New Vegas: Sheason's Story

Welcome back to the program. I'm Mr. New Vegas, and in case you're wondering if you've come to the right place? You have. Unconfirmed reports say NCR's general Lee Oliver may have uprooted from his post at Camp McCarran in order to be present at Hoover Dam. NCR sources have said that holding the dam against Caesar's Legion has become their main strategic priority and this move would not be unexpected. Today's headlines have been brought to you by the Phoenix Resort and Casino: rising from the ashes of the old world every single night.

When I pulled up in front of the Lucky 38, Arcade was waiting for us.

"There you are!" Arcade sounded incredibly annoyed as he walked up to my side of the car. "Where have you guys been? I've been all alone here."

"Where have we been?" Veronica got out of the backseat and started practically shouting at Arcade. "Where the hell were you when I was looking for you?"

"What do you mean?" Arcade started backing up, the more Veronica advanced on him. "I've been here for the last few days, bored out of my skull, wondering what happened to you guys." Veronica put her hands on her hips and didn't look convinced in the slightest.

"On Saturday?" She asked. Comprehension dawned on Arcade's face, and he tried to smile, but it just ended up as an uncomfortable grimace.

"Oh... right. Yeah, uh... I was... off in Westside on Saturday. Meeting up with some... friends. You know." Arcade looked incredibly uncomfortable from my vantage point behind the wheel. Before I got a chance to watch this incredibly entertaining exchange unfold any more, Cass sidled up to the window.

"R'you serious 'bout helpin' that NCR trooper person?" She asked, bending over and leaning into the car. "I mean, y'told us all 'bout all th' shit y'did in th' Madre already, an' y'really look like y'need some sleep..."

I was really only half paying attention to what she was saying at that particular moment... because from where I was sitting, and the way she was leaning against the car door, I had a clear view straight down her shirt. Call me a pervert or just call me a man; it was a bit distracting, and I was so exhausted that I didn't even bother being subtle about staring down her cleavage.

SLAP!

"C'mon man, this is what'm talkin' 'bout! Yer zonin' out on me here." Cass smacked me in the face a couple more times, not quite as hard as the first. "You sure yer gonna be alright?" I tried to laugh it off.

"Why, Miss Cassidy? Are you showing genuine concern for my well being? I think I'm gonna swoon!" I put on my best shit-eating grin, and mock-fainted, putting the back of my hand against my forehead, and using the other to fan myself. Cass rolled her eyes and socked me in the shoulder.

"Jerk. I'm jus' worried 'bout you, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know. And thanks, but don't worry about me. This is gonna be as easy as shooting radroaches. Besides, I've got Boone and ED-E to watch my back. I'll be fine." Cass got up from the car, but still didn't look convinced.

"I'm holdin' you to that. Y'don't come back, I'm gonna find ya, an' I'm gonna beat yer ass fer makin' me worry like this. Punk." She smiled at me with that last word, and then turned to walk up the stairs into the Lucky 38. I was just about to turn the car around and leave, when I heard Veronica call out to me.

"Wait! Hang on, there's something I forgot to tell you!" She rushed up to the car, and I put it back in park; the car was still running, and keeping it idling for this long was just gonna drain the charge out of the microfusion cells. "Before you go, I want you to keep in mind - go easy on the throttle, okay? I know how heavy your right foot is, but if you push the car too hard, it might break again."

"Uh... didn't you and Raul fix the car?" I asked, already starting to get a nasty tingling in the pit of my gut. Veronica shrugged.

"Well... yeah, we got the biggest problems fixed. And I'm sure most of it'll hold, but..."

"But?" I asked, starting to get genuinely concerned.

"The only thing that really worries me are those head gaskets. It was kind of a rush job. I'm just not sure the seals will hold if the engine goes too far above six-thousand RPM. And if the seals break while the engine's running, then... the whole thing might explode."

"Please tell me you're being metaphorical." I already knew she wasn't.

"You have a 3 megawatt fusion reactor built into an internal combustion engine in the back of your car." Veronica said, deathly serious. "If it explodes, it going to be in a mushroom cloud."

Great.

"I'll go easy on the accelerator then," I said, putting on the best fake smile I could to convey confidence I didn't feel. "Thanks for the tip. Boone and I will be back in a few hours."

