This idea sprang from the bombs detonating over the NCR and the Legion at the end of Lonesome Road, and what the after-effects of that would be if one added a touch of actual realism to the game environment when it came to radiation poisoning. Something that went beyond "ghoulification." So... fair warning: this is a very frank take on nuclear assault, with absolutely no hedging. This includes the initial strike, and the aftermath.

Characters Involved: Ranger Ghost, Ranger Jackson, Major Knight, Colonel Moore, Julie Farkas, Doctor Richards.

[ 1 :: Tuesday, February 13th, 2282 ]

If they do not now accept our terms they may expect a rain of ruin from the air, the like of which has never been seen on this earth.

President Harry S. Truman
August 6th, 1945

For those in the Mojave, it seemed for a time that the Great War of two centuries past had come again, with no discernible rhyme or reason, no time to prepare for what would inevitably follow.

Many would later insist that there had been no warning, but they knew, understood only too well that there had been: a signal flare sent up mere days before the disaster struck, a fiery explosion that lit up the sky over the Divide, but few bothered to see it for what it was until it was right on top of them.

When the bombs hit, they hit simultaneously; one to the East, one to the West. Even for those that didn't see the initial blasts, the remnant mushroom clouds were plain as day: thick, silver pyres that extended into the sky, their presence announced by a distant rumble of synthetic thunder echoing across the landscape. In that moment, the Mojave was stunned to silence; people stopped in their tracks to stare uncomprehendingly; skirmishes between east and west came to a halt, attention split between the two horizons.

The battles halted, combatants turned to one another, a keen sense of gravity settling between them. Bloodied and battered though they were, their mutual hatred, mutual resentment, seemed to evaporate in that moment, a silent question exchanged between them. Those that fought for sport continued to do so, but most of them, men and women on both sides who fought for a purpose, a belief- a nation- lowered their weapons, uncertain of whether or not those nations were still present.

If the worst had come to pass, and there was a victory to be had in the war they waged together... for whom would the victory be claimed? If dead lands lay to either side of them, what purpose did their conflict serve?

It was a question they'd take back to their leaders, turning their backs to the battlefield to follow the shared, unwanted epiphany. Slow and ungainly, their retreats were sluggish, halting enough that either side could have turned on a dime to claim an easy victory. But again, that question raised: until they knew more, what victory was there to be had?

The profundity of the unforeseen, seemingly unprovoked attack would not be known for some time; just the basic details. East of the Colorado, a crater had been blasted into the soil, the exclusion zone that surrounded it too vast to be negotiated in a short period of time, and those that attempted to do so were soon doomed to fall fatally ill. To the West, the route that carved through the mountains, one of the few reliable paths connecting the NCR to the Mojave, had befallen an equally devastating fate, leaving many to wonder if the way home had been closed indefinitely.

Leaders on both sides had no answers for their subordinates. The NCR, panicked by the loss of a significant supply route, tried desperately to get in contact with their home states, but found that the thick radioactive cloud that settled over the mountain pass had effectively cut off communications. Of the outlying NCR settlements that might have been caught in the blast, there was no word. Couriers from the Legion, either caught too close to the blast, or spending too much time near the exclusion zone, succumbed before they could deliver messages to the Fort that detailed the damage. The rest, those that took alternate routes, would not arrive for many weeks after the explosions had hit.

Those long journeys, bearing outdated messages that could not communicate the scope of the disaster, exemplified a point that both sides understood only too clearly: that for both, returning home would pose as great a challenge as remaining where they were. Adding to that realization was the stunned recognition of what would undoubtedly follow; the jet stream would invariably push the radioactive particles from the west into the Mojave; the southernmost portion of the Colorado would be poisoned for generations...

What it would all amount to, how great an impact it would have, was difficult to decipher... and very few wanted to know the answer.

[...]

Lo Gaseat- known as Halloran Springs prior to the Great War- a small but flourishing NCR settlement, got a name for itself thanks almost entirely to luck of the draw. The prospectors that found it would tell a different story, of course; to them, the quarries in the nearby mountains, still containing gold, silver and turquoise, saying nothing of the remains of the town itself, had been more than enough reason to earn it a place on the map. Home that it was to several types of raw materials, salvageable equipment, and other lucrative scraps, that seemed likely enough, but in reality, the town hadn't begun to prosper until the Army moved in and put down roots of its own.

