Landon’s Hounds made their way through Castellan territory with mutual guarantees of peace. Neither of the two groups wanted to open hostilities with the delicate balance in Seattle having been shattered by the mass desertions from the coalition army. There was the heavy stench of uncertainty in the air and everyone wanted to simply return to the security of their dens. There would undoubtedly be more opportunities to spill blood in the following months.
By the time Landon’s gang returned home to Bellevue, they were ready to set down their guns and sleep through winter, but there was work to be done. More patrols were sent out along the furthest extent of their territories. Constrained by their lack of numbers, these patrols were concentrated in the north and around the bridge to Mercer Island.
Other search parties were tasked with rounding up more weapons for their militias. Independent homesteads and other soft targets were targeted first, they were easier to bully into submission. Weapons were confiscated from wastelanders at gunpoint and generous offers of protection were offered, as long as they resided within Hound territory. Without weapons and a guarantee of protection, they were free game for just about anyone. It wasn’t exactly fair, but other raiders would have put collars around their necks with no questions asked.
Landon was nice like that.
It was no surprise that most of these wastelanders accepted the terms they were offered. Landon personally led a number of these new volunteers to the allied settlement at Killarney, where they would provide their labor and earn their room and board. Not all of the volunteers were eager for their new responsibilities, not everyone was suited to living in a real community, but they’d do their part. If they knew what was good for them.
The volunteers were given shovels to expand the wooden ramparts of Killarney, while Killarney’s actual settlers acquired more wood from the surrounding forest. Landon himself was discussing with the Killarney militia captain on how the settlement might defend itself from an enemy raid, when Milo arrived with his raiders. They were bloody and wounded, fresh from a fight.
“Skulltaker scouting party crossed the lake.” Milo said between gasps, panting and wheezing with every breath. “They’re running back to their ships.”
“We can’t let those scouts escape.” Landon said and ordered Killarney’s militia to join him in the fight.
They followed Milo to a beach where Skulltakers ran to their canoes. A dozen face-painted savages pushed canoes into the water, four per canoe. A handful of canoes were left behind in their retreat, their crews dead along the shore or presumably further inland. Landon would make sure their friends joined them.
Landon’s hounds and the Killarney militia dispersed along the beach, shooting at the canoes. Killing their crews or shooting enough holes for them to sink. One canoe survived their barrage however. It drifted aimlessly towards Skulltaker territory, until a survivor pulled themselves up. They dumped the bodies around them overboard and paddled their way to safety.
“Should we follow? We’ve got a few of their canoes right here.” Milo asked.
Landon considered it, but more canoes appeared over the water. They were propelled forward by scavenged motor engines, each carrying a number of Skulltaker savages and mounted machine guns. If anyone was sent out to pursue, they might kill the scout, but they might not return alive. And it might be for nothing, in the end.
The Skulltakers had successfully landed on their side of the lake without any resistance. There was no telling what the scouts discovered, but the Hounds were exposed now. Their true numbers had been padded by their conscripts and couldn’t be trusted to operate without supervision. The Skulltakers, with their gunboats and superiority on the water, could land another force on Bellevue’s shores with impunity.
“No, it’s too late. Collect the dead and bring them to the mongrel breeders. Collect anything that can be salvaged.”
“There’s gonna be more Skulltakers landing on our shores. I’m sure of it.” Milo spat on the sand below.
“We should do is send more guys to patrol the beaches. More outposts, more watchtowers.” Landon said, but what the Hounds needed were more raiders they could trust. Or to free up their raiders from their other responsibilities.
“We don’t have the numbers. We’ll have to enlist more of the militia.” Milo said and Killarney’s militia captain gave him a worried look.
Killarney’s captain was a loyal man, but Bellevue’s militia groups were hardly ready to leave their homes undefended. As much as Landon hated to admit, his Hounds relied on the safety the Wardens provided and had grown weak because of it. They could not weather the incoming blizzard alone, but neither could the other clans in Seattle.
“No.” Landon said. “Send a message to Fred. It’s time we had ourselves a little meeting.”
—
Landon and a handful of his Hounds arrayed themselves along the Slough, a marsh halfway between the Hounds’ territory in Bellevue and the Castellan’s territory at Newcastle. There were few trees or other foliage to hide an ambush, only open ground over half a mile wide and more than two miles long. The Slough was the one place Landon and Fred could agree upon for a parlay.