The first stop on our little excursion was Ranger Station Alpha. This wasn't like Forlorn Hope, all official and fortified; it was just a cluster of three tents, surrounded by a hastily constructed fence reinforced with sandbags. What made it really stand out - and what made me sure we were in the right place - was the massive metal radio tower in the center of the camp, rising up a good twenty or thirty feet in the air.

"Not exactly subtle, is it?" I said to Boone as we drove closer. He just shrugged.

"Maybe not. But how else are they going to get messages to Golf and McCarran?"

"I suppose," I said, parking the car just outside the fence. Boone and I made our way up to the camp, and were met on the way up by a female NCR ranger. She wasn't wearing Black Armor, but the dark brown composite ceramic plates she was wearing on her chest and the campaign hat sitting atop her head made her unmistakable for anything else.

"This is a military outpost," She said, a hunting rifle in hand. She eyed the two of us, but raised an eyebrow when she spotted Boone's beret. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Are you Ranger Lineholm?" I asked. She eyed me warily, tipping her hat up, and brushing her short black hair out of her face to get a better look at me.

"Depends on who's asking."

"Tech Sergeant Reyes sent me. I'm Sheason, this is Boone. She's curious about the high casualties at this station." She relaxed a bit when I mentioned the Sergeant... but then she looked terribly confused.

"High casualties?" She asked, eyeing me like I'd lost my mind. "We've had a single broken ankle, but nobody as this post has died." Boone and I glanced at each other; I could tell, a red flag had just raised in his mind as well.

"Reyes' information says otherwise," Boone said. The Ranger just shrugged.

"Any injury, illness, or death gets radioed to Ranger HQ at Camp Golf. Chief Hanlon and his aides compile the reports and assign reinforcements as needed. I can say with absolute certainty that they're not needed here."

"So how could her information be wrong?" I asked.

"Not sure," Lineholm said. "There are plenty of other Ranger posts around. It's entirely possible Reyes might have mixed up the report."

"No sudden moves and you and I will do all right. What do you want?" The Ranger here at Outpost Delta, a black man with a massive horseshoe mustache, seemed just a bit jumpier than the Rangers at Alpha. I couldn't really blame him - Ranger Outpost Delta was built into the side of a cliff right next to the Colorado River, just north of Boulder City and within view of Hoover Dam.

"You're Ranger Pason, right? I'm here on behalf of Tech Sergeant Reyes," I was going to continue, but this Ranger cut me off.

"Squirrely little red-head girl, communications officer at Forlorn Hope, right?" I nodded. "Yeah, I know her. Why is she sending a civilian to a secure military installation?"

"Because she wants to get a confirmation about a report you filed from this outpost - something about Legion Super Mutants who wiped out an NCR patrol?" Again, I got a look of confusion.

"No. I didn't file a report like that. You might hear that kind of nonsense from a drunk trooper on the Strip, but not from me. The Legion doesn't have Super Mutants. That patrol was wiped out by its own incompetence - a couple of troopers were fooling around with a grenade when it went off." Again, another red flag was raised in my head. This was starting to seem very suspicious...

"This doesn't seem like the kind of thing she'd mix up with another Ranger station..." I said, stroking my beard and trying to work this out. "If you didn't file the report, then who did?"

"All Ranger reports go through Camp Golf," he said. "If anyone made a mistake, I bet it was one of Chief Hanlon's aides. Those desk jockeys wouldn't know the business end of a rifle if they were smashed over the head with one."

The final Ranger post Reyes wanted us to check, unlike the other two, wasn't situated along the Colorado River. Ranger Outpost Foxtrot was actually about halfway up Mount Charleston, about a half a mile south of the Kyle Canyon road.

"No run-ins with any Great Khans, I hope?" Another female Ranger approached the two of us as we walked toward the outpost. She was wearing a cowboy hat, rather than a campaign hat, and the ceramic chest plate had an anatomically correct heart painted off-center, with a small gold lock bolted to the middle of the image. "They've been more restless than usual."

"Do you get a lot of Great Khan sightings out here?" Boone asked. I don't think she caught it, but I could tell Boone was doing his best to hide the edge in his voice.

"Well, we are pretty close to Red Rock. What can I do for you boys?"