Kimball, a General at the time the settlement had been founded, had recommended placing a base of operations on a nearby stretch of highway, taken by the natural shielding and the prospect of securing the high ground, the mountain pass itself viewed as an incredibly useful bottleneck in case of attack. The Joint Chiefs had agreed, and in no time, construction of the Long 15 Army Base was underway. Since its inception, the base quickly formed a mutually beneficial relationship with its neighbor, giving jobs to locals and putting caps in the hands of food vendors, ones that eventually moved on to establishing humble, but lucrative, diners.

In time, it wasn't just soldiers that frequented the community; laborers the NCR brought in to build and maintain both the equipment, and the few makeshift shelters they'd been ordered to construct, often visited in their time off. Some even chose to stay, adding to a steadily growing population, and lending their skills where needed, both at the base, and within the town itself. As a result, Lo Gaseat enjoyed a great deal of trade and commerce, more than enough to not only sustain the community, but to continue mining the minerals the founders had discovered. That alone made the townspeople far more willing to forgive some of the rowdier soldiers that strayed into their otherwise humble bars and eateries, on the basis that, were it not for them, the town's good fortune may not have been possible.

It didn't take long for the Long 15 base to be thought of as one of the biggest, most effective staging grounds for the NCR's campaign to annex the Mojave. Proving its value throughout Kimball's assault on Bullhead City, and soon boasting a full complement of fully-trained, able-bodied soldiers, it began to take on additional functions, serving as a training ground for incoming recruits, a well-protected supply depot, and a relay station for long-range communication. When trade routes opened into the Mojave, it also became a temporary checkpoint until the Outpost could be fully outfitted, a place for merchants to resupply, acquire additional protection, and verify their compliance with NCR trade regulations before being allowed to move on.

Beyond the permanent staff, the personnel stationed at the base were typically recruits going into the Mojave, or reservists that had been rotated out for their proper allotment of 'downtime,' but there were some unique additions. Both non-commissioned and commissioned officers often returned to the base to undergo extensive training in the use of salvaged power armor, a task that Colonel Royez, the base commander, was well-suited for. Many argued that the army would be better served if they'd placed him on the front lines, but were often reminded that after enduring many long years in the service, he was content to remain behind; he did, after all, have his retirement to look forward to.

Or, so he thought.

In a single afternoon, thoughts of retirement, of the long and difficult road Lo Gaseat's residents had traveled on the way to prosperity, of the long tours soldiers were leaving behind them as they got ready to return home to California, had been erased.

The town's luck had run out; the base's vital functions, put to rest.

Those closest to the blast became disembodied silhouettes seared into the soil they'd mined, on the streets they walked, whereas those farther away, either died of flash burns, or succumbed to a slow transition into madness, bodies reconfigured by a blistering wave of radiation. There- left to stumble uncomprehendingly through a desiccated carcass of broken concrete and twisted metal- they remained, knowing implicitly that this was where they belonged, utterly incapable of understanding why.

[...]

At sunset, the overcast skies were flush with an array of colors, some vivid, some desaturated; sickly. The unnatural silver-green hues of the dust that settled over the western horizon had dissolved into a void pale purple, a wash of fiery reds and bright golds providing a spark of normalcy to an otherwise unearthly palette. Some stopped what they were doing to appreciate the smell shred of beauty that had come of the destruction they'd witnessed that afternoon, but others, many others, couldn't have cared less.

Beyond the obvious need to survey the damage dealt to the Long 15 base and evacuate all those individuals that survived the assault, there was a push to determine what was going on with the Legion. Concerned that, even after enduring their own attack, their long-time enemy might seek to capitalize on the chaos the NCR had been thrown into, the NCR brass had mobilized Ranger Station Echo to see for themselves what was going on in Cottonwood Cove. The word they received back had been a relief: the mad scramble the NCR found themselves faced with was one that the Legion was facing, as well. For those observing, it was heartening to know that the raw panic felt amongst their own troops was reflected in Caesar's men, the magnitude of the attack leaving them staggered, more uncoordinated than they'd ever been. They, like their enemy, had been cut off from a primary supply line, and there was little they could do about it, but by contrast, they'd gotten off lucky. If 'lucky' was the proper word for it.

