POV of Ronal curtis
Most of the high command were too busy negotiating how to divide the spoils. There was talk of Lost Hills' Brotherhood, the Shi State, Vault City—even whether New Reno would receive partial autonomy in exchange for resources. Everyone had their eye on the rewards of war before the war had even begun. That's why, and because no one else had a clear enough head, I was put in charge of part of the radio logistics in Shady Sands.
Ironic.
It gave me the freedom to move around without too many questions. I could tour the supply depots, check inventory logs, study transport routes. The entire support structure of the NCR's war effort—visible from the inside. The advantage of wearing an official uniform is that no one bothers to ask why you're where you are. Meanwhile, my Frumentarii operators were well-placed, some of them in key offices, disguised as harmless bureaucrats. They gave me what I needed. And whenever a safe window opened in the comms traffic, I transmitted everything to the Legion.
One of those transmissions brought the first piece of good news. Music to my ears.
The Legion had broken the pact.
Long 15. Route 127. Crossing the Colorado River. A prolonged, uninterrupted bombardment fell on the eastern outposts. Some tried to return fire. The outer batteries managed a few rounds—then went silent. Nothing came out of the dust. Just the roar of explosions that, according to local radio operators, hadn't stopped since they began.
As I compiled information for the president and calculated how long we had before the collapse of our eastern defenses—despite their deep fortification—another message came through. This one from the north.
New Reno was calling for help. Urgent.
The outer settlements were burning. An unknown but massive force had apparently surrounded the city. The NCR garrison there was little more than a police presence. Bishop's private army couldn't hold off a Legion force, no matter how well his men could pull a trigger.
The message included no precise estimates. Only the obvious: the attacking force vastly outnumbered them. They were requesting all the support the Republic could send. Desperately, with language that barely hid the panic.
And the response… was nothing.
Not due to a lack of will. Just cold logistics.
All usable forces were tied up trying to contain the main offensive in the east. Every available brigade was locked in at Long 15 or holding the southern front, where the assault had hit hardest. Even the reserves had been sent weeks ago to reinforce the eastern lines.
With war now official, a general draft would need to be issued no later than today. If New Reno wanted reinforcements, they'd arrive in two weeks—if they were lucky, and decently trained. Otherwise, the only thing we could send would be corpses in uniform. Fresh meat against seasoned Legion veterans already advancing unopposed toward the north.
I prepared the report and made my way to the presidential office. I put on my most serious face—despite what I felt inside—and walked straight toward the entrance. The bodyguards outside, men in the service of various representatives, tried to stop me at first.
I only had to say one word:
"The Legion is moving."
They let me through without another question. I pushed the door open—not violently, but firmly enough to draw attention.
The voices inside stopped instantly.
Everyone was there. Paladins of the Brotherhood of Steel. Vault City's First Citizen. Mr. Bishop. Representatives of the Shi State. A handful of NCR generals and colonels. And President Murphy at the center.
All of them turned to face me in silence.
"The Legion has broken the pact, Mr. President," I said, keeping my composure. "They're advancing on all eastern fronts. Right now their columns are crossing Long 15 and Route 127. And I'm afraid they've established a logistics line in Utah. New Reno is already under attack."
Mr. Bishop's cigar fell from his mouth. No one picked it up. His face said everything.
Other faces shifted too—but not as much. Apparently, they had already considered the possibility that the Legion might violate the non-aggression pact.
"Well… the moment has come," President Murphy said, trying to hold his voice steady. "The ultimate test of our democracy. Caesar's Legion marches again… and this time, we won't just stop them—we'll send them back to Arizona where they belong."
"I'll dispatch several Paladins to reinforce the eastern defenses, but—" the Elder of the Brotherhood began to say.
That's when the sirens sounded—loud, citywide.Seconds later, the anti-air defenses activated.
And then, a dry thunderclap—different from any ordinary explosion—shook the walls. The windows shattered instantly—some from pressure, others from vibration. Several people dropped to the floor, instinctively covering themselves, convinced they'd already been hit.
The shockwave didn't come alone.A string of detonations rolled in from the north—rapid, brutal. You could feel the heat even inside the building. Smoke columns rose beyond the nearby buildings.
"What the hell was that?" a colonel shouted, standing up, shards of glass clinging to his uniform.
I leaned cautiously toward what remained of the window. The smoke was rising from the military district.
It didn't look like conventional artillery nor improvised rockets.
"That came from the sky… I don't know what the hell it was—but it wasn't a Legion vertibird," I said, speaking with the same confusion everyone else now shared.
No one responded. The entire room was silent. Not even President Murphy spoke. Only the alarms and the sound of fire echoed in the distance.
Then we heard it again. That same dry roar—like thunder tearing through the sky. The walls vibrated. Loose glass finished falling to the floor.
I turned instinctively toward the broken window and saw it.
Something—something—was flying away at high speed. Just a black shape against the overcast sky. But it was moving fast.
