[u][b]The Dunwich Building - near the Centreville ruins[/b][/u]

The building sat as it always had, silent as the grave under an uncaring sky. On the old parking lot surrounding the ancient, crumbling edifice, a camp had been pitched. The tents and awnings would have been little comfort to anyone sheltering them, as the ancient asphalt still exposed baked under the noonday sun, making it somewhat uncomfortable even under the awnings....but no complaints, or anything else could be heard, only the sound of a hot eastern breeze whistling past the ropes of the pitched tents. Beside that, and the occasional pop or ping from the steel of the rusting cars scattered around the lot expanding under the scorching heat, not a sound could be heard...not the squeals of a mole rat, or cries of a crow, or even the chirp of a rad-roach. suddenly, however, the silence was broken as four Vertibirds, bearing the insignia of the Midwestern Brotherhood, popped up over the hills just to the south of the old building. The Vertibirds quickly approached, and from them, tense and vigilant eyes scrutinized the building and the area around it for threats. Drone and Eyebot surveillance had spotted no movement in the camp, but the battle-hardened men were taking no chances. The Vertibirds slowed, then stopped, hovering over clear spots in and around the parking lot just long enough for the armored Knights waiting at the open doors to step out and fall fifty feet to the ground below, the ground shaking as they landed in quick succession. Their troops deployed, the Vertibirds accelerated away, taking up station orbiting the area from several hundred yards out, ready to pounce if the enemy was spotted. 

Forming up with practiced efficiency, the Knights, weapons at the ready, swept through the camp, looking for it's occupants. But not a soul was there, and from the layer of dust from the never-ending dust storms the Capital Wasteland was plagued with that covered everything, no-one had been there for some time...months, or perhaps even a year or more. A cursory search turned up weapons, ammunition, equipment...even papers...seemingly just left behind by the Enemy, along with their fortified camp, but no sign of the Cultists occupying this place. In one tent, they found a short-wave transceiver that had been left on, it's fission battery eventually discharging completely. Oddly enough, they also found the dried and moldy remains of meals being prepared in pots over long dead campfires, and even plates and mess kits with partially eaten meals in them. It was as if the occupants had just suddenly walked away and abandoned the camp and whatever mission they had been assigned....or had vanished into thin air. 

"I don't know what creeps me out more", Knight-Lieutenant Stone said to the armored figure at her side, unlike the rest wearing a battered old suit of Enclave Mk II Armor, repainted with the livery of the Talon Company, "That the freaks just up and vanished, or that scavvers didn't pick this place clean afterward."

"Doesn't suprise me a bit", Captain Geisler replied, "No Wastelander in their right mind comes out here since the Cult War....too close to the Deadlands. What few people that did live down this way got dragged off to god knows where....except for the crazy Nuka-Cola lady that used to live up in Girdershade, she hid in the old overpass North of here. She says they made camp around this building for about a week then suddenly pulled up stakes and split up, once force marching North and the other East. Brotherhood tangled with them near Warrington Station...from all the downed Vertibirds out there they lost badly. Rest of them up and left after that. The other group came for us....we tried to make a stand at Evergreen Mills with what Raiders were lucid enough to talk to, but there were just too many....they pushed us back and pinned us down at Ft Bannister while the rest of them headed for the DC Ruins. We thought we were totally fucked...until the Children dropped a nuke on them out of the blue and we were able to get a handle on what was left, anyhow."

"But yeah", he added, "this place gives me the fucking creeps. Our patrols don't run this far south so I have no idea when these people moved in or when they left."   

One by one, the squad leaders checked in...no contacts. Stone looked at the building in the center of the parking lot, and shivered a bit in her suit. The ancient structure glowered down at them. While no movement was spotted in the blank, grimy windows, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched by something truly malevolent.

"Command", Stone said into her radio, "Bravo Actual. LZ secure, we are ready to receive the reclamation team."

"Acknowledged, Bravo Actual", came the reply, "Reclamation team en route, ETA 15 minutes. Be advised, weather radar shows a Force 2 rad storm headed your way from the SE, ETA 3 hours. Evac will not be available until it passes, window predicted to be 2-4 hours."

"Very well", Stone said, "We'll make do. Bravo Actual out."  

[u][b]Administration Building, Labor Camp 12 - Hibbing, Minnesota [/b][/u]

Battalion Leader Walton's withered hand shook a little as he read the message it held, a message that had just come in from Omaha on the radio-teletype. His first thought upon reading it was that they were on to him...but his mind rejected that as illogical. If they knew, they wouldn't have sent this message...they would have sent a Inquisitor Team backed up by a Company of Knights. He put down the message, and poured himself a stiff drink, then pulled out a key on a chain from under his uniform jacket and opened the safe behind him and took out two books and a map. consulting all three and scribbling down hasty calculations. After the first round was done, he snarled in frustration at the results and did them again....only to be confronted with the same bleak figure."

