The Big Blind: Journal of a Wastelander

Journal Entry 17 - March 18th, 2287

I killed... no, murdered an NCR ranger today. Not feeling real great about it. I can only hope he believed me when I told him I was sorry and pointed at my neck.

I have this robot, I guess it's called an eyebot, following me around everywhere. The thing has it's uses, like spotting geckos and nightstalkers I normally would never see. So I tolerate it. Then today, I get this static coming out of it's speaker system, and then a voice telling me to come to some bunker.

I should have ignored it, but I was a curious cat. I plugged the coordinates into the pipboy wrist-thingy the old doc gave me, and followed them out into the middle of nowhere. Sure enough, there was a concrete structure poking out of the sand.

Long story short, the Brotherhood, who everyone thought had long packed up and left the Mojave, were hiding out there, and suddenly I'm surrounded by a bunch of BoS meatheads who strip me down and force me at gunpoint into another door. Their base is small but well fortified and they had automated turrets everywhere.

They put a fucking slave collar on me. I had heard stories about these guys. Some said they were the good guys, but the truth was, they were just another gang. A very well-outfitted gang pretending to save humanity by preserving technology. Preserving it for themselves at least.

I remained calm, as calm as a naked man with an exploding slave collar around his neck can be. These thugs didn't know me. They didn't know that I never forget, that my grudges never end. They couldn't know if I was to stay breathing through whatever they had planned... and there's where it got worse.

Apparently they really want to keep the place secret. They were on some sort of lockdown, and needed an outsider to take care of some business out in the wastes while they hid in their little hidey hole all fuckin day long jerkin each other off. But their leader, some blue-robed jerkoff called McNamara or something, thought he could trust me only if I performed some duty for them first. And if I refused... my head was going to pop from my neck. What an idiot.

The ranger. He had parked his ass in a nearby bunker entrance, not unlike the one I went into. He had to go, so that the Brotherhood could stay hidden like the rats they were. I found him, talked to him a bit. Tried to convince him they wasn't going to stop any escapees or criminals out here in the middle of nowhere.

He was obsessed with this radio the rangers use to stay in touch and report back to whatever base they are stationed out of. It wasn't working. I saw what was wrong immediately, but for obvious reasons kept it to myself. That fucking radio would be the death of him. He wouldn't budge from the idea that he had to make a safe house out of this bunker. I rigged it to explode while he slept that night. I watched him fly across the room. He was still breathing when I ran up to him, pointing at my slave collar, telling him I'm sorry.

Long story short, they took the collar off, and let me roam around their rathole. My next task is to find some of their missing patrols out in the wastes. My real next task is to make sure that every one of those motherfuckers pays for what happened to the ranger. His death spared mine, and I always pay my debts. I have a pretty good idea how I can pull it off, but it will take some time and planning.

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Journal Entry 22 - April 29th, 2287

As I wrote before, I've set myself up a lucrative business of buying cheap weapons, restoring them, and then reselling them. I practically own this town... or could, if I wished to spend the caps on it. I'm not exactly sure what I want to do with this newfound wealth. I can't help but feel it's distracting me from dealing with the Brotherhood.

While fixed up junk is okay for some, I need something better. Unfortunately these are things that money can't buy. I needed pristine pre-war hardware if I wanted to take on the BoS and any others who may cross me out here in the desert wasteland. Rumor was that there was a vault with a large untouched weapon cache near New Vegas. For the first time in a week I left the safety of Novac and headed north.

I had been told the entire vault was radioactive, and that helped me find the entrance. Unfortunately, it also meant I couldn't stay down there forever. I soon found out why it had gone untouched. The door to the armory was locked tight. Each vault had an overseer, a boss of the vault. I figured his office might unlock it, but the door to the overseer's office was locked as well.

To compound things, half the vault was flooded. It occured to me that maybe this was a bad idea, but I felt compelled. I want... no NEED the best. I started taking short dips in the dirty radioactive water, and eventually found a corpse wearing what looked like a security guard outfit. I took a keycard off of him and plugged it into a nearby security terminal. I was elated when this allowed me to unlock the overseer's office door.

