A True Peace

A True Peace

Chapter 1

"Who are you, who do not know your own history?"

They told me that I should keep a journal, I agree mostly, but I don’t like to think of the past.  What I once was, was what many would call a "feral" or a "tribal", I prefer the latter.

My name is Ulysses, not my given name but close enough; I was born after the summer solstice in the year 2253. My tribe was known as the Twisted Hairs, for the way we braided our hair. We settled in what was formerly known as Flagstaff, Arizona before the Great Fire. October 23, 2077 the day our tribe called "The day the Earth burned". The United Commonwealths of North America, the former USA and currently annexed Canada, had a full scale nuclear exchange with what was Communist China, effectively leveling every major city in both nations, while the rest of the world was ravaged by nuclear winter and radiation.

It's been over 200 years since the Earth Burned.

In the year 2247 my tribe allied with small but powerful tribe led by a man who called himself Caesar, the self appointed, military leader, tribe leader, and demi god, of his tribe. Caesars’ Legion. The Legion recruited our hunters and scouts to become their advance scouts in Arizona. Little did we know that we were soon to become the Legions next target. When the tribes finally conquered the land of Arizona, the Legion turned on the Twisted Hairs tribe. The powerful Legion drove the Twisted Hairs to the land known as Dry Wells on the banks of the Colorado River. One of the greatest of Caesars’ Frumentari, Vulpes Inculta, laid waste to the now weakened tribe.

I was born of the remnants of my tribe, taken into the Legion as Legionaries, common foot soldiers, and our identity taken from us. Our hair and tattoos cut and burned from our bodies. My tribe now only lives in me.

At the age of 18 I had become a very adept scout and warrior, only to take a bullet in my left knee effectively rendering me useless to the legion as a Legionary. Vulpes, seeing the potential in my now handicapped self, brought me into the ranks of the Frumentari. I then became an ambassador to the Legion and Caesar bringing messages to more tribes bringing offers to join the Legion. I brought them messages of the Legion and the almighty Caesar, the son of Mars, the roman god of war, offering them the chance to join the Legion if they proved themselves worthy of Caesars time and patience.

My objective was to rendezvous with the leader of a fledgling tribe of degenerates from the Great Salt Lake of Utah, the White-Legs, led by a butcher named Salt-Upon Wounds.

The White-Legs knew nothing of surviving, medicine, hunting, or farming. They were nothing more than degenerate raiders, scavenging and pillaging to survive in the barren deserts of Utah. I taught them the workings of guns, of chamber and powder. We broke into an armory at Spanish Fork, taking these large .45 caliber Submachine guns from the armory.

Showed them how to care for their guns and taught them small unit tactics of war. They called me Flag-Bearer, for the flag I painted on the back of my jacket, the one of America. I learned their weapons as a means of respect, when it came time for them to return the respect the past came rushing back. At the campfire that night they showed how they had changed themselves, how they now wore their hair. It was like the dead of my tribe staring back at me across the fire. Their teeth and eyes glowing red from the flames. I lost myself trying to read the braids until I realized that they put no meaning in them.

I left them no message; I left that same night after I witnessed their atrocities against my tribe. I had to leave for I was about to kill off these backwards savages. I bottled my anger deep within my mind and walked south into the Mojave Wasteland, traveling the old I-15 south to New Vegas, the rebuilt ruins of Las Vegas. I was looking for a place to set my flag, a place I could call home.

Upon my arrival in the Mojave I heard a passing NCR, New Californian Republic, troopers on patrol talking about the great battle for Hover Dam. The Hover Dam relatively intact despite the bombing from the Great War was being assaulted by the bulk of the Legions warriors against the garrisoned NCR troopers attempting to repair the dam to working condition despite the damage. My former brothers of war pushed along the top of the dam forcing the NCR to retreat into Boulder City. What the legion didn’t know was that the NCR had planned this retreat placing C4 and TNT along the route and in the old city detonating the charges, destroying the pursuing Legionaries to less than 10% of their original force.