"A week", he thought bitterly, "A week, at most, before this will be impossible."

He stared at the tumbler of bourbon for what seemed like an eternity, then he finally picked it up and drained it in one gulp, and slammed it back onto the table, then stood up and straightened his jacket, then slipped the message into a pocket.  

"So be it", Walton said aloud in his gravely ghoul voice, "We'll go now then." 

Leaving his office, he headed for, and exited the main gate, heading for the small cluster of buildings near the train station. Passing a General Store, and a couple of bars, he came to his goal, a building with a pair of guards...pimply faced Wastelanders too green to be sent to the Front...sitting listlessly by the door, their rifles propped up against the wall next to them as they played cards. Above the door was a sign saying "Mimi's" with a woman's leering face on it. the artistry was just good enough to capture a passably lewd expression. Spotting his approach, they sullenly got to their feet and made an attempt to present arms. Once, he would have torn them a new asshole, but he didn't care anymore. 

"As you were", Walton growled as he opened the door and stalked in, slamming it shut behind him. Standing at the end of the short foyer, was the greeter, a decent looking brunette in a black girdle and fishnet stockings. The shock bracelet on her left ankle marked her as a prisoner. A brothel staffed by prisoners....one of the many hypocrisies of Barnaky's Regime. Inside the camp a guard..all ghouls now as the War consumed more and more lives...would be shot for having sex with a prisoner. Custodial Rape, the Lex Barnaky called it. But if she agreed to be contracted out to a brothel, the same woman could pull ten hour shifts servicing locals and the free workers out here for the benefit of herself, her employer, and the State. How that was supposed to 'Re-educate' anyone was a complete mystery to him. 

"Evening, Boss", she said with a smirk, "I'm sorry...but I'm required at this time to inform you that under Section 512 of the Lex Barnaky, sexual intercourse with ghouls is an offense punishable by no less than thirty da..."

"If you prefer peddling your ass here to hauling taconite, you'll kindly shut the fuck up", Walton snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence, "where is she?"

"Up-upstairs, Battalion Leader", the prisoner replied fearfully. While hardly a death sentence, mining taconite was dirty and unpleasant work and she knew Walton could easily arrange for the privilege of working here to be revoked and she'd be back in the Pit. "She's either cleaning Room 12 or 14."

"Much better", Walton replied with a leer as he walked past her and headed for the stairs. As he walked down the hallway, past rooms where giggling, moans of pleasure, or just the creaking of bed-springs indicated they were in use. He saw the door to Room 12 was open and could hear movement inside. Looking inside, he saw a woman in a orange jumpsuit with a red triangle on the back bend over and pick up a used condom off the floor with a gloved hand and with a flick of her wrist fling it into a bag attached to her mop bucket. He'd never asked her if she "worked" here or not...he didn't really care. As girls from all three of the Iron Range Camps worked here, it was the perfect way for her to spread her web throughout the Camp system right under the nose of the security chiefs and the Inquisition so he pulled strings and made it happen. She then looked up and noticed him, her expression changing to mild surprise as she straightened back up. Walton silently held up his hand and gestured for him to follow and retreated from the door. She exited, and he followed her to the linen closet, which she entered and he followed her inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

"You shouldn't be here", the woman said in as low a voice as she could manage. "They always ask if any of the girls are servicing ghouls on the side...perverts."

"Doesn't matter anymore", Walton replied quietly as he pulled out the note and thrust it at her. "read it and weep."

She unfolded the paper and scanned it, then looked up at him. 

"Pretend I'm slow...", she hissed, "...and explain what this means to me."

"Omaha is sending an Infantry Brigade up here", Walton explained, "Given the clusterfuck in Michigan...I can't imagine why, but they are. My orders are to supply laborers to build a camp for them by the docks. They'll be here in a week...ten days tops. And if we're still here when they arrive, we're well and truly fucked."

"I take it you have a plan?", she asked bitterly.

"We stick to the original plan, just move it up", Walton said, "Next scheduled ore freighter arrives in Duluth in three days....it's then or never." He plucked the message from her fingers and put it back into his pocket, and added as he opened the door. "Expect reassignment to the detail that will be sent to Duluth tomorrow..spread the word and notify our mutual friend that we're coming early or not at all. If we make it through the Passage, we'll be there in two days from when we leave so he has five to prepare."