But when I opened that door, there was a swarm of mindless ghouls. The steady radiation had sustained them all this time. I grabbed a grenade, but realized I might damage a terminal necessary to opening the armory. The ghouls had leapt for me as soon as the door opened. I ran down the corridor, dropping the live grenade behind me. I jumped into a nearby room to seek cover from the blast just as it detonated.

After waiting a few minutes in the silence (save for the ringing in my ears), I went back to the overseer's office. I hacked his main control terminal and finally opened the armor door. To my surprise, there was no team of feet shufflers this time. Just weapons. A lot of weapons. I loaded the eyebot and my backpack with as many as could fit, and found both a shotgun and semi-automatic scoped rifle that I would be keeping for personal use.

The rest I could make a small fortune from. Not like I needed it. I plan on tying up some loose ends very soon.

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Journal Entry 28 - May 14th, 2287

A lot has happened lately. The Brotherhood elder has had me running all over the Mojave for tasks that he thinks only I could do while he had their bunker on lockdown. I did as he asked. Their life support systems were failing on them. Eventually they would have had to crawl out from under that rock, so their misfortune didn't suit my purposes.

At the time he told me, I was only too happy to find the parts needed to repair it. I considered evicting them and using it as a base of operations. At night I have been making off with their equipment to sell to traders topside. Their technology is in high demand and worth quite a bit.

Last week one of the scribes accidently unleashed a computer virus that had laid dormant in the bunker's network. They didn't seem to have any clue on how to deal with it. When hacking Robco terminals, this sort of thing is quite common. I explained how to fix it to the head scribe, but he just handed me security clearance and told me to do it... apparently too stupid to understand what I said.

I seized the access to their systems to modify the payload and copied it to the security server instead of their research server. They were very thankful for 'fixing' their computers. I told them that sort of virus was very resilient, and that all terminals should be checked regularly for suspicious behavior.

When I returned with the final component for the air filtration system in the bunker, the payload had been delivered. The automated turrets that they used to keep them safe had turned on them. Eight of them had been killed before the Paladins (meatheads) had restored order by destroying the guns. Their order was crushed. There were only twenty three of them living there, now they were down to just fifteen.

I felt a little sick. Too much killing... was it right? I still don't know. After finishing the repairs, the Elder asked me to join their order officially. I accepted. It was an unusual procedure to invite an outsider to join, but they had just lost eight of their 'brothers', and needed me. I'm a scout and supplier mostly, which means I come and go as I please. I would never have settled for being stuck in that hole, that is for sure.

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Journal Entry 30 - May 19th, 2287

Have I mentioned that I was shot in the head two months ago? Small detail. I have some sort of amnesia, except for the guy's face who did it, and I know bits and pieces from people I've met who knew me or knew OF me. I was apparently very small time, but someone wanted me dead. I've made a fortune since then, it's come as second nature to me. I find the life surreal. Perhaps I'm not alive at all and this is the afterlife.

Musings aside, people continue to try to kill me, so I must be alive still. Everyone made such a big deal out of The Strip, that I decided to go check it out. It helped that a mark was apparently hanging out there. I was supposed to kill him, but I am tired of killing. I convinced him to hand over his hat and a few caps and to stay the hell away from Freeside or I'd have to kill him for real.

I would say I'm not impressed by The Strip, but I am. It looks almost like old pictures of the pre-war world. It's like a paradise or some sort of alien civilization. Or a mix of both. I felt repulsed by it's... fakeness? The world wasn't like this. The Legion was murdering entire towns, deathclaws wreaking havoc across the wasteland, and me. It just didn't add up to this place I was in.

I had taken no more than a few steps before an NCR trooper ran up to me. Oh no, I thought, somehow he knows that I killed one of their own. I ready'd myself for a bloody confrontation. To my relief, and surprise, he said that the NCR ambassador to The Strip wanted to see me right away. Well as long as it wasn't a judge, a jury, or an executioner, why not?