The Legion retreated back across the damn to Fortification Hill on the east side of the dam where they remained waiting to assault the dam once again.

When I arrived in New Vegas my first stop was to the New Vegas branch of the Gun Runners, gunsmiths and armor smiths. I sold them my Machete Gladius, my Legionary armor, some .45 Auto Pistols and SMGs I had taken from the White-legs, and all of my .45 ammo. In exchange they gave me two weapons, ammo, and a radiation filter mask: A .50 Caliber BMG Anti-Material Rifle, a Sawn-off Double Barrel 12 Gauge Pistol, 150 rounds of .50 caliber ammo and assorted boxes of shotgun shells, and the mask I use to cover my facial scars from my Legionary training.

I had hoped that I could forget my past with the Legion, but no amount of whiskey could let me forget those horrors. The vices of Vegas, the corruption, these weak minded tribal’s throwing away their identity to run the casinos and taverns for the man who calls himself Mr. House. I heard in my travels of the wealth of the NCR and their prosperity I walked west again following the I-15 into south California seeking again a place I could call my home.

I was stopped multiple times by over inquisitive border guards concerning why I wanted to travel on Californian soil, I told them that I was a courier looking for work they believed me and sent me on my way, only after a heavy “tax” for new immigrants. My hatred continued to grow after each stop for this nation. So much corruption among even these mere border guards.  I only stopped after reaching the capital city of Shady Sands. I saw the poor lining the streets begging me for change, it sickened me how these men and women living in squalor could be left this way while the livestock barons lived comfortable lives in their mansions. Even in this remnant of America I couldn’t stay in this nation. Not if I wanted to stay sane. I turned around and walked north east towards Nevada.

I ran out of Legion coin on my way into California. Just down to myself and my guns. I took to becoming a bounty hunter, hunting many well known criminals in the town of Aradesh. I was asked by the chieftain of a local tribe asked me to deliver a package and a message to Primm just south of New Vegas on the old 15. It was a small broken robot: spherical shape with many antennas pointing back from the front with a small laser mounted on bottom, it had an Illinois license plate on its side most likely a patch job, the message read that the robot had killed a little girl in Aradesh the chieftain wanted taken to Primm to be sold for money.

On my trip to Primm I spotted another courier walking down an abandoned highway heading into the Rocky Mountains. Being curious what he was doing I followed at a distance watching where he was going. He was carrying a small box nothing special as far as I could tell. We walked miles and miles he didn’t stop to make camp at all just laid down under trees or against building to sleep. 2 day into his steady march east he spotted me in the distance and started running faster to outpace me. I lost him once after that during a wind storm but I managed to track him down in the middle of a pre war military installation called Hopeville according to the signs near the road. I found small groups of people living in the old building and saw the flames of the community fires. They seemed peaceful enough I asked if I could join them they told me I could stay as long as I wanted. The man who told me this handed a piece of dried deer meat he said that I looked hungry. I merely took it and eat removing my mask for the first time in front of others. For the first time in so many years I felt at home.

The other courier left his package in the town these people called the Divide. The courier continued to travel east. It made me curious as to why he kept going even though he started in the west and stopped here he kept walking. I followed him all the way to Primm and finished my delivery leaving the small robot on the counter at the couriers’ office. I turned and returned to the Divide to finally stop traveling and make a home for myself. I arrived in the Divide to find a crowd of people standing around the small package. It was speaking in a strange mechanical voice it said, “Big Mountain access code: Ulysses: Navarro”.

The Earth started shaking violently as the nuclear missiles stored at Hopeville detonated below the surface cracking the earth and blasting tons of dirt and debris in the air among waves of gamma radiation from the cracks effectively destroying the divide.

I should have died there among the others but machines appeared from the wreckage not unlike the one I delivered to Primm. With medical symbols on their bodies they took me into the still functioning facility and healed me. I think they thought I was of the old America because of the flag on my back, if that was the case history saved my life.