Since they were stuck / had no home to go back to they settled and their descendants are one of the three major factions in China.
Fallout The Eagle And The Bear [Fallout AU]
- Thread starter Navarro
- Start date
Navarro
Well-known member
They and the ROC soldiers/government who were also involved.
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
Thinking about it I wonder if the US will okay strategic nuclear strikes on Chinese territory once they see their army units in the US counterattack.
CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
Just how much do they identify as American though?
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
If you mean the government the Enclave has built then very much so. If you mean the US descendant/Chinese state the remains on the mainland not very. Not that it matters because that will not be the state getting the hypothetical nuclear salvo.
ForeverShogo
Well-known member
Maybe they'll send in the US Air Force to smash the primitive southern Mexicans. No diversionary army group required.
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
Hey the upside now the US has a long distance test run for their new stealth bomber. I doubt anyone in North or Central America is sending top of the line radars or laser AA into Mexico after all. It's the next best thing to target practice with a PR boost to boot.
Navarro
Well-known member
That's just demented, full stop.
You don't think they have their own schemes going on? Also, remember - the NCR's allies are former enemies and planned future vassals.
CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
Like an evil primitivist romanticist, except said evil douchebag actually lived through those times and was still sorta living through them when the NCR was becoming more and more spread around and orderly
Chapter Ten: The Countermove
Navarro
Well-known member
A breather chapter. Some light stuff and focus on more minor characters, along with foreboding and foreshadowing.
==*==
Chapter 10
Old World Blues, New World Hope
Pamphlet To Be Distributed To NCR Army Group North, Written 12 February 2331 (254 P.N. )
BY DR. WALTER IRVING
As the campaign to liberate the Mid-west of the continent from the clutches of Enclave tyranny approaches, you may find yourself wandering why this war is even happening. You may find yourself doubting the cause for which we are fighting. Let this document strengthen your resolve.
First off, we must fend off the Enclave’s own arguments. First, they argue that they are the legitimate government from the pre-nuclear era. As if anything before that watershed matters! To call upon the spectre of a world that reduced itself to rubble is to already admit defeat. A world, we might add, that destroyed itself because of their mistakes. Mistakes that they in their cowardice ran from, abandoning hundreds of millions to die! This abandonment itself destroys any claim they make to legitimacy.
It is true that the Enclave’s leadership – the “pure humans” who oppress those living under them – are the descendants of pre-War political, military and business leaders. And it is also true that one of those leaders was the last President of the United States. But we are dealing with elites here, not the main citizenry. America was never a monarchy, and they owe us no debt of allegiance because of who their fathers were.
They call us rebels and secessionists because California fought off their attempts to exterminate and enslave us. How can we have rebelled against those we never swore loyalty to, or seceded from a country we were never part of? Their expansion into the Caribbean islands also proves the lie that they simply seek to restore order in old American territory.
Pre-War America is dead. The Enclave is its walking corpse, driven by the desire of its old elites to retain power over us. And it is dead because it was fundamentally flawed from the start – flaws corrected in our own Republic, having learned from the mistakes of its “founding fathers”.
Our campaign is a war of liberation, for the sovereignty of our own country and the freedom of the millions living under the oppression of the Enclave. The heartbeat of history is your marching cadence, soldiers. Beside you march your forefathers who overthrew the Master and the first incarnation of the Enclave. Go out there, and do California proud!
==*==
13:00 CST, October 29 2331
Dallas, Lone Star Republic
Her son was dead. To Lt. General Christine Curling, it had been a shock to see his names on the lists of soldiers killed in action as they were collated in the days after the battle had ended, local morgues hastily taken over by the medics to identify and send on the casualties. He had been just 19 – married straight out of high school, he left behind a pregnant widow – her daughter-in-law – hundreds of miles away. And herself of course.
How many more mothers’ sons, she bitterly mused as she laid her hand on his lifeless forehead, cold as the stone slab it laid upon, will die in battle before this war is through?
She steeled herself yet again as she considered it. He had known the risks, had accepted the possibility of death when he took the oath. He was a grown man, and she had no right to act as his mother to keep him out of danger. He had died breaking his fellow soldiers out of an ambush, laying down his life for his friends. And ultimately, now that he had fallen, it was up to her to help make his loss mean something.
==*==
13:00 PST, 4 November 2331
Presidential Palace, Shady Sands
President Matthew Kimball of the NCR was not pleased about the recent defeats. The fall of Dallas and the failure of the attempt to reclaim Houston had rendered the three cities of Austin, San Antonio and Corpus Christi indefensible. Second Army had fallen back to Lubbock, and with it had come the Texan President and many of the pro-independence faction in the LSR’s congress, fearful of Enclave retribution.
He mused on the situation - that last fact was not entirely unwelcome. The latter group were already moving westward, to be entertained at a hunting lodge in the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada used by the NCR’s higher-ups (not Kimball, he had no interest in killing defenceless creatures) until the war had reached its conclusion. Then they would resume rulership over the Lone Star Republic, hopefully with an improved understanding of who was the dominant figure in the relationship between Texas and the NCR.
And even the defeats had served their purpose, in a way – they had exposed weaknesses in the NCR military that would otherwise have remained there, invisible.
Standing before him, along with several other officials brought into this meeting, was Dr. Carl Weathers, Head of the OSI. He had charge over many of the NCR’s scientific endeavours, including projects that officially did not exist.
“Mr. Secretary,” Kimball said. “The Coyote MBT has shown a critical flaw with the turret design. I’m trusting you have something to say about that?”
“Yes,” the man nervously said. “Simply put, the two-gun design simply doesn’t have the penetrative power that we need. I’ve already proposed to our suppliers that they shift to an energy-weapon design.”
“How easy will that be, Mr. Secretary?”
“Very easy, sir. Our AA laser cannons will be a very easy base to work with, even if we can’t match those plasma beams the Enclave use – but we don’t need to at any rate. But it’ll take time – three months before we can start making the new turrets, six before we can start equipping them in the field.”
“Time we don’t have,” the Vice President stated. “Operation Kodiak is in the final phases of preparation.”
“About that,” Gerald Moore piped up. “The war college has prepared new anti-armour drills based on tactics which saw a degree of success during Dallas and Second Houston.”
“I’ll order General Robertson to delay a week so as to train these new tactics,” Kimball stated.
“That puts the general attack for the 21st of November. With the weather forecasts for this winter-”
Weathers was cut off by the furious voice of VP. Cole.
