Hidden Valley

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We waited patiently for the vehicles to return from their mission, maintaining constant vigilance over the perimeter. During that time, reports from our forward troops arrived frequently, allowing me to adjust orders as circumstances demanded. The monotony of waiting was broken when the radio crackled to life with a message from one of my centurions.

"This is Centurion Marcellus," the voice came through with a broken tone, accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing. His strain was evident even before he began to speak. "Legate, we've discovered a quarry infested with deathclaws. Dozens of those beasts have made their nest in the area."

I remained silent for a moment, processing his words. Deathclaws were formidable enemies, and a nest implied an even greater challenge.

"Casualties?" I asked coldly.

"Eight legionaries dead, Legate. Two decanii are injured, though they'll recover. However, one of our centurions is in critical condition. He lost an arm in the fight, and we barely managed to evacuate him before they got to him."

The silence on the channel stretched for a moment before he continued.

"Despite the losses, we've secured the area and are holding the position. The main beasts have been eliminated, though I suspect there are more hiding in the depths of the quarry. The path to New Vegas is clear."

"Can we proceed?" I responded calmly, evaluating the situation.

"Yes, Legate. Advancement is possible. The losses are a blow, but our troops remain highly motivated. The legionaries know these beasts are no match for Caesar's will."

"Good, Marcellus. Hold the position and send a patrol to inspect the deeper parts of the quarry. If there are more deathclaws, eliminate them or ensure they can't get out. We won't leave loose ends. Organize your men and prepare to continue the advance when I give the order."

"True to Caesar, Legate," Marcellus replied, his tone filled with determination despite his evident exhaustion.

I closed the communication and turned my attention back to the nearby legionaries. The deathclaws were an unexpected obstacle but not an insurmountable one.

"Legate Gaius, this is Frumentarius Cassianus. We've secured a facility near Novac. The area was infested with ghouls, which have been completely eliminated, along with a species of blue-skinned super mutant. Minimal casualties: four frumentarii lost in exchange for total control of the facility. It appears to be an old rocket testing site, possibly tied to pre-war technology," Cassianus reported in a cold, calculated tone.

I took a moment to reflect. A rocket testing site... The strategic potential of such a place was enormous, both for our expansion and to consolidate our technological dominance in the Mojave.

"That's intriguing, Cassianus," I replied calmly. "Secure the location and fortify your position. I'll visit personally once we complete the current operations. In the meantime, don't allow anyone, not even a rat, to approach the facility without my authorization. If you find anything else of interest, report it immediately."

"Understood, Legate. True to Caesar," Cassianus replied before ending the transmission.

"Gaius... this is Centurion Malpais. We've broken the profligates; they're abandoning their camps. Boulder City is ours, and I made sure to demolish that damned monument," Malpais said, his tone filled with satisfaction and confidence.

"Additionally, we've destroyed a Rangers' camp and are bombarding Camp Golf with mortars. Soon, we'll be able to target Camp McCarran with artillery. Everything is ready to assault New Vegas."

I listened to his report in silence, letting each word settle. Malpais, despite his past failures, had proven capable of wreaking havoc on the NCR's lines, dismantling their positions one by one. His progress in Boulder City was significant, and the news of the monument being reduced to rubble was a devastating symbolic blow to the Republic's morale.

"Well done, Malpais," I responded firmly, making my approval clear. "Maintain pressure on Golf and McCarran, but don't underestimate the Rangers' response. They may be disorganized, but they always find a way to counterattack. Ensure your supply lines are secured before the final assault. Wait for my forces to be in position before launching the last offensive."

"I'll await your order, Legate," Malpais said, cutting the transmission.

"You seem quite skilled at giving orders to kill," said the woman, chained alongside the other two prisoners we had captured outside the bunker. Her voice, sharp and defiant, contrasted with the downcast gazes of her companions, who hadn't dared to speak since we brought them to the camp.

"And you seem quite skilled at speaking out of turn," I replied without even looking in her direction. My centurions and I were drafting the attack plan against the bunker, and her interruption was as irritating as it was unnecessary.

"Out of turn?" she retorted with a dry laugh. "Seems like the perfect time to me. After all, you're about to send hundreds of men to certain death. Or do you think breaking into Hidden Valley will be as easy as shouting 'Ave, Cesar'?"

"I've defeated your kind before... Maxson's expedition was crushed by the Legion, and it was my counsel that guided Legate Lanius to victory. I know how you think, how you fight, and most importantly, how to defeat you. Your precious bunkers have an obvious vulnerability: they need to open their airlocks periodically to renew the oxygen inside. That's the perfect moment to flood them with large amounts of nerve gas, turning their refuge into a silent tomb. And if that's not enough, we have plasma weapons capable of reducing your prized T-45 and T-51B power armor to smoldering scrap. Nothing you use is impenetrable; everything has a weak point, and I know how to find it."

