Raiders gathered along the East Mercer Bridge as night was falling, Mercers on one side and Hounds on the other. Kenneth watched the stand-off from a nearby shore through his binoculars with his company lieutenant and squad sergeants, while the rest of his platoon were waiting nearby. They were expecting a fight between the raiders, until a force of Castellans joined the Hounds and faced off with the Mercers.
The Hounds were the most civil of the savages in Seattle, but their friendly relations with the Castellans could prove detrimental to the Wardens. Kenneth wrote himself a note in his journal, to investigate the exact nature of their partnership when he had the chance. He continued waiting, watching, until the Mercers turned around and went back to their island. They would have peace, for now.
Kenneth rallied his platoon and they continued moving east, close to Castellan territory. The Castellans increased their presence along the fringes of their territory, but Kenneth led his platoon due south and away from any watchful eyes. They moved towards Brotherhood territory, avoiding the neutral settlements along their path, but there was a Brotherhood patrol far from their usual routes.
The patrol was comprised of five of their knights, who acted as their general infantry, and were led by a lone paladin in power armor. Despite their armor, the patrol would be easy pickings for Kenneth’s wardens. And they were eager for the fight, but it would expose their presence in the area.
Their mission was one of stealth and Kenneth ordered his men to let the patrol pass undisturbed. With luck, nobody would ever know they were in the area. The company continued moving south and passed a cloverleaf intersection, the furthest extent of the Brotherhood’s influence or so Warden command believed. It was information that needed to be updated.
Night fell and the company made camp in a cluster of buildings, striking campfires for each squad. Hidden inside the old ruins, their campfires were arranged in a way that their light couldn’t give away their position. Then, as the next day arrived, they snuffed out the campfires so their smoke wasn’t visible in the morning sky.
Kenneth led his platoon into a small neighborhood adjacent to a marketplace, to the site of a Brotherhood raid. Scavengers had been sheltering in the ruins of a grocery store, traces of their fortifications still present. Kenneth’s sergeants spread out to secure the area while Kenneth cleared the inside of the store with his lieutenant, but it was empty.
If there had been scavengers, they were gone, possibly having surrendered their home without a fight. There was no evidence of battle, no bodies or bloodstains. The walls were entirely intact as well, with no scorch marks from Brotherhood laser rifles or bullet holes from ballistic weapons. The only evidence that the Brotherhood had been in the area were reports from scouts.
The store was stripped bare, containing an emptiness unusual even for the wasteland. There were sections of clean ground outlined by dark silhouettes, where furniture or other large items might have been removed and taken away. There was also a spot where the scavengers might have cooked their food, where all that remained was a pile of ash.
The Brotherhood was thorough in their looting of the store, which was a departure from their initial policy concerning the neutral groups in southern Seattle. The Brotherhood now resorted to robbing them of everything they possessed.
They had similarly scavenged the dead wardens that had been left behind after Julius’ ill-fated defense of the South. Kenneth and his men skirmished with the Brotherhood, distracting them as other elements of his company evacuated the few survivors they could find. They saved lives, but the increased Brotherhood presence was a sign of worse things to come. It wasn’t until then, after the Wardens had suffered terrible casualties, did the Brotherhood venture so far north. Patrols, scavengers, and the like strayed further their main camp in White Sprawls. Likely emboldened by their victory.
Kenneth’s radio buzzed. The scouts he positioned near the Brotherhood’s camp caught sight of paladins deploying out, but not just any group of paladins. Their monstrous enforcer was among them, headed east. Kenneth had been waiting for the big bastard to reveal himself since the battle along the Pacific Highway and he called together his platoon with his radio to intercept their priority target.
They risked exposing their presence to enemy patrols as they made quick time deeper into Brotherhood territory, but his wardens knew how to skulk through the ruined city. He and the old ghouls in his platoon have been doing it for two hundred years.
In another neighborhood to the south, Kenneth ordered a halt and for his platoon to take up positions inside nearby homes. There was a force of Brotherhood paladins, plus one oddly dressed knight, in the distance down the road. They were stopped at a river crossing where the bridge along the road had sunken into the shallow pond beneath.