Fred was the elected Captain-General of Newcastle’s confederated militias, ruling from the Castellan’s fortress at the old amusement park. Repurposed and reinforced with steel and concrete, the Castle rivaled Warden City in its defensiveness. It made the Castellan’s believe that they could be civilized the way the Wardens were and Landon hoped he could exploit their pretensions.
Fred arrived with a number of his Castle Guard, all hobbling forward in their scavenged power armor with their weapons strapped to their sides and helmets held under their arms. Fred was pink in the face by the time he reached Landon, as were his guardsmen. Castellan power armor wasn’t nearly as impressive as it had been to Landon, not since his recent encounter with the Brotherhood, but they were useful enough.
“Hello, Fred. How are the wife and kids?” Landon said.
“What do you want, Landon?” Fred said, his wrinkled face set in a deep frown.
“Now, now, don’t be so grumpy. We’ve been all friendly-like for a while now, haven’t we? Can’t a man make small-talk with his friend?”
Fred looked Landon up and down, overtly suspicious. “Friends are we? What are you getting at?”
“I’m getting at the near two decades of peace we’ve had together. Seattle is becoming a dangerous place again, but that doesn’t mean our corner of the city has to become the same.”
“You set up this meeting to continue a peace we already have?”
“No, I set up this meeting to propose an alliance. A coalition of our very own.” Fred’s men bristled at the words, but more from surprise than disagreement. “Just because we abandoned the Wardens to the Brotherhood, doesn’t mean we have to turn our backs on each other.”
“We have a good thing going on as it is. You stay on your side of the 90, we’ll stay on ours. Why change it?” Fred said, referring to the highway that ran horizontally between Hound and Castellan territory. The old 90, that pre-war abomination of asphalt.
“The Mercers. If fighting breaks out, they’ll either go west to fight the Wardens or go east to fight us.”
“There is no us in that fight, Landon. Your territory sits between the Castellans and the Mercers ever since you took that slice of Enatai for yourself.”
And I could abandon it and let the Mercers through, Landon thought, but did not say. The settlement at Enatai, which sat beside the bridge to Mercer Island, was a strategically valuable location that prevented Mercer raiders from pouring into Bellevue. If it was lost to the Mercers, more resources would have to be directed to guarding against further Mercer raids. Resources that would be diverted away from defending against the Skulltakers.
“I am willing to share any taxes from Enatai. Harvests, water, all of it.” Landon said. “In exchange, I want a few of your metal men to help defend it. As well freedom of movement throughout each other’s territories.”
“I want the whole of Enatai.”
Landon raised a brow at the demand. “If you take the settlement, it will be entirely up to you to defend.”
“Isn’t that why you want my guards? Because you can’t defend it?”
Landon stretched the muscles in his cheeks, towards an approximation of a smile, to bare the steel canines that were drilled into his jaw. “I was thinking it could be more of a partnership. A symbol of our continued friendship.”
Fred considered the idea for a moment, then nodded. “Newcastle can provide a garrison to secure Enatai, but my folk won’t accept your raiders from moving through our territory. Never.”
“Fine, but I want guarantees that your men won’t trespass into Bellevue and start harassing our settlements.”
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“Who do you think we are, raiders? It’s us who should be worried about you.”
“I can keep my guys north of the Ninety, as long as you keep your guys south. We can share the settlement at Timberlake as well. This would secure the Ninety from both directions.”
“I see what you’re trying to do, Landon. You’re trying to dump the burden of protecting Bellevue on Newcastle, just because we have power armor.”
“My raiders will be a part of those garrisons and you’ll be getting your share of the profits from those settlements. It’s mutually beneficial.”
“Yes, but you have the Sammamish to protect the east.” Fred said, referring to the lake that sat opposite of Lake Washington. “What do you intend to do with all your raiders after they’ve been freed up from the Ninety?”
“I have the Skulltakers to the north. You’ve seen their gunboats.”
“Canoes.”
“Gunboats. They’ve got guns on those things. That makes them gun-boats. I need my guys watching the shores.”
Fred nodded. “These terms are acceptable, but I want some of your raiders to help the garrison at Boren. Same deal as in Enatai and Timberlake.”
“Boren? Where the fuck’s that?”
“It’s just south of the Castle.”
“South? Who are you expecting to fight in the south?” Fred said nothing and Landon placed a finger to his chin, pretending he was carefully considering the pros and cons of the proposition. “Sure, I can spare some guys to help you fight the Wardens.”
“Landon.”
“We didn’t avoid dying for the Wardens just to be butchered for Newcastle. The Brotherhood’s metal men are more dangerous than any of your guardsmen.”
