[color=f7941d][u][b]Colonel Denver Abernathy - Fort Golf [/b][/u][/color]

Denver looked up from his garden, dusted his hands on his pants, removed his old straw hat and wiped the sweat from his temples with a handkerchief. The sun was just rising over lake mead and the cold blue of dawn pushed out by the brilliant red. Before him stood a private at attention their arm raised in salute. He recognized her, she was a new transfer from the Hub, and had only been in the Mojave for a year or so.  

“At ease, private.” 

“Captain Diaz sent me sir. He requests a word.” 

Denver nodded slowly, put the hat back on his head and bent down, nestling his hands into the cool soil. He pulled out a parsnip and held it out for the private. She stood hesitant at first and then took it. 

“Should I tell him you’re coming, sir.?”

“Can it wait till I’ve had my breakfast?”

“He said it was urgent, sir.” 

Denver frowned, Diaz was a capable and prideful officer. If he requested the Colonel, then it was important news, and probably bad news at that. 

“Tell him I’ll be right in.”

With a final salute the private turned and headed back to the resort building that served as the headquarters for the 3rd Infantry Battalion. Denver immediately resumed his work, exhuming a handful of parsnips, carrots and two heads of collard greens. His baskets full, he rose and walked to the mess hall. There he washed his hands and handed off the produce. He took a freshly baked corn biscuit and a cup of gravy with him and headed to headquarters. While the rest of the fort had been waking up, the headquarters was abuzz with activity. He took the stairs and walked the hallway to Captain Diaz’s office, Denver knocked once then entered. Diaz saluted as did the young communications officer in the room. The captain dismissed the young man and then offered Denver a seat. He refused and dunked his biscuit into the gravy, took a bite then asked. 

“What’s so urgent captain?” 

“News from the capitol sir.” 

He handed Denver a letter which Denver opened with his free hand leaving his biscuit in his mouth. The heading was formal and he knew the seal of the president whenever he saw it. Denver bit into the biscuit letting the rest of it fall into his cup of gravy. 

“A new ambassador, with corporate security bodyguards to boot.”

“Yes sir. He should be arriving at the checkpoint this evening.”

“And we’re just now receiving word of this?”  

“Yes sir.”

“Why couldn't the regimental command get it here any faster?.”

“It was sent via the Mojave Express.”

Denver frowned and finally took a seat. That was a calculated move on the part of the president. Brianna purposefully circumvented the established line of communication knowing the information would arrive late. No doubt hoping Denver would be unable to assemble the adequate escort in time. It was a simple yet effective tactic to ensure he lost face. His critics in Shady Sands had only grown since her election last year and this wasn’t the first action she had taken to further weaken his support in congress. He didn’t have time to deploy any of his rangers, he’d have to assemble an escort out of D company. 

“Call up Major Addams. Tell him to get a squad together. No less than 10 troopers. Have them rally at the Mojave Checkpoint no later than 1400 hours. I want them clean, I want them well equipped and I want them young. I want [i]Benny[/i] reminded we got sons and daughters of the Republic out here. Not just jaded veterans.” 

Captain Diaz nodded and Denver took his leave. He was making his way back to his personal quarters when he was stopped by a veteran ranger. The ranger gave a quick salute and then started walking with Denver.

“We picked up some high quality steel last night. It's secured downstairs for when you’d like to inspect it.” 

Without waiting for a response the ranger gave a final half-salute then turned away. Denver kept on to his quarters, finishing his breakfast as he walked. He stripped, cleaned his body with a washcloth and dressed in his fatigues. Placing his beret upon his head he stepped back out and made his way to the basement. The building had been a private resort before the Great War and its basement was vast and sprawling. Most of the cells retained their original use as store rooms; housing grain, root vegetables, uniforms, old requisition forms and even a morgue. The doors to each cell were locked, sometimes with simple door latches, others with chains and padlocks. Situated near the center of the basement was a small chamber, once used for storing maintenance equipment. Denver made his way to the room, took a key out from his pocket and unlocked the door. Inside sat a ranger cross armed in a folding chair, he stood and greeted the colonel. Behind him were two individuals, bound at the ankles, arms behind their back and chained to the wall. They had bags over their heads and had been stripped of all their clothing.  

“Morning Colonel.”

“Good morning. How are our guests?”

“Quiet. Not as chatty as when we found them last night.”

“Well they’re probably hungry, I’ve already had my breakfast. Why don’t you go ahead and fetch them something to eat.” 

The ranger nodded and made his way out of the room, locking the door behind him. Denver removed the bags from the prisoners heads, it was a man and a woman, they had been gagged and both had bruises and cuts on their face. The man had a large gouge above his right eye that had only just stopped bleeding, a scab beginning to form. Neither of them looked at Denver, they held their gaze on the floor.  

“Welcome to Fort Golf.”  

Denver had interrogated members of the Brotherhood of Steel before. It had never been easy, not like interrogating raiders or tribals like the Khans. For the latter it was easy, most wastelanders could endure violence and pain and any raider worth their salt could endure torture, some even seemed to enjoy it. But they cracked when it came to candor and revelation. Life in the wastes was difficult, here in the badlands of the Mojave doubly so. Stupid people didn’t live long and the insane didn’t let themselves be taken. Denver knew that only two types of people were left to be interrogated: cowards and leaders. The only two people who recognized their lives were infinitely more valuable than their deaths no matter the situation. Leaders lived for their people, cowards for themselves but the difference only changed one's approach. To interrogate a leader you didn’t threaten their people, or themselves you simply let them be. They couldn’t help but try to do anything to continue their mission. The information they gave was in their body language, how they refused questions and how they spent every moment in captivity. Leaders were great liars but their actions always revealed the truth. Cowards always sought to better their position, they were most untrustworthy and any information they gave had to be well judged as nothing given easily is without cost. Denver had only the need to determine if the Brotherhood of Steel members in front of him were cowards or leaders. 


[color=f7941d][b][u]Corporal Yazan Mohammad ------ Goodsprings [/u][/b][/color] 


Yazan hitched the two horses outside the Prospector Saloon and stepped inside out of the midday sun. He removed his helmet and placed it in the crook of his arm and let his goggles hang around his neck. Thirsty and hot from the fast ride into town he called Trudy over for a quick drink. The glass was slick with condensation and the water was refreshing. He downed the glass in a single pull and motioned for another. This one he sipped more casually. 

“You seen Andrew and Leonid? I need to wrangle them up and quick.” 

“I thought them boys were on leave. I saw them yesterday, said something about seeing Andrew’s mother.”

“I should’ve figured as much. I ain’t got caps right now to pay for the drinks.”

Trudy gave him a dismissive wave and told him not to worry about it. 

“I trust I’ll see you again soon, just pay up then.” 

Yazan nodded his appreciation, finished the glass of water then headed out back into the bright day. An old timer sat, half smoking, half sleeping in a chair on the front porch. Yazan looked around at the small town, it had grown the past year, even in the last few months. A handful of tents and trailers now hugged the edge of town. The old schoolhouse had been cleaned out and he had heard that some Followers now taught there. Yazan spied the pale white-washed rambler that belonged to Andrew’s mother just a short distance from the schoolhouse and made his way there. He knocked once then entered, calling them by name. They were in the kitchen with Andrew’s mother, dressed casually. Though Yazan was only a few years older, seeing the two boys in civilian dress milling about talking to the matronly woman in such a domestic setting reinforced just how young they were, practically children. They were clearly surprised at his abrupt arrival and entry. 

“Grab your gear and get dressed, double time we need to be back at base before evening.”