“So what do you suggest?! We delay again and again because conditions aren’t perfect, and we hand the Enclave victory after victory until they’re at the gates of Shady Sands?! If we want to win, we better start fighting those bastards.”
Kimball spoke again.
“Now, concerning Project Myrmidon?”
“We have the gene templates we need and the facilities will be ready by next April.”
“Crimson Rain?”
“We’ve completed the facilities to produce the … munitions and we’ll have a large enough stockpile by mid-2333. We’ve also confirmed that they’ll work as Big Mountain said they would.
“Antares?”
“Doctor Mobius has finally given us the blueprints.”
“Nemesis?”
“Preliminary excavation is taking place at Mount Shasta, but we won’t be complete until late 2334.”
“Then we’ll finally be able to hit them where it hurts, if they’ve lasted that long.”
President Kimball dismissed him and turned to speak to Secretary of State Thomas Bishop, a grandson of the famous crime lord and former Senator for the state of New Reno.
“Mr. President,” he said. “I’ve both good and bad news.”
“First off, our allies in east Asia ‘ve selected the military leader they’re sending to aid us at last. But then, there’s the matter of Rio. The pissants ‘ve finally confirmed that they’ve sided with the Enclave. Let me quote the official statement they made.”
“’The Republic of the Rio Grande recognises the United States of America as a sovereign and legitimate nation and expresses its deeply profound wishes that any and all territorial disputes between it and the New California Republic can be solved in a peaceful and productive manner.’ Anodyne as hell, but they’ve made it plain. They accept the Enclave’s claims – that much is plain just from the term they use for them.”
“Retaliation?”
“We already have an embargo and a travel ban – not much more we can do without sending our troops in through Chihuahua. Which is what the Enclave want. They want to drag us in there so we have less troops to fight them over here. Which is why we’ll use others to punish them.”
“The feudalists?” Moore commented.
“You see, our man in Texas – the late Mr. Benbow – had another mission he was undertaking while liasing with the LSR army. He was to get as much intel as he could on Rio – they shared a lot of military information – so as to counter-act any attempt they made to intervene. And he gave us Rio’s war plans to defend against full blown invasion from the south AND the full schematics of their southern border defenses. With that intel, our ‘friends’ in Mexico City will be able to properly waste ‘em after all their years of trying.”
“Rio has power armour,” Cole said.
“Only a few hundred T-45s. The Mexican Empire has the numbers to overwhelm that and take care of that little problem.”
“If the Enclave should intervene-” Moore muttered.
“They fall into the very trap they set for us. Isn’t it grand?”
There was somebody knocking on the door. Kimball ordered it opened; the discussion of sensitive matters had ended at any point. The man at the door was a Dr. Brandon Greene – head of the Shady Sands branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse.
That organisation had lost prestige over the past decades; ever since the Arcade Gannon incident, they had faced a tarnished reputation. Their own size had been another factor; that incident and the sheer difficulty of co-ordinating over large distances, along with several prominent cases of corruption and malfeasance; had forced them to abandon their earlier anarchistic leanings. Now there was a Head Office at the Boneyard – the Shady Sands Office, however, tended to be the branch which functioned as an intermediary between the larger organisation and the NCR government, for reasons of proximity.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said, looking at Gerald Moore. “I regret to inform you that our answer as to your request remains, to be blunt, no. We won’t compromise our pacifism to directly support your military. The NCR Army has its own medic corps – we’ll share new techniques with you and help with supplies, but we’re not soldiers.”
“The situation, has changed, Dr. Greene. We’re now directly at war with the Enclave. Don’t you understand?!”
“Again, we’re not soldiers. Do you want to bring us into the battlefields to get shot at and die?! Send in a bunch of civilians to get in the way of your troops?”
“So be it.”
==*==
10:00 AM, 5 November 2331
The White House, Washington DC
The Oval Office was brightly lit by the mid-morning sun, shining on the meeting that was taking place here. In the centre stood a rug with the seal of Massachusetts, the state where President Nate Washington had come from and had represented in the US Senate for many years; a personal gift from New England Commonwealth Governor Preston Garvey. To his right and left were portraits of Presidents Reagan and A. F. Jones – replacing those of Coolidge and Goldwater that the previous occupant had favoured.
As it was, Travis had sent congratulations last night after US troops had moved into Austin with no resistance. The man did have us spend $500 million on Carrera’s election, he mused. He understands the value of reclaiming Texas, even if his preferred response to the NCR’s takeover was far too timid. Still, the western portions of Texas, along with the state of Oklahoma, remained under rebel control. Their soldiers there were strongly entrenched, and the rebels had intentionally destroyed the highways and railroads behind them as they retreated.
Secretary of State James H. Davison was in front of him currently, giving a report on negotiations with the Texan congress. The man was an old hand with the State Department, and had worked on covert missions during Autumn’s 24-year presidency that were still classified and a brief spell as Consul to New Orleans that had seen his hand replaced with cybernetics, courtesy of an NCR assassination attempt. He had spent the last night engaged in lengthy telephone sessions and vidcalls with members of the Texan congress; bags were around his eyes from lack of sleep.
“A majority of the Texan congress in Austin is willing to accept immediate reintegration, provided one of their own becomes Commonwealth Governor; that can certainly be arranged. For all his co-operation with the rebels, Garner refused to follow their advice to have the individuals in question arrested – certainly because this would remove the thin veneer of legitimacy he was trying to maintain.”
“And the populace?"
“My team weren’t able to survey the population in the three cities recently liberated, but those in Dallas seem to just want to get on with their lives. Certainly, they’re in no mood for a revolt.”
“So, we can move on with reintegration?”
“I’d say we wait until the Texan Commonwealth – which under the terms I’ve drafted would lose Arkansas and gain New Mexico and Oklahoma – is entirely liberated and secure. To have to deal with all that bureaucratic overhead, in a region under threat of invasion ...”
“Have the Texans selected a leader?”
“Jeanine Armstead – the Majority Leader now that most of her political rivals have turned tail – has been selected as Acting President of the Lone Star Republic.”
“She willing to work with us?”
“She was a friend of the late Pres. Carrera, and shared her convictions about the reintegration of Texas.”
“Good. I’ll phone the Senators we have here for Texas to start preparing for their re-election campaigns.”
He then dismissed the Secretary of State and sat alone, thinking.
