their hands on grenade rifles.” Michael said and turned his attention to Gravy Squad’s own position in the house. Several members of the squad took shots at the raiders on the highway, taking turns to share windows as they reloaded their weapons, but the lack of openings to fire from limited Gravy Squad’s presence on the battlefield.
“I think they’re approaching from north-northwest. We should advance and give Curly Squad more support.” Oliver said and pointed to an empty stretch ground immediately north of the house. “We’re the only ones not taking fire. We have to do something.”
The position would give Gravy Squad a better view of the highway, as well as to the road connecting to its side. The one that ran parallel to the northside of the church that Seltzer and Windy were sheltering in. But while Gravy Squad would have a clear line of sight to support the whole platoon from the clearing, it was because there was no cover to obscure it. The raiders had shown they had the firepower to kill a paladin and, as much as Oliver wanted to help, that fact had to be respected.
“We’ll have no cover to speak of.” Michael said. “The raiders could easily turn their grenade rifles on us.”
“And it’s better if they’re aimed at Curly instead?”
“The rest of the platoon has cover of their own to protect them, but we’ll take casualties in the open.”
Andrews spoke and a chill ran down Michael’s spine. “If we take that position, we can clear the highway for Curly Squad. Then Curly can advance and support Seltzer and Windy on the left. Sooner or later the raiders will break and we can continue to our objective. These raiders haven’t the blood to spare. We just need to keep killing and hope they break before our armor does. Let’s move out.”
The fallen paladin on the highway showed that their armor couldn’t hold for very long without cover, but the decision was out of Michael’s hands. If Andrews chose to advance into an open field towards the enemy, Michael would be right there with him. The snowfall would have to be enough cover, obscuring their field of view as well as the raider’s.
“Then allow me to lead the way, sir.” Michael said. “My armor is thick for a reason.”
Andrews chuckled. “Very good, paladin. Take the van and put that armor to use.”
Raiders on the highway directed their attention towards Gravy Squad as Michael led the charge into the clearing. Their bullets glanced off him, the higher calibers less impactful on his power armor than against one of the lesser models. Stray raiders with pipe guns wandered toward Gravy Squad from behind the snowfall, approaching parallel to the road.
Their faces twisted with fear as they came across a full squad of paladins, whom they could never threaten. No matter how many bullets they fired. Laser fire cut them down as Gravy Squad sprayed them with their rifles. Oliver’s own rifle, modified for full-auto capability, rendered one lucky raider into ash. A few unlucky raiders succumbed to their wounds in a few gasping moans.
A raider on the highway peeked out from behind a car with a grenade rifle. Michael fired his laser rifle in the raider’s direction, missing every shot. The raider fired his grenade rifle in turn and a grenade struck Michael’s shoulder. The explosive impact shook him as shrapnel sprayed the ground, but his armor held. It was much thicker than the standard ATA, specially modified for taking hits. And while the extra armor made aiming difficult, he continued firing and eventually struck his target. Laser fire entered the raider’s chest and splattered out his back.
Facing fire from two directions, the raiders on the highway were similarly killed. No matter where they found cover from one group of paladins, the other had a clear view. As Andrews had said, they just needed to keep killing raiders until they broke. Raiders began running for their lives and Gravy Squad continued shooting, but a lucky few were allowed to scatter away. Abel and his squad had stopped shooting when most of the raiders began to flee from the killing field.
While the fight wasn’t a complete slaughter, it didn’t have to be. The fleeing raiders, with all of their panicked screaming, had dissuaded anyone else from approaching. The highway was almost quiet, except for the injured raiders who were left behind. Their pained cries were as hollow as the winds around them, but there was no sympathy for raiders among the Brotherhood.
“They’re quite loud, aren’t they?” Oliver said. “Maybe we should finish them off. A bit of resource denial, if they have any use left in them.”
“And waste ammo?” Michael couldn’t help but say. “We’re gonna need it.”
“We don’t have to shoot them.”
Andrews cleared his throat. “We’ll leave them to their misery. For now, we move to support Seltzer and Windy. This fight isn’t over yet.”