While his platoon found shelter inside nearby houses, Kenneth and his lieutenant laid themselves prone and crawled closer to the enemy force. Hidden in overgrown grass, they watched the group through their binoculars. While stuck in the North, Kenneth had received reports concerning the Brotherhood’s Enforcer, named for his sorties to expel pockets of Warden resistance in the South. Like the enforcer of a raider overboss, sent to expel rival gangs trespassing in their territory.
Kenneth, upon seeing this enforcer, now understood why he was the dread of many green recruits. The Brotherhood’s power armor were all painted a dark gray with familiar chevrons on their shoulders, like uniformed steel, but the Enforcer’s armor stood taller and wider than the other paladins beside him. His model of power armor was unique to the Brotherhood while the paladins beside him wore pre-war T-45s. No doubt the extra metal on his suit made him tougher than the rest, but he was like a fat beetle with the way the lenses of his eyes bulged from his thick helmet.
The Enforcer pointed into the pond and one of the paladins fired into the water. After a few moments of silence, the Enforcer was the first to cross the pond. The knight, unarmored even compared to other knights, climbed onto the back of one of the paladins. He carried her across the irradiated waters of the pond and the Brotherhood force continued moving east.
Once they were gone from sight, Kenneth approached the crossing and wondered why the paladin had fired their weapon into the water. He suspected it was a way to uncover any lakelurks hidden within the pond, but the water was shallow and there wasn’t enough for a nest of lakelurks to feed on. Perhaps the Enforcer made the same consideration, but chose to act on the side of caution to protect his men.
Kenneth bent down, cupped a handful of water from the pond, and drank it. Irradiated, but nothing unusual. An overabundance of caution would explain why one of the Brotherhood’s knights was carried across the pond on a paladin's back, instead of simply wading through. Though, there must’ve been more to the Enforcer’s decision. Kenneth, having learned all that he could, called over his platoon and they continued following their target.
—
Enatai was quiet and the nervous energy in the air had gone away with the Mercer force, back to their island. Landon was sitting beneath a tree, relaxing outside Enatai’s wooden walls and watching the waters of Lake Washington shimmer beneath the sun at noon. He couldn’t help but think about how close his corner of Seattle was to open war.
Cripsen might have dared to cross the East Mercer Bridge to fight Landon’s Hounds, the few that managed to arrive to reinforce Enatai. The Hounds were raiders, not really soldiers the way the Wardens were. They had to be called up in the night from their usual dens and many arrived too late to defend Enatai.
It was Fred’s timely reinforcements that secured their peace. His power armored guardsman had not arrived, but the volunteers he brought added to Landon’s own numbers. Combined with Enatai’s defenses, they were enough to dissuade a direct assault. Several Castellans arrived in the night after the Mercers had gone, riding on bikes and pulling a wagon behind them that carried a suit of their power armor.
They were late, but were welcome to the small celebration dedicated to the new partnership between the Hounds and the Castellans. After which, Landon helped Fred secure a permanent barracks for a Castellan garrison in Enatai before he and his volunteers returned home. The Castle Guard and his so-called attendants stayed and more arrived in the morning.
Landon gave them room to breathe while they set up their barracks, but he wanted to speak with them when it was time for lunch. To get a feel for the Castellan fighters he was entrusting Enatai to. Milo stepped into view and seated himself in the grass near Landon.
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“There’s a new army gathered near Warden City.” Milo said and Landon sighed.
“A what?”
“New army of wardens. They must’ve called up reserves as soon as they returned home.”
Landon stood from his tree, the joints in his knees popping from the effort. “Who saw them? Can they be trusted?”
“A couple of Named Men saw it during a trip into Warden territory.”
Landon ignored the implications of his hounds wandering through Warden territory, sometimes it couldn’t be helped, and followed Milo into the tavern in Enatai. There, he found the likely suspects. Balder Barrow, Jasper Twelve-Fingers, and Red Richie. The Freaks turned to face Landon as he walked in with Milo.