If it were up to the appointees, Nate mused, we wouldn’t even be engaged in this conflict. Nate had learned to dislike the appointee Congressmen from his earliest interactions with them onwards – possessing the ultimate safe seats, they tended to act more like lackeys to whoever the current President was than actual politicians concerned about their constituents. The only thing that could truly threaten them was poor health, political scandal or actual US reintegration of the regions they ‘represented’. Which was in part what had driven him to throw down the gauntlet. Congress could do nothing to stop him from that – the United States was already in a state of war, and this was a matter of suppressing an insurrection, not engaging in conflict with a foreign power.
Part of him even understood why Travis had been so popular with his promises to end the state of emergency enacted by A. F. Jones back in 2077 – a year that represented a distant part of Nate’s life but infinitely closer to him than it was to even his closest friends. Then of course when actually in power he had been forced to confront the fact that without the state of emergency, there would be no working legislative branch, and had dutifully signed it on the 24th of October every year of his term without fail.
Maybe, Nate mused, one day I won’t have to sign the blasted document.
Autumn had not had such feelings, Nate knew. To him, what he had been looking for was the restoration of a long-vanished golden age, and he had been willing to take any measures necessary to achieve that. It had been faith that had enabled him to step down from political office; a similar faith to the one that had strengthened him in the last days of his sickness (a bitter legacy of the radiation blast that struck him in 2277) and enabled him to die in peace even as his body was wracked with pain. Nate had no such utilitarian viewpoint as to the state of emergency declaration.
To him, it represented more than a formality – it was a sign that things were still not right, that the world was still broken, at least in part. To be able to just let it end … that would be the fulfilment of his life since the bombs had dropped. That would be the day he would be able to lay all his burdens down.
==*==
14:00 CST, November 5 2331
Dallas, Lone Star Republic
“A light beer please,” Sergeant Walker asked the bartender. “Cold.”
The bar was busy – the rest of the squad were here, seated by the oak table, varnished and polished to a bright gleam. It was lucky to have avoided the shelling that had ravaged this region of the city indeed – though its video jukebox had been hit by a stray burst of laser-fire and busted, leaving it musicless. The troops had been given some days of leave in which to celebrate the victory – days in which Walker’s actions during the battle had been raked over with a fine-toothed comb by the higher-ups – Battalion and Regimental Commands had both been involved. The examination had worked out in his favour – his temporary command of the squad had been made into a permanent one, concomitant with his promotion to the rank of Sergeant.
He fussed with his hair, nervously. Not sure how I’ll do – but I’ll try my best. Not worth it to give anything but that.
The bartender poured and gave the frothing glass over to him – Walker paid with some dollar coins minted during the Travis Administration, bearing the former President’s face in profile. The Texas dollar has not retained much value during the recent unrest.
“Not much different ‘tween you and the NCR folks, truth be told,” the man commented casually. “Soldiers are soldiers, I guess. Now them Brotherhood folks was something different – acted as if having to pay was an indignity. Nasty fellas, I guess.”
Walker said nothing, keeping an eye on his squad as he took light sips of the alcohol. Corporal Brennan was chatting up a local girl far to his left, and right by him, to his left, sat Corporal Young, his new second-in-command. Young was actually the oldest man in the squad – 29 (and now only ten years older than Walker) he had been a high school teacher in Ontario before deciding to join up in early June this year. To his right were Ray, Rita and Tyler; and various other members were scattered round the bar.
Ray had his guitar out, and quickly tuned it, then started playing a country song that had topped the charts some years ago:
“If life is like the candlelight,
Death is like the wind,
You can hold the window tight,
But it still goes rolling in,
So I would climb the highest hill,
And watch the setting-”
“That’s no tune for celebration,” Tyler interjected.
“True,” Ray admitted sheepishly. “First song I thought of.”
He adjusted his position slightly, and started playing an old favourite.
“There’s a yellow rose in Texas
I’m goin’ there to see,
Nobody else would miss her,
None else as much as me,
She cried so when I left her,
it like to broke my heart;
and if I ever find her,
we never more shall part.
Oh, the yellow rose of Texas,
I have to get there fast,
For I know I was her first love,
And I have to be her last.”
Both the locals and the US soldiers seemed to be impressed, and some started singing along to his words. He got through the chorus and continued.
“Where the Rio Grande is flowin’,
And starry skies are bright,
She walks along the river,
In the cold October night,
I know that she remembers
When we parted long ago,
I promised to return one day,
And not to leave her so.”
Then there was only the last verse of the 400-year-old anthem.
“Oh now I’m gonna find her,
For our hearts are full of woe,
We’ll do the things once more again,
We did so long ago;
We’ll sing our songs so gaily,
She’ll love me like before,
And the yellow rose of Texas will be mine -
Forevermore!”
At that last word there was a general applause from all present.
“You know,” Rita said teasingly. “Once this is over you should try your hand professionally. You’ve got a natural talent and a good voice.”
“I might,” Ray mused. “Music’s not a bad way to make a livin’. Better than farmin’, at any rate.”
Walker smiled a touch. Throughout the song, he’d been thinking of Arlene; he wondered how many of his people were thinking of their wives or girlfriends. He knew at least that she was fine physically; she was currently posted to the temporary airbase at Houston, and had been recognised as an ace pilot. For a moment he felt a flicker of worry; had she taken up with some swaggering fighter jock, forgotten him? No, he reminded himself. We started dating at 16. And she just isn’t that kind of person.
He drank some more. This evening there was going to be a USO concert at base – Stella Rasmussen, flown in from New York to entertain the troops. He was looking forward to it. In the meantime – with Ray preparing to play another song – he had music to spare.
--*--
The floodlights brightly illuminated the stage, as the last embers of sunlight died in the west. The door opened and out walked a woman of stately bearing; with raven hair, ivory skin and hazel eyes, she wore a knee-length black silk dress with a silver girdle about her waist. She was Stella Rasmussen and she was about to sing to the troops.
She opened her song to a jazz-styled accompaniment, her voice high and beautiful.
“When my dreamboat comes home,
Then my dreams no more shall roam,
I will meet him, and greet him,
Hold him closely, my own!
Starlit waters, please sing …”
And so on. The crowd were entranced even as she finished the song and moved on to the next.
Two hours later, she was at the bar on base. Most of the troops were drinking, and she could hear snatches of conversation.
“When do we move on Oklahoma?”
“When Command orders-”
“The General, I heard they caught him getting an ‘interview’ with that journalist lady from-”
“-Mistress-”
“How much more can the rebels take?”
There was one soldier in particular who by chance sidled up next to her on a bar-stool. There was a look about him that was different from the others.
“Your name?” she asked.
“Ray Paulson,” he replied in a southern drawl.