One of Abel’s paladins approached Gravy Squad and called out. “Abel wants to know why you’ve abandoned your position. If you hold the house, we can bleed them dry if they continue their assault.”
“We must make an assault of our own, we have the raiders on the run.” Andrews called back. “If Abel wants blood, we need only to reach out and take it.”
Beyond the howling wind and the cries of the dying, the clanking of metal and the cascade of boots resounded. Silhouettes appeared in the distance, dozens more raiders to replace the dozens that had fallen. Worse still, were the tall and bulky shapes they were centered around. Familiar in their shape, like the Brotherhood’s own paladins.
A paladin voiced her disbelief. “Is that power armor? How can raiders have power armor?”
“It isn’t possible.” Another paladin said. “They’re just savages.”
“Pay attention. What matters now is that they’ve got ‘em.” Andrews said. “Now, prepare for contact!”
The PA raiders were slow to advance, their power armor units clad in crudely welded steel, but the raider infantry rushed ahead of them. And not just from the North, they approached from the East as well. They were as heavily armed as the raiders that preceded them, with high-caliber automatic weapons, but wore scavenged riot gear and combat armor for protection.
While not as protective as power armor, it withstood several shots from Michael’s laser rifle. A paladin struck a gap in a raider’s armor and sent them to the ground in a single shot, but not everyone could aim that well. If the raiders pushed hard enough, they could overrun Gravy Squad’s position.
Andrews roared, “Ad Victoriam!” He kicked a raider who was foolish enough to approach melee distance with a paladin in power armor. The raider fell to the ground, folded at the waist by the kick. Andrews finished him off with a quick flash of his laser rifle and returned his attention to the raiders approaching his position. Despite the worsening situation, he would never support a withdrawal. Things were going too well. Michael continued firing his rifle and made sure things stayed that way.
A PA raider approached from the snows, moving faster than the others as they sprayed Gravy squad with a belt-fed machine gun. The belt looped around to a backpack, allowing the PA raider to fire their weapon without having to reload. Michael hated to admit it, but it was a good trick. The raiders were fully utilizing their power armor as heavy weapons platforms, the things they were designed before the Great War. If only the Brotherhood brought heavy weapons of their own, the raiders would all be dead by now.
Michael placed himself between the PA raider and the rest of Gravy Squad. It was risky, but his armor was the most suited for tanking hits. A group of raiders with grenade rifles appeared from behind the PA raider. “Oh shit, oh fuck.” Michael said, turning and raising his shoulder to protect his head as they launched a volley of explosives in his direction.
He was hit by several grenades and the explosive impact shook him violently. Lights flashed in his eyes and his ears rang as he swayed side to side. He fired his rifle at the raiders and while his aim was off, as disoriented as he was, he managed to tag a few. They fell to the ground, pressing at their wounds. Not quite dead, but it was good enough. Their fellow raiders dragged them to safety, instead of pressing their attack, while the PA raider covered their retreat.
Michael’s hearing slowly returned and heard screaming behind him. “Paladin Andrews is down!” Someone was saying. “And they got Henrik too!”
Michael turned his back to the PA raider and found Andrews and another paladin on the ground. A number of grenades had passed Michael and hit them instead. Unlike Michael’s armor, Andrews’ personal ATA was equivalent to the standard model in ways that were currently relevant. It’s why he was lying on the ground and Michael was not. As for the other paladin, if Andrews in his ATA couldn’t withstand the attack, then there was a smaller chance of survival for the other paladin, who had been struck in his T-45.
The PA raider was still shooting at Michael, the rounds of their machine gun bouncing off his back, but the other raiders would tend to their wound and ready another volley of their grenade rifles. This was Michael’s chance to get the squad to safety.
“With Andrews down, I am taking command. Am I understood?” Michael declared.
Oliver was the first to respond. “What are your orders, sir?” He said.
Michael expected some resistance from the older paladin, but he supposed Oliver knew better than to argue under fire. Michael issued his orders and the squad obeyed as if he were Andrews himself. Team Oliver returned to the house, clearing the way for the rest of the squad. Team Andrews followed close behind, dragging the downed paladins in their power armor behind them. As for his own team, Michael decided on an aggressive defense.
