Fallout 4: AR

73. No Plan Survives...

His voice broke. "Those kids were my responsibility, and there was nothing I could do if they got taken! Once they left, they were gone!"

"I'm truly sorry, RJ. It must have been horrible." Lightly, I stroked his temple, brushing his hair back from his face.

"And now all I can think of is if Duncan ever got kidnapped..." he broke off, pressing his face into my jacket, stifling his heartbroken moan. "I miss him so much." There was nothing I could say. I could only offer my comfort and presence. He clung to me. "Don't ever leave me, angel. You're all I have left."

-0-

Two days later, we were encamped on a stony ridge overlooking the Roadside Pines Motel, reconnoitering. It had been a rough trek to get high enough to make a proper sweep of the target. Behind us to the west was a rising stretch of ghostly forest, topped with an old power station that had definite signs of occupation. Borrowing my partner's scope, I had identified the hulking form of a deathclaw moving around the pylons. We were extremely careful to stay quiet and unnoticed after that.

"I count two more. That's a total of eight." MacCready's murmured update sank my spirits.

The motel below was indeed right next to what used to be a reasonably-sized secondary road, now cracked and impassable by any but the most determined travelers. The slavers had taken the dilapidated structure and reinforced it, shoring up the tumbled walls, and even building guard fortifications leading up to the main entrance. Based on a sketchy diagram scratched in the dirt of our surveillance post, it looked like there could be as many as a dozen people being held captive inside, plus the gang keeping watch. I dutifully added the two additional slavers to the count.

"All right," I said quietly. "Let's review. SALUTE... Size – estimated twenty people; eight slavers and maybe twelve victims. Activity – bunkered down and performing regular guard patrols. Location – Roadside Pines Motel..."

"Seriously, Boss?" MacCready's spirit had bounced back with a vengeance after his emotional release the other night, and he was back to his usual sardonic self. "You're gonna go through the whole thing?"

"Shush, you. Yes. Pay attention." He stuck his tongue out at me and I gave him a cheeky smile. Our outward demeanor may have appeared playful, but it masked my growing sense of dread for the upcoming confrontation. "Uh, motel. Suspected several smaller rooms inside that can be partitioned off as holding cells. Unit – unknown slavers-slash-raiders. Time – mid-morning in... whatever month this is. Let's just say mid-Spring. Equipment?"

MacCready peered through his scope again. "Leather armor in good repair, matching pieces- these guys do look organized. No throwables that I can see. Weapons look to be mostly pipe rifles, with one shotgun. That's a plus for our side, our weapons are better, but they outnumber us four to one."

"Don't remind me." I groaned quietly. "Actually, yes, do remind me. We need to keep our wits about us." We scooted back from the edge of the cliff to discuss our strategy. As we had many times in the last six months, we formulated our plan of attack.

"Outside should be easy; it'll only be the slavers." MacCready said, dropping back into the familiar instructive role he was so good at. "They aren't about to give their 'valuable goods' a chance to escape. Inside, remember the slaves will have wired leather collars on them," he pointed out, drawing a quick sketch in the dirt. "If you see a red light on their neck, they're a slave. The collars are packed with an explosive charge, so we'll need to find the controller remote and disable it before we can free them."

MacCready would stay on the ridge. His elevated position would allow him to snipe off the initial guard component without them hearing gunfire. I was to creep close, taking cover underneath the motel's faded billboard-like sign standing a short ways in front of the main entrance. My role was to act as backup in case one of our opponents tried to take cover underneath the overhanging roof. As a last resort, I could provide a distraction, drawing out the slavers and giving Mac the time he needed to sight and fire. We were planning to stay in our positions as long as necessary to take out each of the eight as silently as possible, hopefully one or two at a time. Each target down was one less to worry about inside the building. We didn't want a firefight inside the motel if at all possible.

When we were reasonably satisfied with how we were going to handle the conflict, MacCready took my hand and stared directly into my eyes. "I know you look for the good in people," he began, his expression serious. "But this time, you can't hesitate, okay? Those are humans, yes. They're slavers. They kidnapped honest, innocent people. They severed families, and stole children from their parents! They're beyond evil. Shoot to kill."

I nodded, looking away sadly. "I... I understand." This is my world now. I have to follow its rules. Wasteland justice is harsh, but so is slavery. A swift death is better than they deserve. "I won't hesitate." I was pulled into a firm embrace and clung to my partner.

"That's my girl."

-0-

Things started to go wrong almost immediately. I slipped down the rock face on my way to the hiding spot, scraping my hands and leg. The noise put the slavers on alert, and they wouldn't stay still. Low-crawling into position from cover took longer than I had counted on, especially when I had to freeze in place every time one of the two posted guards stalked by. Once settled in a camouflaged spot by the sign, I set up my rifle in a prone supported position and waited. On the ridge, Mac would have been tracking my progress and known when I was in place.

Ping!

It would have had to have been today, of all days, for MacCready to miss. The slaver had moved, and the shot meant for his unprotected head had ricocheted off the metal frame of the motel instead.

"Sniper!"

Three more slavers rushed out as the original target turned tail and darted inside the building. I mentally cursed and reset the muzzle of my rifle to train on the new arrivals. Invoking V.A.T.S., I focused on the lead form, a woman who had jammed her leather helmet on crooked.

Crackcrack!

My double feed rifle did its job, taking out the woman cleanly. MacCready had apparently recovered, sniping a second slaver three steps from the barriers erected in front of the motel. Inside the building, I could hear a commotion and shouting, but shoved it to the back of my mind as I scanned the area for the two remaining raider slavers. I wasn't sure if they knew where I was, or if MacCready could target them.

Yes, and no. Damn it.

The rustle of dead vegetation was the only warning I had. I rolled to one side just as a round narrowly missed my shoulder. Both slavers were approaching my position, weapons raised. Of course the woman to the left had the shotgun. Invoking V.A.T.S. a second time, I targeted the woman, aiming to disarm her.

Crackcrack! Crackcrack!

The shotgun flew out of her suddenly useless hand. A second shot took her in the chest, tearing though the armor, but only wounding her. With the last of my V.A.T.S. target assistance, I swung around to shoot the right-side raider in the thigh. He went down with a yell, cut short as my partner managed an incredible shot to his throat as his form rolled away from the sign's cover.

My ballistic-lined jacket proved its worth when it deflected the wobbly left-handed knife strike aimed at my back. The woman slaver had staggered forward while I was distracted, pulling out a homemade blade. I whirled, panting in effort as I cracked her across the face with the butt of my rifle, and she fell to the ground, still moving, bleeding profusely from the wound in her chest.

Don't hesitate. Gritting my teeth, I brought up the muzzle.

Crackcrack!

The woman crumpled into a lifeless heap, but there was no time to relax. How many was that? Only four? I stood up and scanned the open area in front of the motel entrance, taking the opportunity to reload. Four bodies lay in unnatural positions. Before I could move back into cover, the wet crunch of shattering bone came to my ears. A fifth slaver dropped from the roof of the building, dead. Oh my god, I love that man.

The searing pain of a bullet impact caught my hip in bone-bruising shock and I whirled just in time to witness the petrifying sight of a set of power armor thundering out of the motel, firing relentlessly. Where the hell were they keeping that thing?

I raised my rifle to meet the metallic specter of death bearing down on me, screaming in terrified bravado, "Bring it on, you pile of junk!"