"Are you Ranger Kudlow? Do you know Sergeant Reyes out of Camp Forlorn Hope?" I asked, getting a single nod. "She sent us here to confirm your report about Great Khans with trained Deathclaws." She was smiling; she stopped immediately.

"What?" She looked completely aghast. "I think somebody fucked up somewhere. I haven't filed any report like that. Trained Deathclaws?" She shook her head. "I think I would have remembered something like that. If someone is saying I filed that report, that's a load of bull. I won't have my name attached to a clerical error." A third red flag. This was definitely beyond coincidence now.

"Let me guess," Boone spoke up before I got a chance. "All the reports that go through Camp Golf - they're all signed off by Chief Hanlon?" She nodded.

"I think I see the common thread here..." I said aloud.

"So, why do they call this place Forlorn Hope?" After checking in with the last Ranger post, Boone and I came back to this place. The two of us walked through the base, toward the command tent so we could talk with Tech Sergeant Reyes and inform her of what we'd found. "I mean, that name is a bit... grim, isn't it?" Boone didn't answer immediately.

"Do you really want to know why they call this place a Forlorn Hope?" Boone said eventually. I nodded slowly... but then I thought: Okay, maybe this is a bad idea... especially when we turned a corner, heading off in a direction that definitely wasn't toward the command tent.

"Boone, where are we... oh shit." My eyes went wide, and I was rendered completely speechless by the sight in front of me. He'd led me to the edge of a massive graveyard. Row upon row of hastily erected crosses. There must have been at least a hundred - maybe more - and it was pretty clear that whoever had sectioned off this place for graves had left lots of space for even more...

"Camp Forlorn Hope has the highest attrition rate of any base in the NCR. The official reason for the name is the creek that runs through the center of the base. But the real reason is that more troops die on patrol here than anywhere else in the Mojave. When I was stationed here with 1st Recon, the troopers all said that going on patrol meant there was a 50/50 chance you'd come back in a bag... or not at all."

"Welcome back," Reyes said when the two of us got near her desk. She looked down at her watch. "Wow. You weren't kidding when you said you'd get this done in an afternoon. Did you two check in with the Ranger outposts?" Boone and I exchanged glances.

"Yeah... we checked in with all the Rangers. And the reason the reports don't make sense, is because they didn't file them." I said, pulling up a chair.

"According to the Rangers," Boone added. "Chief Hanlon at Camp Golf signed off all the reports." I could practically hear the pin drop in Reyes' mind after that bombshell was dropped.

"I knew it!" She smacked her palm with the underside of her fist. "I knew there something wrong, and they couldn't be accurate... but... why would the Chief manipulate the reports?"

"Maybe we should ask him?" I said. Reyes looked at me like she hadn't even considered that option. "If he's not responsible, maybe he knows who is."

"I'm not sure they'd let us into Camp Golf," Boone said, looking... not worried, but... something else. "It's not like here, or the Ranger camps we've been to. The only places more heavily fortified in the Mojave are McCarran or Hoover Dam."

"I might be able to help with that," Reyes spoke up. "I can radio ahead, give you clearance to enter the base. I know you've already been out there, but I think taking everything we've found to Chief Hanlon and confronting him with it is the best option. I... I don't think we should make this public unless we have to. At least, not until we have all the answers."

"Do you know anything about Camp Golf?" I asked Boone as the NCR base came into view. It didn't really look as fortified from a distance as Boone had said. In fact, it looked like a golf course... which, I suppose, it probably was before the war, now I thought about it.

"It was on the front line for a while," Boone said, scanning the horizon as we got closer to the base. "Only resort in New Vegas no one wanted to get sent to. Doesn't have that kind of importance anymore, though. They pulled most of the troops out of there after NCR took the Hoover Dam." I stopped the car just short of the front gate, and cut the engine.

"I thought you said the only place more heavily fortified was-"

"It's still fortified," Boone cut me off as the two of us started walking through the base gates; the guard took one look at us and waved us through. I guess Reyes' calling ahead worked. "The only troops left are Rangers. Most of them are vets - and most of those are ghouls; Rangers who've been patrolling the waste for 200 years. Any one of them is worth 50 men."

Most of the base featured row after row of tents, and sandbag barricades. There was only one permanent structure: a massive three-story building that sat in the middle of the base. Despite the squat stature, it seemed to tower over everything else... and when I saw the name over the door, it made much more sense.