Still capable of drawing in supplies from the northeast, using trails branching off into Utah, they were not entirely cut off from resources they relied upon, though the amount of time it would take to get goods and reinforcements in from Flagstaff would be substantially increased. There was some small hope that the attack would be demoralizing enough to bring the advance to a standstill, but many NCR military officials agreed that it was more likely to hinder, rather than derail. Or at least, it seemed safer to assume as much.

And the NCR, with no real ability to draw upon their own resources from California, no way of making a quick retreat, was stuck with that scenario as a probable outcome. But matters of the future, of a war effort that was may well have just been lost by default, were of less importance; what mattered was the present moment.

Only three hours had elapsed since the mushroom clouds erupted over the horizon; two since word had reached Hoover Dam and Camp McCarran that at least one of the Long 15's vertibirds had survived. The pilot, only able to evacuate small numbers of survivors at a time, had requested ground support in locating some of the patrols that had avoided the worst of the blast, and word was passed on to Major Knight to lay down the groundwork for a relief effort. Instructed by Colonel Moore and Colonel Hsu, who were themselves taking cues from those few experts they had at their disposal, to do whatever was within his power to ensure the safety of those affected by the fallout, Knight had the unenviable task of letting those soldiers that volunteered for the search and rescue know what they were in for.

Assured that extra radioprotective medicines and supplies were en route to the Mojave Outpost, he set out to get the operation underway as quickly as possible. The first, and primary instruction the squads were given was to stay as far away from the hypocenter as possible; by no means were they to get within seven miles of the crater. Second, that it was critical for the soldiers keep track of the time they spent in the more heavily irradiated areas, and not to exceed their allotted time before retreating to higher ground, a point that was weighted by a thorough, spoken 'presentation' on the results of overexposure; results that didn't end in becoming a ghoul, high-functioning or not, reluctantly read from an NCR-approved pamphlet on the dangers of radiation poisoning.

Going by a suggestion Colonel Moore had given him, he laid out a plan that allowed for teams to be deployed on a rotating schedule throughout the evening, for as long as it took to clear the area. Anyone entering into the exclusion zone was told that under no circumstances were they to continue their searches if, after repeated rounds of exposure, they or one of their squad mates so much as looked like they were about to throw up, or seemed in any way disoriented.

"We'll have enough people flooding in here with radiation sickness," he said. "Last thing we need is for you all to join them. Now, we're pretty well-stocked for meds, but we've only got so much on-hand until the supply drop, so I don't want any of you pushing your limits with this. Just go in, get everyone you can, and get out as fast as possible."

He stopped just short of saying that squads should leave behind anyone who clearly wasn't going to make it. That much, they already understood.

Less than a half hour after deploying the first team into the wastes, and a little over an hour before any air-dropped supplies would be delivered, it seemed some of the prospective evacuees had already started to take matters into their own hands. Men and women, both soldiers and civilians, began to approach the Outpost gates, some worse off than others. Nearly all of them had some form of injury from the blast, beta burns that painted their skins, and seared the fabric of their clothes to their flesh. Some had been hit, and in some cases, grievously wounded by falling debris, otherwise healthy, whereas others, those with the least amount of visible injuries, were already beginning to show signs of illness.

In at least one case, a young woman, near delirious, her skin riddled with aggravated burns, had aimlessly dragged the body of one of her comrades to the gates, ignorant to the fact that he had died during the last leg of the journey. Not long after her arrival, she began to show symptoms of ataxia, a sure sign that she wouldn't make it through the night. Knight hadn't gotten the opportunity to ask where she'd come from prior to her lapse into delirium, and what few medics they had on-hand were incapable of reviving her for long enough to get a clear answer.

By morning, several teams had been cycled in and out of the area multiple times, all of them met with varying results in regards to who they found, and who they could bring back. The vertibird pilot, downed for the evening due to low visibility, had started back up in earnest, but it soon became clear that there was little else worth searching for.

Reporting back to his superiors with what information he had about the extractions, as well as the state of the soldiers and civilians that had been located, Major Knight was told to order a full evacuation.

"I think we've taken enough chances for one day," Colonel Hsu said. "Seems like we'd be better off playing it safe for the time being."

Knight, though reluctant to abandon ship, couldn't help but agree.