The Knight didn’t know exactly what was in store for him, but it didn’t matter much. He was given orders and they’d be followed to their very letter. He looked over his shoulder to see if old Roderick was there but… alas, he’d never be there. Daniel smiled in gratefulness that he wasn’t there to have seen the missive being read out, until feeling a strong shame stab into his heart. “Poor lady.” the lad muttered under his breath as he massaged his temple. He was a great Knight, the man shot better than Daniel in spite of his practice from youth. But what excellence he had in the field did not translate to a better nature back here. He did not have a high alcohol tolerance, but that didn’t stop her from drinking more than those that did have one. He’d almost fallen over the railing in the past but he didn’t take that as a warning apparently. He had a feeling the man would be having a serious talk with a Paladin soon but that was neither here nor there. Well, he still had a fair while and the schedule he’d prepared for himself was thus still in effect. He grabbed his rifle, a few magazines and his bag before heading off.
The Prydwen didn’t have anything like a dedicated shooting range, but with a little thinking one could improvise. He knew nobody would be using the flight deck right about now, and thus it was a perfect place to get in the practice mandated by his parents all those years ago. A metal plate was propped up just perfectly to insure it wouldn’t fall over upon being shot, and then Daniel walked up to do just that. He placed his M14 on its bipod before taking aim and pulling the trigger in an ever practiced manner. BANG-Tink, came the report. The bullet struck fairly close to the drawn on target, but not the bullseye. A magazine was expended before at last the desired red smidge of paint in the centre of the plate turned grey with flattened steel. Daniel exhaled with satisfaction, standing up and walking over to the chunk of metal. He took out a roll of old tattered cloth and put it on the plate. A match was produced and lit, before being brought down upon where the bullets had hit on the metal below. The cloth was taken off before being compared with a similar piece to a frown from the young Knight. His grouping had worsened from his last session and that was very much a nuisance to the Knight. After flipping over the plate he went back with some determination to his position, loading in a higher capacity magazine and flicking his select-fire. Fifty bullets in five seconds spat out from the weapon’s barrel, earplugs just barely protecting the Knight’s hearing from the monstrous sound. He went over again to the plate, taking out a different roll of cloth and was about to repeat the same little routine when it occurred to him he wouldn’t be here tomorrow to repeat this. It was a feeling that brought some unforeseen anxiety, but also much excitement. Quickly he went out of his daydream and compared the grouping of his rifle’s automatic fire with yesterday’s. At least here he was approximately the same as before, perhaps improving by a hair or two. Daniel packed up his things, and then went off to his quarters.
Roderick was back it seemed, or at least a snoring lump about his size on Roderick’s mattress. Shaking his head Daniel went to maintenance of his rifle. Parts were taken out, brushed and then returned. A longer brush was produced to go down the bore of the barrel cleaning out every rifled groove and then a swab was used for other bits he couldn’t get out more easily. A regimen of exercise followed; rusty weights bobbed up and down with the strain of muscles. Both aesthetic and practical parts were trained the tone visible from forearms to biceps to pectorals to the gluteals all the way down to his feet. A pillow was thrown at him by Roderick, something on the themes of “shut the fuck up” coming from his neighbour. Shaking his head Daniel used it to wipe himself off, before throwing it back. “Sorry, boss.” He said, with some sincerity. Anyone else would have called Roderick an asshole, but Daniel took him on calmly. Daniel drained his canteen and then promptly went to bed himself.
Daniel awoke. Or, well, so he thought. He combined yawning and stretching before rubbing his eyes like a princess in a pre-War film. It was dark, but only past a perfect circle of light from an unknown light source above. “Roderick?” Daniel called out, standing up on his bed to look at the bunk where his roommate would be. Gone, apparently. Daniel sat in his bed, only to get quite the startle. He was quite literally surrounded! Ghastly figures surrounded him, figures of soldiers many of whom were in old uniforms and armour he only saw in books. A few were present who weren't soldiers, but all present bore wounds that were most certainly enough to bring an end to their receivers.
"Look at him." A voice said.
"Pathetic." came another.
"Sleeping away his failures? Won't be, can't be, how?"
“Pffft, as if.”
“The little shite hasn’t thought of that, no. He accepts his incompetence!”
“Though you’d be bigger, boy. Our family always had a great stature.”