Fred raised a hand. “If you help us against the Brotherhood, then we can send guardsmen to help you against the Skulltakers. The Brotherhood was always going to be our biggest threat ever since they gave the Wardens a good thrashing. If we work together against petty raiders, we can work together against the Brotherhood.”
Fred was right, Landon thought. “Alright, damn. We’ll help you fight the Brotherhood, but no screwing around. If we fight them, we have to find a way to pierce through their armor. And you gotta fuckin’ share.”
“Aye, we’ve been looking into it. We have a few ideas, but your gunsmiths could help us with one. If you can spare them.”
“Whatever you need, as long as it works.”
—
Landon sent two of his raiders home, to inform Milo of his decision to visit the Castle with Fred. He wasn’t eager to fight the Brotherhood, but that's why every possible advantage against them needed to be explored at the earliest opportunity. However, Fred and his guardsmen were slow in traveling, struggling to move their power armor, and dusk approached. Landon and his raiders would have to walk back home in darkness or wait until morning as Castellan guests, but it was worth whatever risks either choice required.
Everyone switched on their flashlights as they walked down the road to the front gate of the Castle’s outer walls. Settlers gathered along the road, watching their procession, uneasy eyes watching Landon and his raiders with suspicion. It wasn’t until they reached the gates, that Landon was confronted by a young man with a rifle.
“Put that down, nephew. These men are guests.” Fred called out with a hard edge in his voice, despite his gasping for breath.
“Those men are hounds!” The young man protested, eyes wide and looking to anyone else for support. There was none.
One of Landon’s raiders spoke up, her voice muffled under her gasmask. “I’m a woman actually.”
Fred lumbered forward, between Landon and his nephew, and placed a hand over the barrel of his nephew’s rifle. “Go to your mother, now. This is not how we treat guests.”
Landon couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. “Run off to mommy.” He said and regretted it. Fred glanced back with disapproval as his nephew ran off.
“Try not to antagonize my nephew, Landon. I am an old man and he might replace me one day. If our peace is to last, that is.”
Landon smiled, but said nothing. He agreed with Old Fred, but he wasn’t one of his young pups to lecture. Especially not in front of his men.
Fred shook his head and walked to an empty spot in a row of power armor, as did his guardsmen. They left their armor there and pulled at the collars of their shirts, wet with sweat, to allow the cool air in. Landon wondered how they managed to reach southern Seattle, if they struggled this much from a short walk towards Bellevue.
“Wipe down your shoes.” Fred said to Landon and his raiders, pointing to a series of welcome mats in front of the entrance.
Landon gestured to his men, telling them to do as they were asked, and followed Fred to the castle’s courtyard. There were three sets of power armor standing side by side near the end, some 30 or so meters away with sandbags stacked behind them. The power armor models were each distinct from the other, a T-45, T-51, and the unique suit that the Brotherhood brought from wherever they came from.
“How the hell did you get that one? The Brotherhood armor.” Landon asked as he approached.
“Wardens, Kenneth’s men I think, ambushed one of the Brotherhood patrols. They must have abandoned the power armor in their retreat because of the leg.” Landon bent down and inspected the leg. There were scorch marks and metal broken apart, as well as traces of blood inside. Kenneth must’ve had a few grenade rifles left over. “We got to the armor before the scavengers did. Useful for our tests.”
Landon stood and traced fingers across the chestplate of the Brotherhood power armor, along the craters on its surface. A man brought out a large rifle from a side room and set it down across from the row of power armor. From stock to barrel, it was nearly as tall as Landon. “What the hell is that thing?”
“Something called an AT-rifle. No idea what the AT stands for, but the bullets it fires are very large.”
“And you plan on using it on the Brotherhood's armor?”
“That is our hope, yes.” Fred walked to the suit of T-45 power armor and stuck a finger into a hole in its chestplate. “As you can see, it can pierce through this earlier model of power armor. It’s the most common power armor we’ve seen the Brotherhood use. However…”
Fred gestured at the suit of T-51 beside it, as well as the Brotherhood power armor, and Landon surmised his meaning. “It can’t pierce through the other models.” Fred nodded and walked to the AT-rifle.
“But it still does damage and maybe we could use your gunsmiths to replicate the design. The Castellans can supply the metal, but we don’t have the expertise to machine something like this.”