“I guess you already know mine.”
“Sure do, ma’am, I mean, Ms. Rasmussen.”
“Ms. Rasmussen, ha! You make me sound like a schoolmarm. Sometimes I wish I was.”
“Really?”
“Music’s tough work. You have to give it your all. And not just in the performance.”
“I’m used to tough work.”
There was an earnestness in him that she found she liked. She smiled at that.
“Soldierin’ and before that workin’ on the farm,” he said. “Not much to do when that was over ‘cept playin’ on the guitar.”
“You play guitar?”
“Yeah, and I’m a good hand. I’m honestly considerin’ a career once it’s all over with the secesh.”
She spoke up again.
“Are you single?”
“Are you?”
“Sure.”
“Me too … but I’m no floozy either.”
She wrote her number on a notepad and handed it over to him. Though she was willing to give it a shot – especially as she was tired of her friends in the city. This was the first guy she’d met to really treat her like a lady ought to be – she ought to give him a shot. Still, there were standards to be met.
“You want a date … call me once you get a promotion over Corporal. I won’t date a grunt.”
“You serious?”
“I am.”
"Will do, ma'am."
==*==
CST 15:00, 12 November 2331
Omaha, Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel
Corporal James Fields wiped the lens of his laser rifle clean yet again. Training, training, training. When he had joined the NCR Army, he had expected to be sent to Texas or put in a garrison posting on the defence lines, or even to the base guarding the Nicaragua Canal. Now here he was on the cold mid-western plains, preparing for the invasion. The big one that would deal with the Enclave. Four field armies had been readied, compared to the two sent into Texas.
But still – it was cold, and only going to get colder. California experienced relatively mild winters, but further east it was much worse. Still, at least it isn’t Gunderson Ranch, Fields mused. Escaping that place had been the smartest thing he’d ever done. And still, to think how the authorities could allow it – not just it but New Reno … it beggared belief. Once we’re done with this war on the Enclave they can’t ignore it any more … can they?
At any rate, he would be glad to get out of Omaha. The Brotherhood had rebuilt it – along with the other cities of the old-American midwest – as a fortress. There was little nightlife and culture – almost all the factories he’d seen seemed devoted largely to producing weapons. The little ‘trade’ he’d seen had largely been the local farmers sending tribute to the Brotherhood, their annual supply given in exchange for continued protection.
He wondered how horrible the Enclave’s lands would be in comparison. No reliable news came out of that country but reports of atrocities and high-level manoeuvrings among their elite given by the NCR’s spies. He hoped it might be better than he feared, but doubted that. Private Casey, ever the optimist, had wondered why nobody seemed to be trying to escape if it was really that bad, but he’d gotten a tongue-lashing from Sarge for it.
Still, soon the innocents suffering would be liberated. He finished his work and took a pamphlet out of his knapsack – Old World Blues, New World Hope by the NCR’s top expert.
--*--
The bear flew over the ocean,
The bear flew over the ocean,
The bear flew over the ocean,
To see what he could see.
The song lyrics ran their way through General Lance Robertson’s head as he began making his final preparations for the operation, due to launch in nine days. It was from one of the Enclave’s propaganda stations – the one that admitted it was run by them, not the several that claimed to be privately owned – and it annoyed him how they kept repeating themselves over and over.
He saw a mighty nation,
He saw a mighty nation,
He saw a mighty nation,
And all of our people were free.
It was something that happened – he would have to not let it cloud his thoughts as he mused on just how large this attack was to be. 400,000 NCR troops, in 4 field armies, along with 200,000 Brotherhood men under Sentinel Brandt – 50,000 of the latter full members of the Brotherhood in power-armour. More than half a million men – the NCR had never carried out such a large military operation in its history, never mind the Brotherhood. Hunched over his desk, he felt both anticipation and nervousness.
Hopefully it would be enough to achieve its goals. The primary target was Chicago – not only a major city under Enclave control, but also host to an airbase named AFB O’Hare that represented a key lynchpin in their logistics. Take that, and he would significantly weaken their position in the mid-west and have an advance base from which to march on Detroit.
But still … worries beset him. He gulped, and drank some of the whiskey. This country – in which even the memory of warmth seemed to vanish in winter – was a far cry from the Boneyard, or even San Francisco. For an instant the final verse of the old song rang loud and clear within his mind.
Big bear, go back and tell them,
Big bear, go back and tell them,
Big bear, go back and tell them,
That all of our people are free!
==*==
Chapter 10
Old World Blues, New World Hope
Pamphlet To Be Distributed To NCR Army Group North, Written 12 February 2331 (254 P.N. )
BY DR. WALTER IRVING
As the campaign to liberate the Mid-west of the continent from the clutches of Enclave tyranny approaches, you may find yourself wandering why this war is even happening. You may find yourself doubting the cause for which we are fighting. Let this document strengthen your resolve.
First off, we must fend off the Enclave’s own arguments. First, they argue that they are the legitimate government from the pre-nuclear era. As if anything before that watershed matters! To call upon the spectre of a world that reduced itself to rubble is to already admit defeat. A world, we might add, that destroyed itself because of their mistakes. Mistakes that they in their cowardice ran from, abandoning hundreds of millions to die! This abandonment itself destroys any claim they make to legitimacy.
It is true that the Enclave’s leadership – the “pure humans” who oppress those living under them – are the descendants of pre-War political, military and business leaders. And it is also true that one of those leaders was the last President of the United States. But we are dealing with elites here, not the main citizenry. America was never a monarchy, and they owe us no debt of allegiance because of who their fathers were.
They call us rebels and secessionists because California fought off their attempts to exterminate and enslave us. How can we have rebelled against those we never swore loyalty to, or seceded from a country we were never part of? Their expansion into the Caribbean islands also proves the lie that they simply seek to restore order in old American territory.
Pre-War America is dead. The Enclave is its walking corpse, driven by the desire of its old elites to retain power over us. And it is dead because it was fundamentally flawed from the start – flaws corrected in our own Republic, having learned from the mistakes of its “founding fathers”.
Our campaign is a war of liberation, for the sovereignty of our own country and the freedom of the millions living under the oppression of the Enclave. The heartbeat of history is your marching cadence, soldiers. Beside you march your forefathers who overthrew the Master and the first incarnation of the Enclave. Go out there, and do California proud!