This ambassador, can't recall the name, says that his scouts saw me visit a bunch of loons called The Boomers. By visit, I mean dodging their artillery strikes and having them believe I was some sort of chosen one for making it to their front gate in one piece. I liked them about as much as the Brotherhood, but at least no one actually died that day. So I'm supposed to visit them again, apparently the NCR wants their support in fighting The Legion. Sounds like a good enough cause.

But it will have to wait. After settling up with the mark, I had other things to do back in Freeside. Likely some killin would be involved.

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Journal Entry 33 - June 20th, 2287

Been doing a lot of legwork for the NCR lately. The Boomers were not only willing to help defend the Hoover dam, but are simply excited at the chance to blow people up. I guess it's good that I didn't kill them afterall. I helped them raise a 'bomber' from the depths of lake Mead. After hearing them talk about it, I felt a little uneasy putting that kind of power in the hands of these crazy fucks.

I met a washed up trader and whiskey addict named Cass at the NCR's Mojave outpost. She owned a caravan company, or had until the main caravan was ambushed and destroyed. After some drinking and talking, I decided I wanted some company. I convinced her to come with me, being as she was unemployed. Unfortunately that meant agreeing to something almost impossible: finding who ambushed her caravan. I knew where this was leading. As soon as they were taken care of, I'd never see her again.

We went back to the site of the ambush, and I noticed burn marks on the driver and brahmin. It's an odd thing to use energy weapons to ambush a caravan. If you have that kind of tech, then what is your beef with a simple trader? Most of the merchandise was trashed rather than stolen as well. That actually made more sense, but not the attack itself. It wasn't the first time I had seen an attack like this on a caravan. I decided to take us to ambush site, despite a lot of complaining on her part. I should never drink.

Took us a full day to get there, being on the other side of Vegas, but when we did it was just as I thought. Same burn marks. My eyebot's analysis concluded that some of the same weapons were involved based on the residual energy signatures. Or he (yes I've decided it's a 'he') was just bullshitting me. Among the bodies of the traders, one was stripped down to his underpants. I thought 'how cruel'. Then I noticed the lack of burn marks, and in their place were three bullet holes. A gun of the same caliber lay next to one of the dead caravan drivers. This naked man was one of the attackers!

I rolled him over and examined his corpse. That's when I spotted it. The letter 'V' tattoo'd on the attacker's shoulderblade. Van Graffs. They were a very large and powerful gun runner, specializing in energy weapons. Most of their influence was still located west in California, but they were quickly gaining a foothold in the Mojave wasteland, and apparently part of that success was not through fair play. I weighed whether or not I should tell Cass that I knew who was behind it. In the end, I decided to take the path straight toward oblivion rather than the long painful one.

As expected her mind set on revenge immediately, she didn't care who they were. We got into a bit of a fight. Physically. She won. Sometimes I hate my balls. I caught up to her, and convinced her that some planning would be needed if she wanted to truly get revenge, and not just go out in a blaze of glory that would soon be forgotten. I told her that one of the few things I was good at was killing, and that her sawed-off wasn't going to get the job done. We needed real gear to take on an entire building full of highly trained mercenaries and the Van Graffs. Even then, it was likely a suicide mission.

I tutored her in the art of unfair killing for a full week. I taught her how to fire the anti-material and gauss rifles. I spent sixteen hours creating armor piercing rounds for the former, and overcharged energy cells for the latter. "Isn't this overkill?" she asked. "Every time I do this, it could be my last. It would be tragedy to have died without bringing the biggest guns I could have". That was the truth too. There was no such thing as overkill, only success and failure. Why die with a six-figure bottlecap collection rather than live with a little less? Okay maybe a lot less, but still, my life was priceless.

Eventually we were ready to make our move against the Van Graffs, but you will have to wait till next time for our thrilling conclusion, all this typing is making my fingers sore.

