Navarro
Well-known member
Ch. 28 snippets:
==*==
18:00 EST, February 26, 2332
Point Lookout POW Camp, Maryland
Sergeant Donald Taylor was sick of this place. Their work hadn’t been cut short on account of the snow - the endless digging holes and filling them back in, breaking rocks with shovels, etc., and the only concession to the frost and snow the NCR PoWs’ Enclave captors had given them was cold weather clothing so they could keep on doing their pointless work. Not that conditions were terrible - the prison barracks were heated, any prisoner who showed signs of illness or injury was immediately sent to the camp infirmary, and their rations included three solid meals a day - but … it was just the misery, the loneliness, the isolation. Cars and trucks were frequently going by on the nearby road, and there were times he would just stand there watching as they went by, wondering what was going on in their drivers’ lives.
The other prisoners, especially those from his own unit, were helping with support and companionship, but - even with them, the only channel the barracks TV showed was some Enclave propaganda channel, Federal News Network. He and the others had taken to calling it Fake News Network when they knew the guards couldn't hear them, as its anchors and talk-show hosts repeated the same talking points his interrogators spoke with him about from curfew till lights out. The only things to read were Bibles, supposedly donated by a number of charitable and religious foundations, and a variety of Enclave newspapers.
It was hard to keep a sense of reality in the world the Enclave kept him in - the only real reliable news was from new prisoners sent in, and scuttlebutt between the guards. The channels had been relatively vague and absent on news about Texas lately, still emphasising the supposed destruction of the Alamo by the NCR. He hoped that meant good news, if the Enclave press didn’t have victories to talk up. Oftentimes he and the others were sit around after lights-out telling the old familiar stories about home and their families and what might be happening in California until they drifted off into a fitful sleep for the buglers to come round the next morning and wake them with the shrill blasts of their instruments.
Aside from that, there were some other visitors to the camp who’d come recently - people who wore dark business suits and carried badges displaying either a white star on a blue field surrounded by thin white rays, or a red cross on a white field, both of whom he’d occasionally seen speaking with the Commandant, a white-haired, high-cheekboned figure who even the guards seemed fearful of. The latter group spoke English with strange accents, or not at all. They both seemed to be inspecting the camp to make sure the prisoners were well taken care of, though why Taylor didn’t know. The Enclave hadn’t done anything … any of what he’d expected when he’d been taken captive. But still, it was unendurable staying here any longer trying to hold out against their vision of the world, and the boredom, and the long bitter nights. I have to do this, he told himself. Can’t handle ... all this any longer. There was no other choice. He gritted his teeth - this may well be do-or-die. Not that he would regrets at this point about the latter.
He looked then at the wristband - the thin steel metal that enclosed his right wrist. They’d said it would give him agonising pain if he tried to leave, said something about “nerve induction”, but that had to be a bluff, right? Else why would they have their fence and their forcefield gate and their sentry towers around? He took a deep breath, panted, looked over the area, barely visible in the shadows of sunset. There was a hollow just by the fence over there, unnoticed so far. If he could just get there he could - it would be a tight fit, but just barely possible. He just had to be sure the guards overseeing the prisoners’ work were inattentive enough.
…
1400 CST, 2 March 2332
Seven Sisters, Texas
Sergeant Royez looked south with a steely look and sighed as he looked over the approach to Seven Sisters, a small town - little more than a dot on a road map, truth be told - on the leading edge of the NCR advance. The plan, so far as Royez knew, was simple - push the Enclave back into the sea at Corpus Christi, then slam down the door on their forces in the south. Two Enclave corps formations, one of their elite Marine groups amongst them, annihilated. He’d heard talk on the radio as well that Waco had fallen to NCR troops, cutting their formations at Houston and Dallas off from each other too.
But still .. he had a sense of unease.
The APC was busted, one of its wheels gone out, and he was waiting fitfully for a proper NCR mechanic to come up and service it. The PA forces were the strong right arm of the NCR Army, and his team had done pretty well of it. They hadn’t encountered Enclave forces yet though - just their friends from over the sea. Soldiers in olive-tan who didn’t speak English but their own, harsh language - Germans. That a world existed outside North America had been an academic reality at best for the NCR’s people for many decades. Royez still remembered the taunts he’d gotten at middle school for not being from the “Core Region”. Would staying in Baja have been better? Still, it was the poorest state in the NCR for a reason, and papa had no real other options.
Of course, the very term itself varied based on who you asked. Ask a Phoenixer and the Core was California; ask a Redding gold miner and the Core was Socal; ask an Angeleno and the Core was Shady Sands; ask a man from Shady and the Core was Whitney Heights. “New California” was a new official term being introduced, he’d heard in the paper, but any sensible guy just said “Cali”. But still, at any rate - Royez fought to get his train of thought back in order - the presence of troops from Europe fighting alongside the Enclave was something he’d never seen before. They still fought and died like any other soldier though. That was the deal. But still, the lack of Enclave troops in the field, and in this area worried Royez. They were obviously holding back, waiting for something, preparing some kind of plan. Still, that was above his paygrade. He had his orders, and they were to take this little hamlet.
He sat back and gritted his teeth. Something was wrong here, but he wasn’t sure what. He kept a close eye as he took point, leading his squad in the approach to the town.