==*==
13:00 CST, October 29 2331
Dallas, Lone Star Republic
Her son was dead. To Lt. General Christine Curling, it had been a shock to see his names on the lists of soldiers killed in action as they were collated in the days after the battle had ended, local morgues hastily taken over by the medics to identify and send on the casualties. He had been just 19 – married straight out of high school, he left behind a pregnant widow – her daughter-in-law – hundreds of miles away. And herself of course.
How many more mothers’ sons, she bitterly mused as she laid her hand on his lifeless forehead, cold as the stone slab it laid upon, will die in battle before this war is through?
She steeled herself yet again as she considered it. He had known the risks, had accepted the possibility of death when he took the oath. He was a grown man, and she had no right to act as his mother to keep him out of danger. He had died breaking his fellow soldiers out of an ambush, laying down his life for his friends. And ultimately, now that he had fallen, it was up to her to help make his loss mean something.
==*==
13:00 PST, 4 November 2331
Presidential Palace, Shady Sands
President Matthew Kimball of the NCR was not pleased about the recent defeats. The fall of Dallas and the failure of the attempt to reclaim Houston had rendered the three cities of Austin, San Antonio and Corpus Christi indefensible. Second Army had fallen back to Lubbock, and with it had come the Texan President and many of the pro-independence faction in the LSR’s congress, fearful of Enclave retribution.
He mused on the situation - that last fact was not entirely unwelcome. The latter group were already moving westward, to be entertained at a hunting lodge in the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada used by the NCR’s higher-ups (not Kimball, he had no interest in killing defenceless creatures) until the war had reached its conclusion. Then they would resume rulership over the Lone Star Republic, hopefully with an improved understanding of who was the dominant figure in the relationship between Texas and the NCR.
And even the defeats had served their purpose, in a way – they had exposed weaknesses in the NCR military that would otherwise have remained there, invisible.
Standing before him, along with several other officials brought into this meeting, was Dr. Carl Weathers, Head of the OSI. He had charge over many of the NCR’s scientific endeavours, including projects that officially did not exist.
“Mr. Secretary,” Kimball said. “The Coyote MBT has shown a critical flaw with the turret design. I’m trusting you have something to say about that?”
“Yes,” the man nervously said. “Simply put, the two-gun design simply doesn’t have the penetrative power that we need. I’ve already proposed to our suppliers that they shift to an energy-weapon design.”
“How easy will that be, Mr. Secretary?”
“Very easy, sir. Our AA laser cannons will be a very easy base to work with, even if we can’t match those plasma beams the Enclave use – but we don’t need to at any rate. But it’ll take time – three months before we can start making the new turrets, six before we can start equipping them in the field.”
“Time we don’t have,” the Vice President stated. “Operation Kodiak is in the final phases of preparation.”
“About that,” Gerald Moore piped up. “The war college has prepared new anti-armour drills based on tactics which saw a degree of success during Dallas and Second Houston.”
“I’ll order General Robertson to delay a week so as to train these new tactics,” Kimball stated.
“That puts the general attack for the 21st of November. With the weather forecasts for this winter-”
Weathers was cut off by the furious voice of VP. Cole.
“So what do you suggest?! We delay again and again because conditions aren’t perfect, and we hand the Enclave victory after victory until they’re at the gates of Shady Sands?! If we want to win, we better start fighting those bastards.”
Kimball spoke again.
“Now, concerning Project Myrmidon?”
“We have the gene templates we need and the facilities will be ready by next April.”
“Crimson Rain?”
“We’ve completed the facilities to produce the … munitions and we’ll have a large enough stockpile by mid-2333. We’ve also confirmed that they’ll work as Big Mountain said they would.
“Antares?”
“Doctor Mobius has finally given us the blueprints.”
“Nemesis?”
“Preliminary excavation is taking place at Mount Shasta, but we won’t be complete until late 2334.”
“Then we’ll finally be able to hit them where it hurts, if they’ve lasted that long.”
President Kimball dismissed him and turned to speak to Secretary of State Thomas Bishop, a grandson of the famous crime lord and former Senator for the state of New Reno.
“Mr. President,” he said. “I’ve both good and bad news.”
“First off, our allies in east Asia ‘ve selected the military leader they’re sending to aid us at last. But then, there’s the matter of Rio. The pissants ‘ve finally confirmed that they’ve sided with the Enclave. Let me quote the official statement they made.”
“’The Republic of the Rio Grande recognises the United States of America as a sovereign and legitimate nation and expresses its deeply profound wishes that any and all territorial disputes between it and the New California Republic can be solved in a peaceful and productive manner.’ Anodyne as hell, but they’ve made it plain. They accept the Enclave’s claims – that much is plain just from the term they use for them.”
“Retaliation?”
“We already have an embargo and a travel ban – not much more we can do without sending our troops in through Chihuahua. Which is what the Enclave want. They want to drag us in there so we have less troops to fight them over here. Which is why we’ll use others to punish them.”
“The feudalists?” Moore commented.
“You see, our man in Texas – the late Mr. Benbow – had another mission he was undertaking while liasing with the LSR army. He was to get as much intel as he could on Rio – they shared a lot of military information – so as to counter-act any attempt they made to intervene. And he gave us Rio’s war plans to defend against full blown invasion from the south AND the full schematics of their southern border defenses. With that intel, our ‘friends’ in Mexico City will be able to properly waste ‘em after all their years of trying.”
“Rio has power armour,” Cole said.
“Only a few hundred T-45s. The Mexican Empire has the numbers to overwhelm that and take care of that little problem.”
“If the Enclave should intervene-” Moore muttered.
“They fall into the very trap they set for us. Isn’t it grand?”
There was somebody knocking on the door. Kimball ordered it opened; the discussion of sensitive matters had ended at any point. The man at the door was a Dr. Brandon Greene – head of the Shady Sands branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse.
That organisation had lost prestige over the past decades; ever since the Arcade Gannon incident, they had faced a tarnished reputation. Their own size had been another factor; that incident and the sheer difficulty of co-ordinating over large distances, along with several prominent cases of corruption and malfeasance; had forced them to abandon their earlier anarchistic leanings. Now there was a Head Office at the Boneyard – the Shady Sands Office, however, tended to be the branch which functioned as an intermediary between the larger organisation and the NCR government, for reasons of proximity.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said, looking at Gerald Moore. “I regret to inform you that our answer as to your request remains, to be blunt, no. We won’t compromise our pacifism to directly support your military. The NCR Army has its own medic corps – we’ll share new techniques with you and help with supplies, but we’re not soldiers.”
“The situation, has changed, Dr. Greene. We’re now directly at war with the Enclave. Don’t you understand?!”