“Focus fire on their infantry, I will handle their power armor.” He told his paladins as he charged the raiders.
His paladins fired their laser rifles quickly and accurately, causing the raider infantry to become panicked under the advance. They fired their grenade rifles in tandem, which lacked the concussive force of their previous, unified volley. Michael shrugged off the hits for his paladins as they finished off the raider infantry and directed their attention to the raiders approaching from around them.
The PA raider fired at Michael’s face as he fired at their chest. Michael’s shots were ineffective against the raider’s chestplate, which he realized was a scavenged T-51 torso. The PA raider was also unable to penetrate Michael’s gauntlet, which he raised to protect his visor. Michael closed in and the PA raider stepped back in retreat, but they were too slow to escape.
Seizing the PA raider’s machine gun arm, Michael found that the servo-motors on the raider’s power armor were inferior to his own. The joints of the raider’s PA frame cracked as he forced away their machine gun. Pained screams echoed from underneath their helmet, but were cut off with laser fire from Michael’s rifle, aimed into the PA raider’s neck at close range. After strapping his laser rifle to his side, Michael took up the raider’s machine gun with one hand and their pack of ammo with the other.
A paladin cheered while Michael sprayed the machine gun into the distance. “Hell yeah! Ad Victoriam!” A dozen raiders fell to the ground, either dead or looking for cover among the corpses.
“Ad Victoriam.” Michael echoed back.
Once the raiders were sufficiently suppressed, their advance stifled by Michael’s gunfire, he ordered his paladins to crush the grenade rifles scattered around them. On the highway, Curly Squad exchanged gunfire with raiders, having advanced alongside Gravy Squad, but were forced to take cover from grenade rifle fire as raiders pressed their advance. Michael and his paladins had no time for a thorough looting of the dead, surrounded as they were by raiders who could be equipped with yet more grenade rifles.
Once the rifles were crushed beneath the steel boots of their power armor, Michael led his team back to the house to rejoin the rest of Gravy Squad. There, he found a stack of dead raiders piled at the opening of a door on the East side of the house, an improvised barricade of flesh. A paladin stood behind it, firing at raiders beyond.
Andrews was laid on the ground in the living room, tended to by another paladin out of armor. He reported that Andrews was unconscious with no obvious injuries, but would need to be examined in the field hospital at White Sprawls. Their power armor was lined up beside a third suit that belonged to Henry. Or was it Henrik? Michael couldn’t remember. Whatever his name was, the man was laid against his suit. Confirmed dead.
Paladins were positioned behind windows on the westside of the house and fired towards the highway. More were upstairs doing the same from the second floor balcony. A few paladins ran down the stairs and repositioned to windows to the south. Outside, around a hundred raiders surrounded the house. They were content with shooting through windows, for now, but they could bring the house down around Gravy Squad if they had more grenade rifles or other explosives.
And while Gravy Squad had ammo to spend, the raiders had more lives to throw away. Michael didn’t want to gamble on which would run out first. If he lost that bet, they’d end up like the Mojave Brotherhood at Helios One. Michael called for the squad’s radio operator and told her to make contact with Abel, but there was only static.
There was no response from Dan or Cormac either. A paladin called out and directed Michael’s attention to the highway. There, he saw Curly Squad fleeing towards Windy and Seltzer at the church, displaced by a group of PA raiders with machine guns and an escort of raider infantry. Raiders approached the house from the highway, fully encircling Gravy Squad.
“Paladin, it’s time to trigger our distress pulser.” Michael said.
The radio operator pulled the distress pulser from her pack, extended the antenna, and turned on the device. A red light blinked, but the radio operator used her radio to confirm the signal. Not long after, a flare shot into the sky from the direction of the church. With his radio unable to communicate with the rest of the platoon, Michael assumed it was permission to retreat. If Abel intended anything else, he didn’t care to find out, it was time to withdraw back to White Sprawls.