==*==
18:00 EST, February 26, 2332
Point Lookout POW Camp, Maryland
Sergeant Donald Taylor was sick of this place. Their work hadn’t been cut short on account of the snow - the endless digging holes and filling them back in, breaking rocks with shovels, etc., and the only concession to the frost and snow the NCR PoWs’ Enclave captors had given them was cold weather clothing so they could keep on doing their pointless work. Not that conditions were terrible - the prison barracks were heated, any prisoner who showed signs of illness or injury was immediately sent to the camp infirmary, and their rations included three solid meals a day - but … it was just the misery, the loneliness, the isolation. Cars and trucks were frequently going by on the nearby road, and there were times he would just stand there watching as they went by, wondering what was going on in their drivers’ lives.
The other prisoners, especially those from his own unit, were helping with support and companionship, but - even with them, the only channel the barracks TV showed was some Enclave propaganda channel, Federal News Network. He and the others had taken to calling it Fake News Network when they knew the guards couldn't hear them, as its anchors and talk-show hosts repeated the same talking points his interrogators spoke with him about from curfew till lights out. The only things to read were Bibles, supposedly donated by a number of charitable and religious foundations, and a variety of Enclave newspapers.
It was hard to keep a sense of reality in the world the Enclave kept him in - the only real reliable news was from new prisoners sent in, and scuttlebutt between the guards. The channels had been relatively vague and absent on news about Texas lately, still emphasising the supposed destruction of the Alamo by the NCR. He hoped that meant good news, if the Enclave press didn’t have victories to talk up. Oftentimes he and the others were sit around after lights-out telling the old familiar stories about home and their families and what might be happening in California until they drifted off into a fitful sleep for the buglers to come round the next morning and wake them with the shrill blasts of their instruments.
Aside from that, there were some other visitors to the camp who’d come recently - people who wore dark business suits and carried badges displaying either a white star on a blue field surrounded by thin white rays, or a red cross on a white field, both of whom he’d occasionally seen speaking with the Commandant, a white-haired, high-cheekboned figure who even the guards seemed fearful of. The latter group spoke English with strange accents, or not at all. They both seemed to be inspecting the camp to make sure the prisoners were well taken care of, though why Taylor didn’t know. The Enclave hadn’t done anything … any of what he’d expected when he’d been taken captive. But still, it was unendurable staying here any longer trying to hold out against their vision of the world, and the boredom, and the long bitter nights. I have to do this, he told himself. Can’t handle ... all this any longer. There was no other choice. He gritted his teeth - this may well be do-or-die. Not that he would regrets at this point about the latter.
He looked then at the wristband - the thin steel metal that enclosed his right wrist. They’d said it would give him agonising pain if he tried to leave, said something about “nerve induction”, but that had to be a bluff, right? Else why would they have their fence and their forcefield gate and their sentry towers around? He took a deep breath, panted, looked over the area, barely visible in the shadows of sunset. There was a hollow just by the fence over there, unnoticed so far. If he could just get there he could - it would be a tight fit, but just barely possible. He just had to be sure the guards overseeing the prisoners’ work were inattentive enough.
…
1400 CST, 2 March 2332
Seven Sisters, Texas
Sergeant Royez looked south with a steely look and sighed as he looked over the approach to Seven Sisters, a small town - little more than a dot on a road map, truth be told - on the leading edge of the NCR advance. The plan, so far as Royez knew, was simple - push the Enclave back into the sea at Corpus Christi, then slam down the door on their forces in the south. Two Enclave corps formations, one of their elite Marine groups amongst them, annihilated. He’d heard talk on the radio as well that Waco had fallen to NCR troops, cutting their formations at Houston and Dallas off from each other too.
But still .. he had a sense of unease.
The APC was busted, one of its wheels gone out, and he was waiting fitfully for a proper NCR mechanic to come up and service it. The PA forces were the strong right arm of the NCR Army, and his team had done pretty well of it. They hadn’t encountered Enclave forces yet though - just their friends from over the sea. Soldiers in olive-tan who didn’t speak English but their own, harsh language - Germans. That a world existed outside North America had been an academic reality at best for the NCR’s people for many decades. Royez still remembered the taunts he’d gotten at middle school for not being from the “Core Region”. Would staying in Baja have been better? Still, it was the poorest state in the NCR for a reason, and papa had no real other options.
Of course, the very term itself varied based on who you asked. Ask a Phoenixer and the Core was California; ask a Redding gold miner and the Core was Socal; ask an Angeleno and the Core was Shady Sands; ask a man from Shady and the Core was Whitney Heights. “New California” was a new official term being introduced, he’d heard in the paper, but any sensible guy just said “Cali”. But still, at any rate - Royez fought to get his train of thought back in order - the presence of troops from Europe fighting alongside the Enclave was something he’d never seen before. They still fought and died like any other soldier though. That was the deal. But still, the lack of Enclave troops in the field, and in this area worried Royez. They were obviously holding back, waiting for something, preparing some kind of plan. Still, that was above his paygrade. He had his orders, and they were to take this little hamlet.
He sat back and gritted his teeth. Something was wrong here, but he wasn’t sure what. He kept a close eye as he took point, leading his squad in the approach to the town.