“Again, we’re not soldiers. Do you want to bring us into the battlefields to get shot at and die?! Send in a bunch of civilians to get in the way of your troops?”
“So be it.”
==*==
10:00 AM, 5 November 2331
The White House, Washington DC
The Oval Office was brightly lit by the mid-morning sun, shining on the meeting that was taking place here. In the centre stood a rug with the seal of Massachusetts, the state where President Nate Washington had come from and had represented in the US Senate for many years; a personal gift from New England Commonwealth Governor Preston Garvey. To his right and left were portraits of Presidents Reagan and A. F. Jones – replacing those of Coolidge and Goldwater that the previous occupant had favoured.
As it was, Travis had sent congratulations last night after US troops had moved into Austin with no resistance. The man did have us spend $500 million on Carrera’s election, he mused. He understands the value of reclaiming Texas, even if his preferred response to the NCR’s takeover was far too timid. Still, the western portions of Texas, along with the state of Oklahoma, remained under rebel control. Their soldiers there were strongly entrenched, and the rebels had intentionally destroyed the highways and railroads behind them as they retreated.
Secretary of State James H. Davison was in front of him currently, giving a report on negotiations with the Texan congress. The man was an old hand with the State Department, and had worked on covert missions during Autumn’s 24-year presidency that were still classified and a brief spell as Consul to New Orleans that had seen his hand replaced with cybernetics, courtesy of an NCR assassination attempt. He had spent the last night engaged in lengthy telephone sessions and vidcalls with members of the Texan congress; bags were around his eyes from lack of sleep.
“A majority of the Texan congress in Austin is willing to accept immediate reintegration, provided one of their own becomes Commonwealth Governor; that can certainly be arranged. For all his co-operation with the rebels, Garner refused to follow their advice to have the individuals in question arrested – certainly because this would remove the thin veneer of legitimacy he was trying to maintain.”
“And the populace?"
“My team weren’t able to survey the population in the three cities recently liberated, but those in Dallas seem to just want to get on with their lives. Certainly, they’re in no mood for a revolt.”
“So, we can move on with reintegration?”
“I’d say we wait until the Texan Commonwealth – which under the terms I’ve drafted would lose Arkansas and gain New Mexico and Oklahoma – is entirely liberated and secure. To have to deal with all that bureaucratic overhead, in a region under threat of invasion ...”
“Have the Texans selected a leader?”
“Jeanine Armstead – the Majority Leader now that most of her political rivals have turned tail – has been selected as Acting President of the Lone Star Republic.”
“She willing to work with us?”
“She was a friend of the late Pres. Carrera, and shared her convictions about the reintegration of Texas.”
“Good. I’ll phone the Senators we have here for Texas to start preparing for their re-election campaigns.”
He then dismissed the Secretary of State and sat alone, thinking.
If it were up to the appointees, Nate mused, we wouldn’t even be engaged in this conflict. Nate had learned to dislike the appointee Congressmen from his earliest interactions with them onwards – possessing the ultimate safe seats, they tended to act more like lackeys to whoever the current President was than actual politicians concerned about their constituents. The only thing that could truly threaten them was poor health, political scandal or actual US reintegration of the regions they ‘represented’. Which was in part what had driven him to throw down the gauntlet. Congress could do nothing to stop him from that – the United States was already in a state of war, and this was a matter of suppressing an insurrection, not engaging in conflict with a foreign power.
Part of him even understood why Travis had been so popular with his promises to end the state of emergency enacted by A. F. Jones back in 2077 – a year that represented a distant part of Nate’s life but infinitely closer to him than it was to even his closest friends. Then of course when actually in power he had been forced to confront the fact that without the state of emergency, there would be no working legislative branch, and had dutifully signed it on the 24th of October every year of his term without fail.
Maybe, Nate mused, one day I won’t have to sign the blasted document.
Autumn had not had such feelings, Nate knew. To him, what he had been looking for was the restoration of a long-vanished golden age, and he had been willing to take any measures necessary to achieve that. It had been faith that had enabled him to step down from political office; a similar faith to the one that had strengthened him in the last days of his sickness (a bitter legacy of the radiation blast that struck him in 2277) and enabled him to die in peace even as his body was wracked with pain. Nate had no such utilitarian viewpoint as to the state of emergency declaration.
To him, it represented more than a formality – it was a sign that things were still not right, that the world was still broken, at least in part. To be able to just let it end … that would be the fulfilment of his life since the bombs had dropped. That would be the day he would be able to lay all his burdens down.
==*==
14:00 CST, November 5 2331
Dallas, Lone Star Republic
“A light beer please,” Sergeant Walker asked the bartender. “Cold.”
The bar was busy – the rest of the squad were here, seated by the oak table, varnished and polished to a bright gleam. It was lucky to have avoided the shelling that had ravaged this region of the city indeed – though its video jukebox had been hit by a stray burst of laser-fire and busted, leaving it musicless. The troops had been given some days of leave in which to celebrate the victory – days in which Walker’s actions during the battle had been raked over with a fine-toothed comb by the higher-ups – Battalion and Regimental Commands had both been involved. The examination had worked out in his favour – his temporary command of the squad had been made into a permanent one, concomitant with his promotion to the rank of Sergeant.
He fussed with his hair, nervously. Not sure how I’ll do – but I’ll try my best. Not worth it to give anything but that.
The bartender poured and gave the frothing glass over to him – Walker paid with some dollar coins minted during the Travis Administration, bearing the former President’s face in profile. The Texas dollar has not retained much value during the recent unrest.
“Not much different ‘tween you and the NCR folks, truth be told,” the man commented casually. “Soldiers are soldiers, I guess. Now them Brotherhood folks was something different – acted as if having to pay was an indignity. Nasty fellas, I guess.”
Walker said nothing, keeping an eye on his squad as he took light sips of the alcohol. Corporal Brennan was chatting up a local girl far to his left, and right by him, to his left, sat Corporal Young, his new second-in-command. Young was actually the oldest man in the squad – 29 (and now only ten years older than Walker) he had been a high school teacher in Ontario before deciding to join up in early June this year. To his right were Ray, Rita and Tyler; and various other members were scattered round the bar.
Ray had his guitar out, and quickly tuned it, then started playing a country song that had topped the charts some years ago:
“If life is like the candlelight,
Death is like the wind,
You can hold the window tight,
But it still goes rolling in,
So I would climb the highest hill,
And watch the setting-”
“That’s no tune for celebration,” Tyler interjected.