"House Resort... Gee, I wonder who built this place?" I said aloud, scowling at the name. I can't be certain, but I think I heard Boone actually chuckle.

"Can I help you boys?" I heard a gravelly voice from behind me; it sounded like a ghoul talking through an air filter. I turned around, and saw, for the first time, real Black Armor. The chest armor was actually black, rather than dark grey like mine, and had "LAPD Riot" stenciled on the chest. Not even the hundreds upon hundreds of dents and scratches in the armor could hide the color. The brown trench coat had an image of a bear rearing up toward a star painted on the shoulder. Even though his face was covered by the helmet and gas mask, I could tell it was one of the ghoul Ranger veterans Boone had talked about.

"We're looking for Chief Hanlon - Sergeant Reyes from Forlorn Hope sent us. Do you know where to find him?" I asked. The Ranger just pointed up, at a balcony above the front entrance.

"The Chief's usually up there around now, keeping watch on Lake Mead."

"Chief Hanlon?" I called out when I walked onto the balcony. There was only one man sitting on a chair with his back to the door, next to a small table with a radio. He turned slightly, and nodded a head full of shaggy white hair. As Boone and I walked out onto the balcony, he settled back into his chair... and started talking.

"Back west, you don't see too many of these." His words were slow and deliberate, and tinged with exhaustion. It reminded me of just how tired I felt... but I shook it off, trying to make sense of his words.

"Don't see too many of what?" He looked up at me, and motioned with his head toward the east - and a surprisingly majestic view of Lake Mead. The mid afternoon sun glistened over the top of the water; it almost looked... unreal.

"Lakes. Natural or man-made. Any kind, really. NCR neglected the dams or pumped all the water out a long time ago. Owens, Isabella, the San Luis. Drained the aquifers of everything they had. Just a lot of mud and dust now. It's a different feeling, seeing the sun reflect off the water like this... takes some getting used to. But if you're here long enough, it starts to seem normal. That's what a Ranger's life is now. Looking east..." He looked up at me again, scrutinizing me with very, very tired eyes. "Sorry for ramblin' on like this... Yeah, I'm Chief Hanlon. You must be that Courier folks have been talking about. Word on the radio is that someone wronged you back in Goodsprings."

"Yeah," I moved around to face him, leaning against the railing. He coughed, his white beard twitching. "I'm The Courier. That guy who wronged me got his own back, though." Hanlon nodded slowly.

"The Mojave has a bad habit of burning decent people up... but I've heard a lot about you over the radio. And from what I hear, it sounds like you've done right by the NCR. It's appreciated." He started nodding; I looked over to Boone, who hadn't moved far from the door. He looked as confused as I felt, and shrugged. "Now... what can I do for you?"

"I'm investigating some intel problems for Technical Sergeant Reyes." I said, plain as I could. Hanlon's beard twitched again.

"Interesting that she would wrangle someone else into sorting out the problem. But I suppose you're in the right place. A lot of intel comes through here." His beard twitched again.

"Do you know anything about the problems?" Boone asked, walking up behind the Chief.

"I don't know Technical Sergeant Reyes," He said, his beard twitching again. "But coordinating intel can be messy sometimes. Things get mixed up, people get confused. Heck, I get confused and I've been doing this for a long time now. What he - or she - sees as a problem might be standard operating procedure. That's not to say Reyes is wrong for being concerned, but it's easy for the sand to get in your eyes out here."

I folded my arms over my chest, and regarded him for a very long time. The air between the three of us was silent... until.

"Alright, answer me this. If you don't know Tech Sergeant Reyes, why'd you call her a 'she' first thing?" Hanlon stared back at me, not saying anything - but his eyes said enough. It was the look of a man who knew he'd just been made. "How about we start again: I know you're the one who's been manipulating intelligence data. Care to explain why?"

"Hold on." He raised a hand, and got up from his chair; I couldn't tell if it was the chair that creaked so loud, or if it was him making that noise. "If we're going to have this conversation, let's go somewhere more private. Follow me down to my office. Don't worry," his beard twitched again. "Not much bite left in this old dog."

Chief Hanlon's office was very Spartan. The only thing on the wall was a massive topographical map of the area between Camp Golf and Hoover Dam. There weren't even any windows. When Boone and I entered the office, Hanlon was already sitting behind his desk.