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Journal Entry 34 - June 21st, 2287

Me an Cass went to Freeside to finish up our business with the Van Graffs. Their headquarters were located just a little ways outside The Strip. Strangely their weapons were some of the most sophisticated and expensive you could find anywhere in the Mojave, but they did most of their sales out of the Silver Rush building in the middle of a slum.

Almost all of these buildings were pre-war era structures, re-purposed for use by savages that inherited the wasteland. It is just more convenient to use unsafe existing buildings than to try to construct a new one. It's easier to advertise yourself based on an existing sign than to try to repaint or create a new one. So that was their store, the Silver Rush.

I lead Cass to her position; the rooftop of an adjacent building. "Why am I up here again and not down there?" She obviously wanted some up close revenge. "Because this is what we trained for. This is what we practiced and planned. If you want to go back and take more time, we can. Today, this is where you can be effective." I was holding my cards to my vest. Sure, having a sniper is handy, but up on that roof taking out targets from a position of cover and distance was safer too.

It took a lot off my mind to have her on that roof. I had taken a trip to the premier shop outside the strip, Gun Runners, to get her some body armor. With her hardware and position, even if I had completely failed in my part, she would likely survive, if not pick them apart. I went back down to ground level. I had no firearms on me, and wore the cleanest pre-war suit I could find on short notice.

I wanted to check out the interior of the Silver Rush. They had one guard outside the door, and likely more inside. Cass didn't know it, but I didn't actually have a plan yet. I figured I would browse the store a bit, and figure it out inside. The interior was a simple one-room layout. There was an exit leading to stairs, where there may have been others, but I had to wager that all the guards were inside the storefront.

The Van Graffs, a brother and sister team, stood close by the weapons on display on two folding tables. It occurred to me I could have requested a Brotherhood paladin or two to help with this assault, just due to their thirst for old world technology. However, I still wanted nothing to do with them. They simply can't see the forest through the trees.

There was a kind of cage surrounding the Van Graffs and their guns. It had two openings. It would help funnel any attackers or thieves through a kind of corridor where the guards could easily stop them, rather than allow anyone a straight path from the entrance to the merchandise and back. I wanted very badly to to grab a couple of plasma grenades off a shelf and start the fun, but every move I made was closely watched. These people were not fooling around.

Bought weapons are kept unloaded, and a guard hands them to you at the door and not beforehand, so that avenue of destruction would also be difficult and risky. Just as I needed a distraction, I heard the loud boom of the anti-material rifle and the crack as it punched a hole right through the front door guard and then through the door itself.

Jean, the brother Van Graff instantly aimed his plasma rifle at me. I was impressed. Gloria, the sister, yelled for the guards to get outside and take care of the problem. The guards numbered four, and Cass would stand a decent chance if she didn't lose her nerve, but I didn't want to stand there hoping for the best. I made my move, bobbing down quickly as I rushed at the table that had what I needed.

Jean instantly took his first shot, the plasma bolt whizzing by my head. Gloria made for the exit to the stairs, and I couldn't let her get away. I grabbed a recharger pistol off the table with my left hand, and grabbed an unarmed plasma mine with the other. Swinging my arm around I took a quick shot at Jean just to get him to take cover rather than turning me into a pile of ash with that rifle of his.

I dropped the pistol and rolled onto my back, pulling the display table over. As it came down, I quickly hit the arm button on the mine and slid it towards Gloria. It sensed her movement as it approached, detonating just as it hit her foot. She launched into the air as plasma fire erupted from the mine, engulfing the entire caged area. The table broke the blast, mostly, as I was sent flying into the cage itself. Jean was blown apart, the liquid parts of his body made it through the cage, splattering against the far wall.

It was impossible to breath as the blast had sucked the oxygen from the room, and was being replaced by smoke from several small fires taking hold of the interior walls. I had to get out of there or I would suffocate, but there were still four guards out there. I had to get the jump on one of them.