As the words were said, a creeping suspicion came over Daniel as he looked in the assembled unlifery to find a familiar face he had seen but once in a photograph. Yes, the unmistakable moustache from cheek to cheek of Alexander Joaquin Estevez — this was the grandfather of Daniel Estevez and he seemed most grim of all.
“What the hell are you talking about?” the young man demanded, making sure he seized the initiative from the berating spectres. “Leave me alone, you’re all just my imagination… just shit flowing wrong in my head!”
“’Cor, at least you’re honest with that last bit!”
“Shut up!”
“Quiet lads, we don’t have much time. Aye, but a few moments of his sleep, let us get on with it.”
“With what???” Daniel screamed.
“Quiet, you’ll wake the bugger above! Now, shut up and listen!” A voice exclaimed, the latter part a chorus of all those present.
“You failed, today. Your shots wer-don’t try interrupt me you worm!” this came from Anne Becker, grandmother to Daniel.
“You’ve not a lick of war my boy, let alone a real taste. The end of days has come and passed yet somehow you who is to go on some great mission have not even fired at a man. You’ve never beaten a man who wanted to kill you with your fists. I cannot rest knowing you can let down those whose lives depend on you. Do you think we had room for failure when we fought the fascists?” This part of the tirade came from a man with an exaggerated intercontinental accent, a foraging cap on his head whilst one hand was occupied keeping his liver from falling out of torn ribs.
“The communists!” Cried a man in pre-war power armour.
“Heathens o’erseas!” Boomed a man behind Daniel, his translucency not preventing his Knightly full plate from gleaming as if it were real.
“You are as we. You do not have the right to give up, the right to surrender. What will you do when the real world comes forth, what of you when your feeble body is set upon by supermutants and ghouls?”
“You’ve not earned rest, Danie. Have you seen how the Paladin Moss looks at you? Men give better glances to shit they stepped on! A soldier’s life is for the hardest and you are not of the hardest you are of the weakest yet it is your’s. It is too late to turn back coward, and you shall not know rest, peace or solace until you join our ranks.”
“Defeat it! Stop it! End death with death!”
“Go, now. Sleep. Recover what you have lost and think upon what you heard. Do not fail us, do not fail those you serve with. Our honour is on the line, and though you are but a single grain of sand in the dunes of time, the fate of all humanity is in part borne upon your shoulders.”
Daniel wanted to ask them questions that started with “what the fuck” or “how the fuck” or “why the fuck” but he was hushed. Fading hands were placed upon his shoulders, and gently he was pushed down towards his bed. His eyes were closed by cold hands, and the depths of sleep came to him.
He awoke with a start, sweat coming down his forehead and cheeks. Cautiously he got off of the bed and circled the room to see if ghosts of the past were here to talk more shit but he found only the sleeping Roderick who may or may not have soiled himself. Stumbling over to his desk Daniel rooted around in the mostly impeccable arrangement until he came upon a can. He looked upon it, until he found what he deemed the culprit of his dreaming. A hole was in the top, ever so tiny! Yet it would surely have been enough to over the centuries make its contents go rotten enough to give fever dreams.
But… something of his supposed ancestors’ message did take root in him. He once more took to his rusted weights, before reading through the manuals of maintenance for all of his weapons.
Perhaps he accepted the message of his forebears, but he certainly acted upon it far from how they wanted.
After the quick attempt to right himself Daniel took to preparing to finally leave. He shaved his head absolutely clean of hair save that on the very top which he trimmed and combed. Cans were stuffed into bags along with stimpacks and Med-X. He grabbed his rather unimpressive savings in caps before working on stowing his galting-laser away. He dressed in his Recon Armour, wrapping long bandage-like cloth around his feet: the knee high footwraps-puttees were much more comfortable and lasting than some shitty socks when going into boots. So far as he could tell that was everything. He’d have to run over to grab some water for the journey and don his power armour but that was about it.
“I’m not going to be about for a while, Roderick.” he said, nodding in thanks at the gurgles he hoped were an “I’ll miss you.”
He went to refill his canteen and water bottles before going to the power armour station. The Knight gave thanks to the Scribes and Initiates present for fixing the servo in his left arm, stepping into the suit. It felt fine, and great in fact and thus he stomped along to Proctor Teagan for his dog-tag and gasmask. It was still an hour until 0400 but Daniel nevertheless came to the waiting Vertibird. After all, the Knight didn’t want the boys from his dream to have another excuse to mosey into his head.
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