“Hey, boss.” Balder Barrow said and scratched at the flakes of dead skin on his ruined scalp. It disgusted Landon every time he saw it, but they were scars he earned and Landon had to respect that. Not everyone could survive a molotov to the head.
“You’re the ones who found the Warden army then? How did that happen?” Landon asked.
Jasper Twelve-Finger’s twelve fingers were pulling apart a roasted bird. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too full for his words to be coherent. Red Richie had to speak on his behalf.
“We were looking for caravans to escort in exchange for payment. Can’t be too safe these days, Seattle is becoming a dangerous place.” She said and sipped at a clear bottle of moonshine.
“How generous.”
“There’s about two hundred of them, a little over. They’re running drills by Frink.” Barrow said.
“Frink?”
“It’s to the east of Warden City. The army got themselves a little camp, close enough to force their way through Mercer Island in the morning and hit our territory just in time for lunch.”
Landon turned to Milo. “I’m gonna need you to watch over Enatai.”
Milo groaned. “I really don’t want to have to do that.”
“Somebody has to be in charge while I check out that Warden army myself.” Landon turned back to Barrow. “I need you to bring me to their location. Can you do it?”
“There were fewer patrols. It’ll be easy enough.” Barrow said and looked to his gang, who voiced their agreement.
Together, Landon and the Freaks departed for a ferry a short way to the south while Milo was left to watch over Enatai in his absence once again. Landon opted not to bring his own raiders, which meant he was reliant on Barrow and his Freaks. They owed Landon allegiance, he was the Overboss of all the Hounds, but Barrow was the Underboss of his gang. Placing trust in others was always dangerous, but the Freaks were a good sort to have around.
Once they arrived at the ferry, Landon recognized the ferryman as one of the old smugglers who operated around Lake Washington since Landon’s youth. He greeted the ferryman and, as expected, he feigned ignorance of his guest’s identities and returned the greeting. Discretion was an important part of their work.
Barrow paid the man and the group boarded his canoe, powered by a refurbished motor engine. It rumbled uncomfortably loud for Landon’s liking, but the ferryman had a trick to account for the noise as well as avoiding detection in general. The ferryman brought the group through the southernmost reaches of Lake Washington, the ferryman crossed towards and away from Mercer Island at various points.
It was a small detour, but necessary to avoid detection by the settlements on the coast. Either on Mercer Island or on the mainland. The group successfully landed unseen in the ruins of a boathouse. The ferryman promised to stay in the area for three days before he left, despite the bloodbugs nearby, but Landon needed only one. With Red Richie and her scoped hunting rifle at the front, the group made their way to Frink.
As Barrow had said, there were fewer Warden patrols in the streets. Far fewer than Landon imagined. Many had likely been pulled back because of their losses against the Brotherhood. Substantial losses, if the rumors of the trail of corpses along the Pacific Highway were true. Landon wouldn’t be surprised if they were, given the Brotherhood’s efficiency in killing.
The group camped on the roof of a building, but the trees along the road blocked their view of the Warden army camp. Frink Park, like many other segments of nature in the ruined city, had grown beyond its pre-war boundaries. If Landon wanted to know his enemy, he’d have to get closer.
“Stay here and I’ll get a closer look.” Landon told the Freaks.
Barrow shook his bald head. “No can do, Boss. If anything happens to you, Milo will have our heads on spikes. We’re coming with.”
Landon and the Freaks crept past the foliage and the trees along the road, using them to obscure their presence from the Warden patrols along the road. None of the Freaks were rattled by their close proximity to the wardens.
When a warden fell out of line with his unit, the group hid where they could. Jasper and Richie fell to the floor, behind foliage, and Landon squatted behind a tree. Barrow was forced to hide in an alcove leading to a doorway. It might have been easy for anyone else to hide in the recession, but Barrow was forced to suck in his belly. Before a molotov had taken his hair, Balder Barrow had once been known as Bigger Barrow.