The anti-air defenses opened fire. Dozens of shells ripped through the sky, forming an explosive cage around the shape—but it dodged everything. Without stopping. Without veering more than necessary. Heading straight east.
"What the hell is that!?" one of the generals shouted.
"It's a fighter jet… how the hell do those Legion savages have a jet?" the Brotherhood Elder said, putting on her power armor helmet.
No one spoke for a few seconds. The representatives could barely process what they had just seen. They knew the Legion was dangerous—brutal—but aerial technology? That was something else entirely.
"That wasn't a Vertibird," one of the colonels murmured, still staring at the sky.
"What do we have to bring it down?" another colonel asked, raising his voice.
"Only our fixed anti-air defenses, sir. And limited radar coverage... We have no pursuit capabilities," the technician answered in a low, uneasy tone.
President Murphy clenched his fists.
"Then improve the defenses. Add more sensors. Move up the generators. We are not going to let them bomb our capital while we stand here staring at the sky."
The presidential chamber in Shady Sands was nearly empty now. Only three of us remained: President Murphy, Colonel Cassandra Moore, and myself. The rest of the representatives and delegates had been evacuated quickly after the bombing. Shards of glass still littered the floor, and the sound of distant air raid sirens echoed through the city—fainter now, but still present.
Moore stood tall, hands clasped behind her back, power armor on but helmet off. Her expression wasn't one of shock—it was the look of someone whose suspicions had just been confirmed. Murphy, in contrast, was pacing the room like he could find an answer buried in the floorboards. He looked like he had aged ten years in ten minutes.
"What do you think happened, Major?" Moore asked, not bothering to face me. "Why did our scouts in Utah come back empty-handed while a Legion army descended on us from the northern flank?"
I gave it a second before responding. I couldn't appear too ready—but hesitation would raise suspicion. The key was to sound like a committed officer frustrated by someone else's failure.
"I assume it was incompetence within the Intelligence Office, Colonel," I said, keeping my tone even. "They rarely bring in anything of real value. Most of their agents are known to have been appointed through political favors, not merit. It's likely they didn't investigate properly. Utah terrain is difficult, and with the Eighties and the White Legs in the area, it's easy for a recon team to assume things are as usual."
Moore turned toward me, her eyes sharp."And no one thought that silence from New Canaan was anything more than tribal trouble?"
"It was reported as a communications blackout caused by raider activity along the trade routes," I replied. "Lost caravans, rerouted paths... nothing that clearly pointed to a military buildup. At least not in their reports."
Murphy stopped pacing and looked at me, his face taut with stress.
"And you, Ronal? You didn't see anything?"
Now I had to walk a tightrope. Too insightful, and I'd raise eyebrows. Too clueless, and I'd lose credibility. So I played it safe—convincing mediocrity.
"Only what everyone else saw, sir. Some unusual caravan movement. Conflicting reports about raiders. But nothing that indicated this. Even the operatives we sent in came back with nothing substantial."
Colonel Moore frowned at that, but she said nothing. She was thinking, weighing it all. She knew something didn't add up—but she didn't have proof. Not yet.
Murphy exhaled slowly and stared out the shattered window toward the burning city.
"We're going to have to issue a general draft. Today. If we don't reinforce the northern front, New Reno will fall. And if New Reno falls…"
"Vault City and Redding will be within Legion reach," Moore finished for him.
I didn't say a word. Internally, I smiled.
The Legion had played its hand with surgical precision. All the gold handed over during the so-called peace had bought the Republic nothing. And now, the consequences were raining down like fire on a nation that still believed it had time.
"If you wish, I can launch a full investigation into the Espionage Office," I offered, using my most professional tone. "Though I'm not sure this is the moment to divert resources into hunting for scapegoats. The Legion is likely targeting collaborators, and we'll need to focus on their operatives before they reach their objectives."
Moore nodded. I kept my expression firm and steady. I wasn't under suspicion—yet. But I knew that some of the lower-level operatives might be. Many of them were expendable. And if it ever came to that, I'd need them as sacrificial pawns to protect my own position as head of Counterintelligence.
As I left the chamber, Moore looked at me again—like she was still trying to connect the dots. I made sure my steps were slow, deliberate. No rush. No panic. The image of a disciplined officer under pressure.
But inside my chest, my heart beat with pride.
Back in my office, I received more and more excellent updates while monitoring communications and gathering as much intel as possible.
This hadn't been the Legion's only strike.
Multiple attacks were underway across NCR territory—including a direct hit on a Brotherhood of Steel bunker. Apparently, several of those aircraft were targeting the Republic's key manufacturing hubs.
What did make me slightly nervous, though, was how specific the targets were.
In the capital, one missile destroyed a food storage silo. Another leveled a munitions warehouse. If someone intelligent enough starts connecting the dots—starts asking how the Legion knew exactly what each factory produced, and why it mattered…
Then I'll have to throw a few of my subordinates under the bus to save my own skin.