I stood up and the pain was excruciating. I almost fell back over from dizziness before the adrenaline kicked in. I looked around for any handy weapons, but saw none that weren't destroyed. I made a mad dash for the front door where I could see three figures still standing. I kicked the door into one of them and rushed at him as he fell to the ground. The other two were too distracted trying to find Cass that they didn't notice their buddy getting ambushed.

I didn't go for his gun, which was another plasma rifle. He clutched onto it for dear life. I went for it's microfusion clip, and quickly dislodged it, rendering the weapon inert. The guard didn't see what I did and continued trying to aim it at me. We struggled on the ground, before I got a hold of one of his grenades. More plasma. I tossed it at the feet of the other two guards. One of them noticed it and looked at the melee taking place only ten feet away from him. He grabbed the other guard and tried to get clear of the blast.

The other guard didn't move out of the way and was tore apart. The guard I had struggled with was blown free of my grasp when the grenade detonated. Once again, the pain. Now free, and very angry, he rushed at me but with a boom he flew back to the ground beside me, dead from Cass's rifle. I grabbed his gun, and searched around for the clip I had taken out of it. It was not to be seen, and could be anywhere by now.

One guard remained. I pointed the empty rifle at him. "Drop it and you live!" I yelled, knowing this was my last play in this deadly game. He had his gun already on me, there was no tension though, because I didn't have any more decisions left to make. I had no choice of whether or not to fire. I did the only thing I could, I bluffed him. The guard dropped his gun and I exhaled.

I waved him to leave, but then his head disappeared, and in it's place was some red mist and unidentifiable cranial matter flying through the air. I suppose Cass's appetite for killing had not yet been quenched. I started to worry that maybe she would take a shot at me. I took cover in her building, as members of The Kings were becoming interested in the chaos, and they would likely want to chat with us about screwing with their turf.

when I got upstairs, Cass was still aiming down at the building with the anti-material gun. I pulled her away from the ledge. She was shaking, shivering more I suppose. I noticed she was grazed and bleeding from one shoulder. I laid her down, and told her she did good. I didn't scold her yet for popping the last guy unnecessarily. There would be time for that later. I wrapped her shoulder, and we got the hell out of there. We didn't speak the rest of the night.

Now I type this, the morning after. She hasn't woken up yet. I hope she'll wake up Cass and not some new hardened killer or someone who resents me for giving her what she thought she wanted.

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Journal Entry 36 - June 24th, 2287

Cass has been quiet the last couple days. I would think something was bothering her, except I know from experience how the mind can become cluttered re-enacting stressful events like what we had experienced in Freeside. Hopefully she will snap out of it. I told her I had to get moving on an NCR contract to bring updated encryption codes to their comm stations. She opted to stay behind. I wasn't surprised, but jokingly told her not to rummage through my things, spend my caps, or get into too much trouble. Okay, maybe only half jokingly.

Novac is pretty far from any of the Ranger outposts I needed to visit, and none of them close enough to each other for it to really matter which one I picked. I decided on the one labeled Foxtrot. It took two days for me to get there, as I stopped to do some trading and sleeping more than I normally do. The NCR at Foxtrot were not particularly happy to see me. "Codes?! We need men!" or something like that.

Apparently they were stationed near a dock called Cottonwood Cove. It was occupied by Legion forces. I hadn't really had the pleasure of meeting any of these Legion guys. They called their leader Caesar, apparently the whole thing was inspired by some old world crap. Latins or something. I had read old books, but not a lot of references to centurions and Caesars. Mostly stuff on military and police tactics. On those subjects, I was very informed. Perhaps somewhat ironic that so many of those novels made it through the war.

Eventually I convinced their communications officer to update his radio, because apparently the Legion was able to overhear broadcasts or decipher them at least. I would have told them to use this knowledge to feed misinformation, but it wasn't really my place. In any event, I decided to get some sleep, the rangers were so kind as to let me make camp on the dirt they walked on, so long as they didn't trip on me. Nice guys.