“True,” Ray admitted sheepishly. “First song I thought of.”
He adjusted his position slightly, and started playing an old favourite.
“There’s a yellow rose in Texas
I’m goin’ there to see,
Nobody else would miss her,
None else as much as me,
She cried so when I left her,
it like to broke my heart;
and if I ever find her,
we never more shall part.
Oh, the yellow rose of Texas,
I have to get there fast,
For I know I was her first love,
And I have to be her last.”
Both the locals and the US soldiers seemed to be impressed, and some started singing along to his words. He got through the chorus and continued.
“Where the Rio Grande is flowin’,
And starry skies are bright,
She walks along the river,
In the cold October night,
I know that she remembers
When we parted long ago,
I promised to return one day,
And not to leave her so.”
Then there was only the last verse of the 400-year-old anthem.
“Oh now I’m gonna find her,
For our hearts are full of woe,
We’ll do the things once more again,
We did so long ago;
We’ll sing our songs so gaily,
She’ll love me like before,
And the yellow rose of Texas will be mine -
Forevermore!”
At that last word there was a general applause from all present.
“You know,” Rita said teasingly. “Once this is over you should try your hand professionally. You’ve got a natural talent and a good voice.”
“I might,” Ray mused. “Music’s not a bad way to make a livin’. Better than farmin’, at any rate.”
Walker smiled a touch. Throughout the song, he’d been thinking of Arlene; he wondered how many of his people were thinking of their wives or girlfriends. He knew at least that she was fine physically; she was currently posted to the temporary airbase at Houston, and had been recognised as an ace pilot. For a moment he felt a flicker of worry; had she taken up with some swaggering fighter jock, forgotten him? No, he reminded himself. We started dating at 16. And she just isn’t that kind of person.
He drank some more. This evening there was going to be a USO concert at base – Stella Rasmussen, flown in from New York to entertain the troops. He was looking forward to it. In the meantime – with Ray preparing to play another song – he had music to spare.
--*--
The floodlights brightly illuminated the stage, as the last embers of sunlight died in the west. The door opened and out walked a woman of stately bearing; with raven hair, ivory skin and hazel eyes, she wore a knee-length black silk dress with a silver girdle about her waist. She was Stella Rasmussen and she was about to sing to the troops.
She opened her song to a jazz-styled accompaniment, her voice high and beautiful.
“When my dreamboat comes home,
Then my dreams no more shall roam,
I will meet him, and greet him,
Hold him closely, my own!
Starlit waters, please sing …”
And so on. The crowd were entranced even as she finished the song and moved on to the next.
Two hours later, she was at the bar on base. Most of the troops were drinking, and she could hear snatches of conversation.
“When do we move on Oklahoma?”
“When Command orders-”
“The General, I heard they caught him getting an ‘interview’ with that journalist lady from-”
“-Mistress-”
“How much more can the rebels take?”
There was one soldier in particular who by chance sidled up next to her on a bar-stool. There was a look about him that was different from the others.
“Your name?” she asked.
“Ray Paulson,” he replied in a southern drawl.
“I guess you already know mine.”
“Sure do, ma’am, I mean, Ms. Rasmussen.”
“Ms. Rasmussen, ha! You make me sound like a schoolmarm. Sometimes I wish I was.”
“Really?”
“Music’s tough work. You have to give it your all. And not just in the performance.”
“I’m used to tough work.”
There was an earnestness in him that she found she liked. She smiled at that.
“Soldierin’ and before that workin’ on the farm,” he said. “Not much to do when that was over ‘cept playin’ on the guitar.”
“You play guitar?”
“Yeah, and I’m a good hand. I’m honestly considerin’ a career once it’s all over with the secesh.”
She spoke up again.
“Are you single?”
“Are you?”
“Sure.”
“Me too … but I’m no floozy either.”
She wrote her number on a notepad and handed it over to him. Though she was willing to give it a shot – especially as she was tired of her friends in the city. This was the first guy she’d met to really treat her like a lady ought to be – she ought to give him a shot. Still, there were standards to be met.
“You want a date … call me once you get a promotion over Corporal. I won’t date a grunt.”
“You serious?”
“I am.”
"Will do, ma'am."
==*==
CST 15:00, 12 November 2331
Omaha, Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel
Corporal James Fields wiped the lens of his laser rifle clean yet again. Training, training, training. When he had joined the NCR Army, he had expected to be sent to Texas or put in a garrison posting on the defence lines, or even to the base guarding the Nicaragua Canal. Now here he was on the cold mid-western plains, preparing for the invasion. The big one that would deal with the Enclave. Four field armies had been readied, compared to the two sent into Texas.
But still – it was cold, and only going to get colder. California experienced relatively mild winters, but further east it was much worse. Still, at least it isn’t Gunderson Ranch, Fields mused. Escaping that place had been the smartest thing he’d ever done. And still, to think how the authorities could allow it – not just it but New Reno … it beggared belief. Once we’re done with this war on the Enclave they can’t ignore it any more … can they?
At any rate, he would be glad to get out of Omaha. The Brotherhood had rebuilt it – along with the other cities of the old-American midwest – as a fortress. There was little nightlife and culture – almost all the factories he’d seen seemed devoted largely to producing weapons. The little ‘trade’ he’d seen had largely been the local farmers sending tribute to the Brotherhood, their annual supply given in exchange for continued protection.
He wondered how horrible the Enclave’s lands would be in comparison. No reliable news came out of that country but reports of atrocities and high-level manoeuvrings among their elite given by the NCR’s spies. He hoped it might be better than he feared, but doubted that. Private Casey, ever the optimist, had wondered why nobody seemed to be trying to escape if it was really that bad, but he’d gotten a tongue-lashing from Sarge for it.
Still, soon the innocents suffering would be liberated. He finished his work and took a pamphlet out of his knapsack – Old World Blues, New World Hope by the NCR’s top expert.
--*--
The bear flew over the ocean,
The bear flew over the ocean,
The bear flew over the ocean,
To see what he could see.
The song lyrics ran their way through General Lance Robertson’s head as he began making his final preparations for the operation, due to launch in nine days. It was from one of the Enclave’s propaganda stations – the one that admitted it was run by them, not the several that claimed to be privately owned – and it annoyed him how they kept repeating themselves over and over.
He saw a mighty nation,
He saw a mighty nation,
He saw a mighty nation,
And all of our people were free.