"Close the door," he said, his fingers laced together in front of his face. "And have a seat."

"Alright," I said, sitting in one of the chairs opposite him. "So let's hear it: why?" Hanlon let out a single, grim chuckle, and leaned back in his chair; I don't know if it was the way he was sitting, or what, but it really showcased how much of a gut he had.

"Sorting and manipulating intelligence is what I do. It's what Rangers are supposed to do. This job isn't all gunfights, bar room brawls, and gulping shots of whiskey, no matter what the boys and girls out there say."

"But you're inventing intelligence," Boone spoke up. "I've seen the logs. Talked to the Rangers, same as Sheason here."

"You have, have you?" Hanlon's beard twitched, and I realized - he was smirking. "Misdirection. When you're pinned down, outnumbered, and two days from any help, it's just about the best friend you can have." Images of the Sierra Madre flashed in my head as he talked. "Misdirection's what's saved me all these years. It's what saved us at Hoover Dam. But it's been close to five years now, and Caesar's right across that lake. He's closer now than he ever was before. I was a young man once. I know what it's like to want to fight for your home, but this?" Hanlon shook his head. "This isn't it."

"So how does spreading fake intelligence help anything?" I asked. I could tell he had a plan here, but I couldn't figure out what. What could he possibly achieve by doing this?

"People back home don't listen. They don't care. Senators... Brahmin barons... folks who are just trying to make it from day to day. It's been so many years that people forget about it. Conscription brings in fresh troops to die here every month. Like it's routine. And even if we hold this dam, what then? Are we going to send the NCR's men and women to die here for another five years? Ten? Patrol the whole length of the Colorado for hundreds of miles? Holding this dam... it'll be the death of us." Boone and I looked at each other; I didn't understand his rationale, and neither did Boone by the looks of it.

"You didn't answer his question," Boone said. I nodded.

"Yeah - I mean, what does spreading fake intel about Legion Super Mutants and trained Deathclaws even accomplish?"

"Creating fear and instability among the troopers without causing harm," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It was the only thing I could think of to shake things up."

"But why?" Boone asked. "The troops have enough to be afraid of. I know." Hanlon sighed.

"Because... it's never going to end. This fight with Caesar. People back home don't know what these young men and women are in for. The Legion is the worst enemy we've ever faced, but we can't stop Caesar here. Not without getting a lot of good people killed. More than anyone cares to count up. And even if we do stop him, I don't see how we're ever going to be able to pull out..."

"So. What do you think I should do about this?" I asked. Hanlon let out another grim chuckle, same as before.

"Well... first thing that comes to mind is to turn me in. But that might not be the best play, all things considered. Even if your heart's in the right place, I reckon it might do a lot more harm than good."

"What do you mean?" I asked. It looked like the Chief was about to answer, but Boone spoke up for him instead.

"Hanlon here is a legend. He was the one who came up with the idea to blow up Boulder City around the Legion veterans. If people found out he was spreading lies like this, the blow to morale would be..." Boone trailed off; he looked ill.

"Alright... so what will you do if I don't turn you in?"

"General Oliver can't stand that Rangers got credit for victory at Hoover. Whatever I recommend, he does the opposite. I said I wanted them on the ridge; he put them right on the western part of the dam itself. We don't have the firepower to hold that spot. If the troopers fall back - and they will - the Rangers will advance to cover Oliver's retreat. We'll lose the dam, and Oliver and the senate will be ruined."

"But that means... what'll happen to you and the Rangers?" I knew what was coming even before he said it.

"Rangers are volunteers. Every man and woman who signs up is willing to die for the NCR, myself included. A lot of this is my fault. It's only right I stand with them, when the end comes."

"That..." I tried to think of something to say. "That's crazy." Hanlon shrugged.

"Maybe fifty Rangers will die on that dam. We lose over a thousand troopers every year. Being here is crazy. Getting out's the only sane thing to do."

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let him carry on, creating false intel like he had been because that was just going to do more harm than good to people just doing their jobs, but I couldn't turn him in, because like Boone said - the hit to morale would be devastating, and would do just as much harm as letting him stay. And that's when it hit me. In that instant, I figured out a way to fix this: something that Cass had said when I first met her.