The next day I decided to have a chat with the head ranger named Jackson. I wonder now if he had a real title or rank. He said he didn't have enough men to take back the Cove. He said their scouts reported at least seven Legion troops being lead by a Centurion. Centurions are a big deal; super soldiers and leaders that make NCR regulars quake in their boots. One job requirement is a deep desire to put people up on crosses. I never understood that kind of sadism from my fellow man. If you don't like someone, put a bullet in em and be done with it.

I told Jackson that I wanted to go down there and see the Legion firsthand. He shook his head, and told me I'd be up on one of those crosses if I did. I decided to go anyways. I wasn't about to march down to the Cove in an NCR uniform. These soldier types lack creativity. I took off my armored clothing, and underneath, I wore what was pretty typical of a trader. My pack already looked too big for someone who didn't have something to trade, so besides missing a guard and a pack brahmin, I figured I could pull off the look.

Still, I kept my scoped carbine always close at hand. I didn't travel far before I was 'greeted' by a pair of Legion soldiers. They really did dress oddly. I told them I was a trader and they said they would ask their leader whether I should be allowed to trade or put on a cross. Interesting choices. Eventually the one returned and gave me the good news, no crucifixion today.

Cottonwood Cove had several buildings in still usable shape. I quickly took stock of the Legion force. Three were sleeping under tents, two were patrolling the road to the Cove, one stood by one of the houses, and one stood next to a cage that had a few wastelanders in it. The count of seven would only be accurate if no one was in any buildings. Seemed like a risky assumption. The Centurion was standing on the balcony of some sort of service building. There was no mistaking him as a regular soldier. His outfit was much more flamboyant, composed of various metal pieces including a large hulking shoulder pad. He still had a skirt on though. The Centurion's eyes panned back and forth over the camp, to make sure everyone stayed on task, I assumed.

I really wanted to talk to him. But first I decided to check out these prisoners in a cage. The man guarding the pen barked "What do you want, profligate?" I don't know what that meant. I certainly did not give him my name, nor was it anything even remotely similar to that word. I thought it best not to argue any points with these people. I asked him what the deal with these prisoners was. Turns out they weren't prisoners, but slave candidates or something. Not even full-fledged slaves. If they couldn't be broken or were too worthless, they'd just be killed. I very timidly asked if he thought it was very noble to force people into servitude. To my surprise, he showed no frustration or anger in my question, but responded quite proudly that he was giving them the chance to have a virtue that their worthless lives lacked.

The kind of thinking where if you just want to live your life without serving some sick sadist then your life has no value, is not just crazy, but dangerous. My amusement had abated. I was now a little concerned about being in the middle of a camp full of these brainwashed assholes. I talked the guard into selling me the pre-slaves at a discount. I asked the guard if he had any spare firearms, even those only working a little, that he could sell as it was my trade to repair and resell them. Lucky me, he had three. All three were pistols, perfect for what I needed. The guard walked to what must have been the mess hall, muttering about hunger.

I took my new slave friends aside. I gave them each a gun and told them that they were free, but I needed their help. One was a small boy, another a young woman, the third an old woman. I told them of the three soldiers sleeping, and that things were going to get noisy. I told them that if they would take position near their tent, each choose a target, and then shoot them as soon as the noise began, I'd have 100 caps for each of them later. All they had to do was kill the soldiers, and then run into one of the buildings and I would take care of the rest. The old woman said it was a stupid plan and that we were all going to die, and then proceeded to convince the other two that it was worth a try to get some payback.

It was time to go chat up the Centurion. He only had one volume level. Loud. He immediately told me how happy he would be to put me up on a cross like the other wasteland trash that they were purifying the world of in their noble crusade. I examined his outfit, for some reason I just couldn't get over it. These guys took themselves too serious. I told him I liked the view up on this balcony, talked to him about the NCR cowards, and how it was nice to finally find a place to buy slaves. It was good that he had no sense of humor, or he probably would have decided that I was not an idiot, but was actually mocking him.