The warden entered an alleyway. He coughed, the noise echoed through the silence, and began pissing against the wall. Landon shook his head and the stream poured for several long seconds. The warden finished his business and began walking back to his unit, when someone yelled in panic. “Look out behind you!”
A cold chill ran through Landon as he heard the warden unsling his rifle and stomp around. “What? What is it?” The warden called out.
Landon’s grip tightened around the holster of his pistol. The Freaks remained in place, lying prone and unmoving. Barrow’s eyes were tightly closed, deathly still with effort. Making sure his round belly wasn’t visible beyond his sanctuary. Landon was no stranger to avoiding Warden patrols, but the situation was dire and he could appreciate that the Freaks could remain calm.
The rest of the warden’s unit laughed and the warden cried out. “Shit, that’s not funny guys!” The warden ran to his unit and Landon exhaled with relief.
Richie lifted her head, over the shrubbery she hid behind, and confirmed that the patrol had gone. Landon watched Barrow’s belly expand as the man relaxed. “You need to lose weight again.” Landon said.
“Aye.” Barrow said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Aye.”
Landon and the Freaks, after taking a moment to compose themselves, moved closer to the Warden army camp. They hid themselves on the roof of a nearby building with a rear exit in case they needed to escape. The building itself was three stories tall and overlooked the pathway towards the center of the park, and the camp. The pathway had been cleared of greenery and Landon had a full view of the wardens in the camp with his binoculars.
There were over two hundred, as Barrow said, but closer to three hundred. Barrow pointed out sergeants yelling at trainees, who ran through several circuits of exercise. Climbing up walls on ropes, balancing on beams, running through a chain of tires, or simply running laps around a track.
It was the sort of physical training all wardens were pushed through. While raiders were naturally filtered for the strongest among them by the inherent violence of their misdeeds, the wardens could turn any soft waster into one of their warden soldiers. It was a system that Landon tried to copy with some limited success.
However, the fresh reserves the Wardens called up weren’t their typical recruits. One of the wardens fell out of line and removed his helmet as he collapsed onto the ground, as did several others. The man was too old to be called a fresh recruit, close to Barrow’s middle age. Another warden was shorter and skinnier than the rest, because he was barely a man. The wardens in their army camp were the old or the young, likely conscripted.
“Those aren’t reservists.” Barrow said beside Landon.
Jasper chuckled. “The Wardens are getting desperate.”
“They won’t be ready to fight any time soon.” Richie said and pointed her rifle off to the side. “There are two wardens sneaking away. Shit, that’s Fishhooks Harlowe.”
Landon looked where Richie was pointing her rifle and saw a familiar man. “William Harlowe.” Fishhooks Harlowe was sneaking away from the camp with another warden. They crouched behind a tree and moved to avoid one of their own patrols.
“He’s a captain now, isn’t he?” Jasper asked. “Why is a warden captain sneaking away from camp?”
“He’s with a woman.” Barrow said and chuckled.
“How do you know that’s a woman? She’s all covered up, like the other wardens.”
“A man can always tell. It’s the way she walks, the sway of those hips.”
“Don’t listen to him. Barrow is just an old degenerate.” Richie said. “But he’s right, Fishhooks is with a woman.”
Barrow licked his lips and gave Landon a playful grin. “Naughty Fishhooks is going to have himself a bit of fun.”
Barrow wagged his eyebrows at Landon and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t look at me like that, you fucking freak.” Landon pulled away from his perch on the roof and checked the bandolier in his jacket, strapped with twelve-round magazines. While his .45 Colt didn’t pack as hard a punch as his usual rifle, it would be enough for what he had in mind. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we paid Harlowe a visit?”
“Catch him with his pants down?” Jasper said and Barrow smiled, clapping him on the back.
“What do we get for killing Fishhooks? That’s a Warden captain, reward better be good.” Richie said, slinging her rifle on her shoulder and checking her knife.
“We’ll just pay him a visit. There are things a Warden captain knows that could be very useful to us.”