[color=a36209][u][b]Grand Zealot Richter- Point Lookout Forward Operating Base[/b][/u][/color]

Brian Richter stood before a table inside a crude command center built out of sheets of corrugated metal.  A dimly humming work light illuminated a map of the region lying on the table, covered in a variety of markings.  In the back of the room stood a radio station, manned by a robed technician.  It was a far cry from the high tech facilities in Raven Rock, but it would suffice.

By now the forward operating base was thoroughly fortified.  Walls surrounded the base, flying banners of Atom's glory that practically dared the Swampfolk to attack.  Surrounding the walls was a ring of trenches and crudely crafted razor wire.  Fortifications had not been neglected within the base either.  A square of photonic resonance barriers, airlifted from Raven Rock, was place to protect the power generators and radio tower, a stark contrast to the low-tech scrap metal architecture of the rest of the base.  Aside from an initial skirmish and a few subsequent hit-and-run probing attacks, the Swampfolk had kept their distance.  Their caution would not save them.

"Calling all outposts.  Calling all outposts.  All outposts check in.  Repeat, all outposts check in." spoke the radio operator.

"Outpost Radon checking in.  All clear."

"Outpost Polonium checking in.  All clear."

"Outpost Thorium checking in.  All clear."

Richter ignored this and continued to focus on the map with what passed for his command staff.

"Reconnaissance has pinpointed a few possible Swampfolk hideouts.  Shacks, camps, possible cave entrances," Richter spoke, explaining the situation.  "I will need one kill team and two demolition teams ready before sundown."  They knew from their experience battling the trappers of the Island how futile and costly it was to try and chase these folks through the wilderness that they grew up in.  Atom's faithful would need to use tactics that half-mad trappers and hunters would not think of, using weapons that they were not familiar with.

"As you command, Grand Zealot," one of the Children of Atom spoke.  "We shall have your teams ready before the appointed time."

"Good," Richter spoke.  "If Atom favors us, we shall soon be pushing toward Point Lookout, where they host their wretched cathedral."

"Grand Zealot, if I may," one of the Zealot officers spoke up, "Why do we not simply use the Vessel to destroy the Cathedral?  We need not be frugal with our missiles, not with the Glowing Sea site under our control."

"There are several reasons, sister," the Grand Zealot gently rebuked her, "first is that the Cathedral is merely a symbol of the infection.  Destroying it would cause the Swampfolk to scatter and embed themselves even more deeply.  Victory shall only come through throrough scouring of the land.  The second reason is that it is, or was, a holy site to our allies in the Free Commonwealth.  Destroying it would jeopardize our alliance and make our holy mission to cleanse these lands all the more difficult.  The last reason is that Boston is under the control of the Institute, and if we were to transport missiles from the Glowing Sea, they would notice.  By the orders of the High Inquisitor, we are not to draw the Institute's attention in any..."

"Mayday!  Mayday!  This is Outpost Radon, repeat this is Outpost Radon!  We are under attack!  Repeat, we are under attack!  A dozen Swampfolk, maybe more, coming from all sides!"

---

[color=a36209][u][b]Brother Carver- Outpost Radon[/b][/u][/color]

It had all happened so fast.  One minute he was assuring command that all was well- because up until a minute ago, all [i]was[/i] well- the next minute they were under attack.  Swampfolk, the mutant cultists that infested the region.

At first Carver thought they might even be able to fend them off.  The first three Swampfolk to charge in tripped the frag mines and were taken out.  But more were coming, too many to kill, and there were no more mines to stop them.  They needed help.

"Mayday!  Mayday!  This is Outpost Radon, repeat this is Outpost Radon!" Carver called on the radio.  "We are under attack!  Repeat, we are under attack!  A dozen Swampfolk, maybe more, coming from all sides!"

One of the defenders in front of Carver took a bullet to the head and slumped down in front of the steel barricades.  He heard another scream behind him.  By Atom, it was actually happening.  His brothers and sisters, dying around him.  No goodbyes, just...gone.

"Outpost Radon, hold your ground," the radio operator instructed.  "Stand fast, in Atom's name!"

One of the Swampfolk drew close and tried to scale the barricade, but was gunned down by Brother Nelson.  "More on their way Carver!  We need help now!"

"We can't, there's too many," Carver shouted, into the radio his voice shaky and desperate.  "We're already down two men.  Hurry, we need can't hold them back much longer!"

"Brother, this is Grand Zealot Richter.  Hold your ground.  Salvation is on the way."

Any relief of the Grand Zealot's words was extinguished when a shotgun blast struck Sister Edith, knocking her down less than two feet away from where Carver was. If the buckshot didn't kill her, the impact of her head on the base of the radio tower did.  Seeing this caused him to lose any composure he had previously held on to.  He didn't want this anymore, he wanted to go back to Megaton.  He crawled under the end table, holding the radio tightly in his lap like a cherished possession.

"Grand Zealot!  Please hurry!  We're down to just two!  They're closing in!  Hurry, we're almost out of time.  Hurry, Grand Zealot!" he replied, tearful and panicked.

"Brother, stay with me," Richter ordered over the radio.  "Remember the words of Atom!  Repeat after me, every eye shall be blind with his glory."

"Every...eye...shall be blind with his glory," he shakily spoke, as he began to resign to himself that this was the end.  No reinforcements would be coming.  Only intervention by Atom himself could save him now.

And it was on its way.

Two Swampfolk rushed the barricades.  One sunk a woodsman's axe into Brother Nelson as he fumbled to reload his radium rifle.  The other pointed a lever-action rifle at Carver, but it failed to fire, the gun's open tube having evidently been gummed up with underbrush debris.

"Every ear shall be stricken deaf to hear the thunder of his voice!" Richter spoke on the radio, before the first Swampfolk, a stout man with a hideously asymmetrical face, effortlessly flipped the table over and stood over him with his axe, still wet with Brother Nelson's blood.  Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see more Swampfolk closing in.  The one in front of him grinned maliciously at the unarmed Carver, still tightly holding onto the ham radio.  It was clear they intended to take him alive.  Behind him, buried in the transmitter, Carver could hear the sound of a warhead arming.

Half-composing himself, he repeated Richter's words into the radio, "Every...ear shall be stricken deaf with the thunder of his... "

Carver never finished his sentence.  His salvation had finally arrived.  Back at the forward operating base, sentries beheld a small mushroom cloud rising in the distance, and raised their hands in praise of Atom.