Eventually he decided to turn his back on me, to gaze back upon the greatness of his Legion outpost. I didn't give him to to decide whether that was a mistake. I pulled the pin on a fragmentation grenade and pushed him towards the ledge. He fell forward trying to regain his balance. I grabbed the belt of his skirt to keep him from falling. Luckily they weren't crotchless, otherwise dropping the grenade into the gap I created wouldn't have been particularly effective. He still didn't seem to even understand what was going on as he hadn't yelled for help. I said "you have a grenade in your pants" and let go. He fell over the edge, and almost as soon as I heard the thud, the grenade popped. The only thing super about this centurian was how much of a mess he made on the ground and side of the building.

Immediately the loitering guard drew a sub-machine gun and started peppering the building. The balcony was large, so I had complete cover simply by ducking down. At least until they came up to get me. I heard pistol fire soon after I took cover. The freemen were coming through. The gunman turned on them and I knew that soon three more would be joining. I opened fire to give them a chance to get inside the building. He unloaded the remainder of his first clip in my direction and started reloading out in the open. I aimed and took my shot and hit him with several rounds from my carbine. The freemen made it inside and more shots rang out.

The two patrollers and the pen guard were now firing. The pen guard was firing from almost full cover inside the mess, while the patrol was quite a distance away, standing and firing. I was able to hide from the pen guard laying prone, which also gave me a shot at the patrol, who were not going to hit me without a lot of luck from their distance. I, on the other hand, had a scope. I aimed through it and decided not to conserve ammunition. Before they could react I had over a dozen shots fired, taking them both down. More bullets flew at me from the direction of the mess.

I had been happy at the relative accuracy of the rangers' scouting, but now I could tell there were two guns coming out of the mess hall's windows. They had me pinned on the balcony, and I didn't want to turn this into a protracted stalemate. However, what advantage they had in firing position, they lost in mobility. I climbed down the other side of the balcony, safe from their fire. They could neither see nor hit me, but they could each cover a side of the building so I couldn't risk poking my head out. I did the only thing that I thought of. I backed up away from the structure, putting as much distance between the mess hall and myself as was possible without letting either shooter see me, and then I sprinted to a nearby house. They saw my maneuver, but neither was a good enough shot at that distance to land any lead.

I did the same thing a second time, to the next house over, slowly circling counter-clockwise around the mess, towards the side with no windows. They had started to stick their heads out to look to their right to cover me. Finally I dashed to the side of the mess hall. Now it was a fight. They couldn't see or hit me without coming out. I waited several minutes, crouched on the ground, ready to shoot at anything that came into view, but both of them stayed put. They were likely willing to play a waiting game; I was not. I could have fled at this point, but I wanted to finish this; especially the pen guard.

I slunk slowly, hugging the wall, towards the first window being used by the shooters. I was crouched low, but if he stuck his head out, he would have seen me, that that would have been the end. I grabbed my second, and last, grenade. I pulled the pen and let the lever fly. I tossed it in and started blind firing my rifle inside the window, diving to the ground at the last second. The blast caused the ground to shake, or maybe it was just my body. The building itself added it's own unique sounds. Smoke and debris flew out of the windows. I took cover on the side of the mess again, just as the pen guard stumbled through the door coughing. I finished him and knew the eighth man was already dead inside.

I went from building to building, checking for any other soldiers before telling the freemen to head back to the NCR camp. The battle for Cottonwood Cove was over. I won. However, I was not waging a war and had no interest in the position, so I decided to go back to the Ranger Foxtrot camp and give it to them. It was obvious they envied it before I left. Jackson had some choice words for me, but it was worth it to see the utter disbelief on the faces of these tough guys. I let him know that in the old world, wars involved armies of thousands, and the US military often faced odds worse than I did. I don't think that made them feel any better.

I'm going to sleep now, then going to hoof it back to Novac and Cass, I hope she's getting along alright without me.

(continued in part 2)
"The Big Blind: Wastelander's Journal pt2"