Landon took a knee and lifted the rifle, finding it a lot heavier than he imagined. “What a big fucker.” He inspected the receiver and pulled the bolt-action to peek inside and to feel the way it moved. “Seems simple enough, it’s like an oversized hunting rifle. I’ll bring this home and my guys can pull it apart to make more.”
“Afraid not. I could ask the council to let you bring the weapon out of the Castle, but don’t expect them to agree. This rifle is a guarded secret, it's why our tests were conducted in the courtyard.”
Landon sighed. “Then I’ll send a few of my guys over. They’ll still be allowed to pull it apart right?”
“That’s reasonable enough.”
“But let me fire it at least once.”
Fred rolled his eyes and nodded to the man who brought the rifle to the courtyard. “Give him three.” Fred said and the man gave Landon three rounds, larger than the rifle rounds he was used to seeing.
“What the hell are these things? They’re bigger than my fingers!” Landon exclaimed, passing a round to his raiders to gawk at. They echoed similar sentiments as they compared it against a .45 round.
“Imagine hitting someone with this.” One of his raiders said. “It could blow a hole right through them, no way anyone would survive.”
Landon set up the bipod on the barrel of the rifle and laid himself prone. He faced the power armor, chambered a round, and looked down the iron sights of the rifle at the suit of T-45. “Have you considered putting a scope on this?” Landon asked.
“We were getting around to it.” Fred said.
Landon took a deep breath and held it, steadying his arms on the ground, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked roughly against his shoulder and a bullet exploded out of the barrel with a deafening roar. It struck the T-45’s chestplate near one of the holes already in its surface, tearing away a large chunk as the bullet pierced through into the sandbags behind it. A loud crack resounded and Landon thought it might’ve passed through the sandbags into the wall.
“I hope nobody was behind that, because that was some firepower. I think it went straight through.”
“The wall is fine, we checked. You must’ve hit a weak spot in the armor though.”
“That damage alone is impressive.”
“It’s already suffered several shots already. Try the others.”
Landon fired on the T-51 next, but the result wasn’t as destructive as he hoped for. The bullet embedded itself into the chestplate, making the frame sway, but didn’t burst through the way it did against the T-45. Landon shot the Brotherhood power armor and found it was less protective than the T-51, but not by much.
The rifle was not able to pierce through either suits of armor anyway, limiting the rifle’s usefulness. Yet, a weapon that could pierce through the Brotherhood’s most common set of power armor was something they could use. “If we had more of these rifles, we might be able to put up a fight. Stop any of their advances without having to bleed ourselves dry.”
—
The Castellans provided Landon and his men with rooms to sleep in, on the second floor, but he ordered them to group together. As many as could fit into a room. Fred was trustworthy enough, but that didn’t mean Landon had to be careless with his hounds.
Landon lay in the only bed in one of the rooms, waiting for dinner to be served. Three of his men sat on the floor playing a game of caravan and chatted about the new Castellan wonder weapon.
“If they attach a scope, that doesn’t mean you can snipe the Brotherhood’s guys. Their armor is heavy, but they move fast.” One of his raiders said.
“It’s their servo-motors. The stuff that moves their armor. Barely any of Fred’s guys have them, that’s why they're so slow.”
“Did you see his face at the parlay? His face was as red as a slapped ass.”
Landon sat up from his bed and spoke up, “Don’t badmouth the guy after he gave us rooms to sleep in. Wait until we’re gone.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Hey, boss.” Another raider said. “Where would we get the ammo for the rifles?”
“Wherever the Castellans got them. Maybe we can make more ourselves. Recycle rifle rounds for their powder and primer. Steel bullets will fuck up the barrels, but it’ll be the best choice when the Castellans send some steel our way.”
A knock sounded on the door and Fred peaked through. “Landon, there’s a messenger waiting for you by the front gate. Says it’s urgent, from Milo.”
Landon leapt to his feet and followed Fred through the Castle, with his raiders raising a commotion as they ran while fitting their boots on their feet. A couple of Milo’s raiders were at the gates. Landon recognized their leader because of her green mohawk. Her eyes went wide as soon as she saw Landon and she called out. “Mercers approaching the bridge, around a hundred, with Cripsen at the head. Milo is on his way to Enatai to meet them, but we need you.”
Landon turned to Fred. “If you really meant what you said about helping us, now’s the time.”
“I’ll gather some of my men and meet you there. Guardsmen too, but I won’t promise they’ll arrive in time.”
“It’ll have to be good enough.” Landon shrugged and faced his raiders. “No sleep for us tonight. Let’s go feed some Mercer scum to our hounds.”