shihonage
Made in USSR
Allright ! This is a non-submission entry the purpose of which was to make the BOS a better fit for Bethesda's reenvision of Fallout.
<center>
Brotherhood Of Steel Chronicles
Exodus
</center>
Simmons’ ribs snapped audibly as he was sent flying 10 feet in the air, landing on the hood of a rusty Corvega. Straining, he raised his head only to see a flailing, roaring mess falling on top of him. Simmons rolled off the car, the Mutant’s helmet crashing into the hood inches away from his face. So close, he could make out “Property of SF Museum Of History” on the sand-covered visor.
Simmons had no time for curiosity. Gathering last remnants of strength, he jumped to his feet. He squinted at the sun glare from the top of the North Tower, knowing exactly what the sniper was waiting for.
So he ran. He ran toward the slowly opening gates, praying that he put enough leg room between him and the car. He saw a muzzle flash, and hit the ground, covering his head. Even though his eyes were closed shut, the light was unbearable for a good 30 seconds.
Simmons rolled on his back to see a mushroom cloud rising above the car. He examined the piece of a California license plate stuck in his thigh. It didn’t look bad. That’s when he heard the tornado.
“On your feet, soldier !” – two Brothers helped him up and literally dragged him inside the Castle.
“He was tracking me. I hope this is the last..”
“Captain, you must see this !”
Simmons leaned into the monocular.
…
“Captain !”
A drop of sweat rolled off his forehead. Then another.
“Captain ?”
He could hear the minigun come alive at the South Tower. Distant explosions. Rumble of a thousand feet.
“Is the bomb operational ?” – he didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. “Sergeant ?”
North Tower mortar joined in on the battle.
“Yes sir, it is.”.
A dozen spears fell into the training tent. He saw his Brothers in the courtyard scramble for cover.
Simmons looked at his hands, expecting them to shake. No such luck.
There were too many. He knew this day would come.
The Tower gunner stopped to reload and suddenly slumped in his seat.
“Prep the bomb. We’re going East.”
“But sir, we don’t have the remote deto…”
“Sergeant, THIS IS AN ORDER !”
“Yes sir !”
<center>* * *</center>
Simmons flipped open the Red Switch. For a moment the world muted itself, and he appreciated the button’s elegance in its simplicity. Pure destruction, in front of his very eyes. How fitting it is that he, a seasoned warrior, has the privilege of pulling the trigger.
Simmons spoke to the row of Brothers standing before him.
“It was an honor serving with all of you.”
He stopped. Nothing profound came to mind. In the corner of his eye he saw the gates collapse, and darkness start pouring in.
“Gentlemen…” he felt a dryness in his throat. “Gentlemen, start your jetpacks”.
<center>
Brotherhood Of Steel Chronicles
Exodus
</center>
Simmons’ ribs snapped audibly as he was sent flying 10 feet in the air, landing on the hood of a rusty Corvega. Straining, he raised his head only to see a flailing, roaring mess falling on top of him. Simmons rolled off the car, the Mutant’s helmet crashing into the hood inches away from his face. So close, he could make out “Property of SF Museum Of History” on the sand-covered visor.
Simmons had no time for curiosity. Gathering last remnants of strength, he jumped to his feet. He squinted at the sun glare from the top of the North Tower, knowing exactly what the sniper was waiting for.
So he ran. He ran toward the slowly opening gates, praying that he put enough leg room between him and the car. He saw a muzzle flash, and hit the ground, covering his head. Even though his eyes were closed shut, the light was unbearable for a good 30 seconds.
Simmons rolled on his back to see a mushroom cloud rising above the car. He examined the piece of a California license plate stuck in his thigh. It didn’t look bad. That’s when he heard the tornado.
“On your feet, soldier !” – two Brothers helped him up and literally dragged him inside the Castle.
“He was tracking me. I hope this is the last..”
“Captain, you must see this !”
Simmons leaned into the monocular.
…
“Captain !”
A drop of sweat rolled off his forehead. Then another.
“Captain ?”
He could hear the minigun come alive at the South Tower. Distant explosions. Rumble of a thousand feet.
“Is the bomb operational ?” – he didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. “Sergeant ?”
North Tower mortar joined in on the battle.
“Yes sir, it is.”.
A dozen spears fell into the training tent. He saw his Brothers in the courtyard scramble for cover.
Simmons looked at his hands, expecting them to shake. No such luck.
There were too many. He knew this day would come.
The Tower gunner stopped to reload and suddenly slumped in his seat.
“Prep the bomb. We’re going East.”
“But sir, we don’t have the remote deto…”
“Sergeant, THIS IS AN ORDER !”
“Yes sir !”
<center>* * *</center>
Simmons flipped open the Red Switch. For a moment the world muted itself, and he appreciated the button’s elegance in its simplicity. Pure destruction, in front of his very eyes. How fitting it is that he, a seasoned warrior, has the privilege of pulling the trigger.
Simmons spoke to the row of Brothers standing before him.
“It was an honor serving with all of you.”
He stopped. Nothing profound came to mind. In the corner of his eye he saw the gates collapse, and darkness start pouring in.
“Gentlemen…” he felt a dryness in his throat. “Gentlemen, start your jetpacks”.