It was something that happened – he would have to not let it cloud his thoughts as he mused on just how large this attack was to be. 400,000 NCR troops, in 4 field armies, along with 200,000 Brotherhood men under Sentinel Brandt – 50,000 of the latter full members of the Brotherhood in power-armour. More than half a million men – the NCR had never carried out such a large military operation in its history, never mind the Brotherhood. Hunched over his desk, he felt both anticipation and nervousness.
Hopefully it would be enough to achieve its goals. The primary target was Chicago – not only a major city under Enclave control, but also host to an airbase named AFB O’Hare that represented a key lynchpin in their logistics. Take that, and he would significantly weaken their position in the mid-west and have an advance base from which to march on Detroit.
But still … worries beset him. He gulped, and drank some of the whiskey. This country – in which even the memory of warmth seemed to vanish in winter – was a far cry from the Boneyard, or even San Francisco. For an instant the final verse of the old song rang loud and clear within his mind.
Big bear, go back and tell them,
Big bear, go back and tell them,
Big bear, go back and tell them,
That all of our people are free!
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CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
Honestly, I get that the NCR’s fears and actions are based off paranoia and old memories, but I gotta say, they look FAR more willing to dirty their hands than the Enclave atm
Mostly because the Enclave looks to just need the carrot
Mostly because the Enclave looks to just need the carrot
TyrantTriumphant
Well-known member
It sounds like the NCR is up to some real mad science. From what I can tell mass cloning and cloud weaponization among other things.
CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
To the NCR’s horror, they murdered a bunch of innocent civilians, they try justifying it by saying they were horribly oppressed but dislike the truth of the Enclave’s surprising benevolence when it turns out to all be true
Not saying the E-USA can't into subterfuge, they certainly can considering their integration with a number of former CIT researchers, just that the NCR has always been a welding together of rivals/enemies; even more so in your universe than canonically considering the shenanigans that must be going on with Mr. House, the Big MT and otherwise.
The E-USA is far more straightforward of a nation since it backs its friends/allies, deplores its enemies and has brooked no compromise with those it considers outlaws and deviants (although of course the big difference between this and canon being a non railroaded Augustus Autumn).
Basically, I like how this NCR is very effective in roping in factions to fight for them regardless of past dealings outside of their E-USA blind spot.
AspblastUSA
Well-known member
Cloud weaponization? Chrissakes if they pull that off the US will be chomping at the bit to retaliate and you really, really do not want to get in an NBC fight with the guys who have both the CIT microbiology department and kept their samples of Curling-13.
That’s not even taking into account the people who will want the US to be the first country to end a war with nuclear weapons thrice.
That’s not even taking into account the people who will want the US to be the first country to end a war with nuclear weapons thrice.
Looks like the NCR is about to be taught a lesson by general winter.
Crow gotta eat
That peckish, patriotic, Protestant passerine.
So... what will the Four States Commonwealth turn into since it is now losing New Mexico? I have a feeling there is probably going to be a bit more of Commonwealths/States shifting, especially if they outright decide to integrate the NCR's states in Baja and Sonora, as well as the NCR's puppet state of Chihuahua.
CarlManvers2019
Writers Blocked Douchebag
Say, how does the Enclave handle integrating already new nations when it comes to currency?
Crow gotta eat
That peckish, patriotic, Protestant passerine.
Well, the other fics already talked about how they crashed the bottle cap's value as a pre-reintegration policy by flooding the market with their own made bottlecaps, then offered monetary exchange stations to give out the rough equivalent of the wealth the locals had before the cap's value was artifically turned to be close to worthless.
Edit: unless you mean if they have something like their own paper currency or whatever, in which case I would expect there to be some attempt to figure out the exact exchange rate before setting up exchange stations for the locals to trade out their current currency for good ol' US dollars.
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Techfiles: T-102 "Centurion" Power Armour
Navarro
Well-known member
T-102 Centurion Power Armour
Produced by Aegis Defence Industries (with some more classified features worked on by General Atomics, the same corporation responsible for the M72 Plasma Assault Rifle, and CIT), the T-102 Centurion Powered Combat Armour promises to be a redefinition of power armour for the 24th century. The most fundamental changes are to the powered frame itself - the typical servos and hydraulics have been replaced by artificial muscles woven from carbon nanofibre. This renders the T-102 backwards-incompatible with earlier PA models, but enhances strength and speed above the T-90 to a noticeable degree while also reducing weight - and also prevents enemy repair of captured suits.
The T-102's armour pieces are made of a duraframe/ceramic composite, as typical for T-90 and later mark T-72. The undersuit also differs from earlier models in that it incorporates a neural interface similar to those used for training simulations, enabling finer control of movement and removing the need for many of the internal control systems. The T-102 also includes software upgrades which render it non-reliant on a PipBoy connection for tactical mapping and similar purposes. Most notably, it includes a tactical map on the bottom-right corner of the HUD which tracks friendlies and hostiles, and also an ammunition counter which synchronises with internal sensors in weapons used by the US military, such as the aforementioned M72 and the M55 'Liberator' laser rifle.
The T-102 is powered by both an internal fusion generator and an auxiliary fusion powerpack attached to the back, which powers still deeply-classified defensive and protective systems.
T-102 field deployment is expected to start in mid-2333.
Produced by Aegis Defence Industries (with some more classified features worked on by General Atomics, the same corporation responsible for the M72 Plasma Assault Rifle, and CIT), the T-102 Centurion Powered Combat Armour promises to be a redefinition of power armour for the 24th century. The most fundamental changes are to the powered frame itself - the typical servos and hydraulics have been replaced by artificial muscles woven from carbon nanofibre. This renders the T-102 backwards-incompatible with earlier PA models, but enhances strength and speed above the T-90 to a noticeable degree while also reducing weight - and also prevents enemy repair of captured suits.
The T-102's armour pieces are made of a duraframe/ceramic composite, as typical for T-90 and later mark T-72. The undersuit also differs from earlier models in that it incorporates a neural interface similar to those used for training simulations, enabling finer control of movement and removing the need for many of the internal control systems. The T-102 also includes software upgrades which render it non-reliant on a PipBoy connection for tactical mapping and similar purposes. Most notably, it includes a tactical map on the bottom-right corner of the HUD which tracks friendlies and hostiles, and also an ammunition counter which synchronises with internal sensors in weapons used by the US military, such as the aforementioned M72 and the M55 'Liberator' laser rifle.
The T-102 is powered by both an internal fusion generator and an auxiliary fusion powerpack attached to the back, which powers still deeply-classified defensive and protective systems.
T-102 field deployment is expected to start in mid-2333.
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