The chained woman looked at me with a mixture of fury and, for the first time, something that could be described as worry. She knew my words weren't just empty threats. They were facts—calculated strategies designed to exploit every weakness the Brotherhood of Steel had left exposed in the past.

"So that's your grand plan," she finally said, her tone attempting to retain its defiance, though a hint of tension betrayed her. "Gas and plasma. Killing everyone you can without even looking them in the eye. Very brave of the Legion, isn't it? You don't face your enemies; you exterminate them like pests."

"Ah... I see what you're trying to do," I replied, ignoring her attempt to provoke me. "You're hoping to anger me into killing you so I lose the leverage of having you as a hostage. Clever. But I don't fall for provocations."

I let her speak. It was always fascinating to listen to someone who knew time wasn't on their side. There was something almost admirable in her ability to spit venom even when chains limited her movements and her words carried no weight in the unfolding events. Still, the time for words had ended.

Finally, my men returned with plasma rifles freshly scavenged from the remains of the Calculator's robotic army. Advanced, lethal weapons—perfectly capable of punching through Brotherhood power armor. I turned to the chained woman and her companions, their expressions oscillating between restrained rage and fear.

"Let's go, woman," I said, gesturing toward the other two prisoners. "You and your friends are going to help me avoid a bloodbath—or at least prevent yours from being the first spilled."

I ordered my men to place an explosive charge on the outer door of the bunker. The detonation thundered through the area, shaking the ground and leaving a cloud of dust and debris in its wake. When the smoke cleared, however, what remained was another door—much thicker, made of a material that would require more explosives and, more importantly, more time to breach.

We took the prisoners to the bunker's communication panel. The cameras, clearly operational, tracked our movements as we forced the three to kneel in front of the panel, plasma rifles trained on them. The scene was calculated, designed to send a clear message to those watching from the other side.

I knew they were watching me. The Brotherhood of Steel wouldn't ignore a direct threat to their survival. I adjusted my stance before the cameras, ensuring my presence dominated the space, and spoke with a tone that carried unshakable authority.

"I know you can hear me. I know you're watching and analyzing my every move. And I know you're debating what to do," I said calmly, letting the weight of each word sink in. "I demand a meeting with your Elder. We will negotiate your surrender. If you refuse, you won't just lose these three..."—I gestured toward the prisoners kneeling before me—"...you'll lose everything that remains of your Brotherhood."

I paused, allowing my words to echo through their systems. I knew deliberations on the other side would be tense, filled with anxious murmurs and nervous glances. I stared directly into the camera, projecting the intensity of someone looking their enemy in the eye.

"Time is limited," I added, my tone cutting like a blade. "Don't waste it."

After a long silence, a voice finally responded, laden with caution and distrust. "This is Elder McNamara," the bunker's leader announced. "Who among the Legion's leaders am I speaking to?"

"Legate Gaius," I replied, my authority unmistakable. "Commander of all Lord Caesar's armies in the Mojave. I will be brief, Elder McNamara, as my time is more valuable than yours."

Another pause, deliberate enough to heighten the tension. The static hum of the communication line amplified the weight of the moment.

"Surrender to Lord Caesar, as your brothers from Maxson's expedition did. They serve the Legion loyally and have ensured their survival. If you refuse, we will release nerve gas into the airlocks of your bunker. There will be no further warning."

My tone was icy and calculated, leaving no room for negotiation. It was the voice of someone who would not falter in the face of resistance—someone who enforced their will at any cost.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by a faint hum. I could imagine the scene on the other side: McNamara weighing his options, the tense faces of his advisors, the murmurs heavy with desperation.

"How much time... do we have to give you an answer?" McNamara finally asked, his tone revealing the gravity of the decision he faced.

"One hour," I said with the precision of someone who controlled every second. "You have my permission to recover your captured members. I'm sure you have additional cameras to monitor what happens. Consider this an act of good faith."

I gestured for my men to release the prisoners. They rose slowly, their pride intact despite their capture.

As they departed, McNamara's voice interrupted the silence once more. "You mentioned that members of Maxson's expedition are working for you... Is Elder Andrea among them?"

"Yes," I replied evenly. "She's an efficient worker, maintaining the power armor my men use. If you wish, I can attempt to establish a radio connection so you can speak with her."

"That... would be necessary," he answered, his voice tinged with doubt and caution.

"Centurions, establish a connection immediately!" I ordered, and my men sprang into action. Efficiency was paramount; there was no time to waste.

Minutes passed as a weak signal was established with my settlement. I handed the communication equipment to the Brotherhood, placing it near the freed prisoners. I didn't need to stay and observe the conversation. The seed of surrender had already been planted.

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.