"Punch the head, don't kick the feet..." I muttered aloud. Both Boone and Hanlon looked at me curiously. I shook it off, and tried to elaborate. "I have an idea. Oliver and the senate are the problem you said, right? It's not the troopers stationed around the Mojave. Doing what you've been doing isn't going to help anyone - if anything, it'll just make the NCR weaker when Caesar finally tries to bull-rush the dam. If you want to bring down Oliver and the senate, you need to bring the fight to them. And you can't do that from the Mojave."

"So... what?" he said, looking confused for the first time. "Do you suggest I go back to California then?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. If you go back to California, then I won't have to expose this plot of yours, and you don't have to carry on spreading misinformation and lies. Hell, if you go to California and just tell the truth of what's going on here, you might even be able to do some good. You say people don't know what it's like out here? Maybe this can be your chance to tell them."

"What about the dam?" He said. I could tell from his tone of voice that he was mulling it over, but he wasn't entirely convinced. "Any day now, Caesar's going to come knocking. And I should... I need to stand with my boys when the end comes."

"Leave Caesar to me," I said with a smirk. Hanlon did a double take; I'm sure I was getting strange looks from Boone as well.

"You? What can you do, you're just one man."

"I'm The Courier," I said with a smile. "I already died once, and that barely slowed me down. And I've stopped one genocidal madman from blowing up the wasteland this week. Caesar should be a walk in the park. I give you my word - if Caesar's army tries to cross Hoover Dam, I'll stop him dead in his tracks."

"But that's..." Hanlon shook his head. "That's not possible. The NCR has an army that covers California, and we can barely hold back the tide. You're just one man..."

"One man, sure... a man who knows about an army. An army made of titanium, and armed with rockets and lasers and fuck-all knows who else. It's over a thousand strong, and poised to crush the Legion like radroaches under its treads. And besides... I've got a score to settle with him, anyway. Trust me - that bald, big nosed bastard won't stand a chance."

Hanlon stared at me in slack-jawed astonishment. I had no idea if I got through to him. I had no idea if this plan was going to work. And as the seconds ticked by, it seemed more and more like he was just going to say 'this conversation never happened' and shove us out of his office. But then, he stood up, and slowly walked over to the map hanging on the wall.

"You know... all these years I've been a Ranger... I wandered the wastes, trying to find some kind of purpose to all this madness. People have called me a 'legend' or a 'hero' for the things I've done in the past, before I wound up stuck behind this desk... but not once, in all the years I've done this job have I ever found the conviction that I saw in your eyes just now." He turned back to face me. "A real Ranger knows when it's time to step down. And I guess... I just didn't know when to quit."

"Happens to the best of us," I said, getting up from my chair. Hanlon shook his head.

"Yeah, well... I haven't been at my best for years. And I can't protect anybody from out here." The Chief started slowly nodding his head. "I'll head back to California - on one condition."

"What condition?" I asked.

"Never lose that conviction. Never lose that fire. Use it to protect the people out here - like I used to. Like I should have been doing all this time."

"Trust me," I said. "I won't let Caesar take the Mojave." Hanlon nodded... and then reached down, pulling his revolver from its holster on his belt.

"Here," he said, flipping it around in his hand, holding the barrel and handing me the grip. "I want you to have this. I'm not gonna need it, where I'm going."

"What is it?" I took the large, double-action revolver, and turned it around in my hands to examine it. It was a massive pistol, with a dark metal finish and gold filigree designs inlaid in the metal. The grip was made of wood, with a picture of a bear reaching for a star engraved in gold. On one side of the barrel the words "For Honorable Service" were engraved, and on the opposite side of the barrel was the phrase "Against All Tyrants"

"It's called a Ranger Sequoia," Hanlon said, simply. "Some of the boys have nicknamed it 'The Monster of the West.' A Sequoia is only ever given to Rangers who've served 20 years - but the idea behind it is that it's a badge of dedication. Only those with the utmost commitment to the cause should ever be granted that weapon. And I've already shown... I'm not that kind of Ranger any more. But you - I can tell. You're going to keep the wasteland safe. You're more of a Ranger than I ever was. Than I ever could be."

"I'll stop the Legion. I'll put an end to Caesar's tyranny. I promise."

"I hope you're right," Hanlon sighed. "For all our sakes."