If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
First, however, they would make absolutely certain nothing else was waiting to find them first.
The echoes of gunfire lingered across Fringe Cove Docks for several long moments before they were finally swallowed by the sound of the Atlantic.
Smoke drifted lazily from the barrels of the Humvees' heavy machine guns.
Spent brass lay scattered across the cracked concrete and weathered wooden planks.
Several dead Gulpers floated slowly with the tide beneath the piers, while the hulking bodies of the Mirelurks rested where they had fallen, their thick shells already attracting curious gulls circling overhead.
Nobody celebrated.
The Republic soldiers had learned long ago that surviving the first fight rarely meant the danger had passed.
Captain Brooks continued scanning the dockyard through his binoculars.
He swept slowly from one rusting crane to another, then across the rooftops of the old warehouses before finally lowering the glasses.
"Report."
The replies came one after another.
"First Squad secure."
"Second Squad secure."
"Truck secure."
"Rear Humvee secure."
Doctor Hayes walked carefully between the soldiers, making certain no one had been hurt during the sudden ambush.
She stopped beside Private Dawson, who was rubbing one shoulder after diving behind a cargo crate.
"You alright?"
He rolled the shoulder experimentally.
"Sore."
"You landed hard."
"I've had worse."
She examined him for another second before nodding.
"No broken bones."
"Good enough."
Nearby, another medic checked a rifleman whose sleeve had been torn by a Mirelurk's claw while scrambling behind cover.
The scratch looked dramatic, but fortunately it had barely broken the skin.
"You got lucky."
The rifleman laughed nervously.
"I noticed."
Doctor Hayes cleaned the cut anyway.
"Luck doesn't replace antiseptic."
Brooks looked across the sprawling dockyard once more.
The place was simply too large to begin a proper search immediately.
The fighting had proven one thing beyond any doubt.
The docks were dangerous.
Even if the creatures they had killed were the only ones nearby, his soldiers had already been awake since before sunrise and had spent the morning traveling across the Island.
Fatigue led to mistakes.
Mistakes got people killed.
He looked toward Lieutenant Parker.
"We're not starting the search yet."
Parker understood immediately.
"You want to establish a proper position first."
Brooks nodded.
"We'll search with clear heads."
"Not exhausted ones."
He raised his voice so the nearby squad leaders could hear.
"We're making camp."
Several younger soldiers looked mildly surprised.
One private quietly whispered to another.
"Here?"
The veteran beside him answered before Brooks could.
"Exactly here."
"If something attacks us tonight, I'd rather fight from prepared positions than from the middle of a warehouse."
The younger soldier nodded.
"Fair point."
Brooks gestured toward Sergeant Mason.
"I want a patrol."
"Five people."
"They sweep the surrounding area before we settle in."
Mason already had names in mind.
"I'll take Murphy, Collins, Grant and Ellis."
Brooks nodded approvingly.
"Good mix."
He stepped closer to the patrol.
"I don't want heroes."
"If you find trouble…"
"…you report it."
"You don't chase it."
Ellis answered first.
"Understood."
Murphy checked the magazine in his rifle before slinging it across his shoulder.
"We'll make a full circuit."
"Warehouses."
"Coastline."
"Tree line."
"Then back."
Brooks gave a final nod.
"Good hunting."
The five-man patrol disappeared into the maze of abandoned buildings, moving with the quiet confidence of experienced soldiers.
Within moments they were gone.
Only an occasional glimpse of movement between stacks of rusted cargo containers betrayed their progress.
Once the patrol departed, Brooks turned back toward the rest of the expedition.
"Let's give ourselves somewhere worth defending."
The dockyard quickly transformed into another organized Republic worksite.
The large open yard between the entrance road and the main warehouse offered the best location.
It provided relatively clear lines of sight while keeping the convoy close enough to support any direction.
The lead Humvee was repositioned first.
Lieutenant Parker climbed behind the wheel.
"Forward another ten meters."
The vehicle rolled slowly across the cracked pavement.
"Stop."
Brooks studied the angle.
"Swing the nose left."
Parker adjusted again.
"There."
The heavy machine gun now overlooked the approach road and much of the central dockyard.
The rear Humvee mirrored the maneuver on the opposite side.
Together the two armored vehicles formed overlapping fields of fire protecting the temporary camp.
The supply truck settled safely between them, its cargo bed shielded from three directions.
Engineers immediately began unloading defensive equipment.
Sandbags.
Shovels.
Coils of salvaged wire.
Wooden stakes.
Everything came off the truck in an orderly sequence.
Nobody needed instructions anymore.
Each soldier already knew where to help.
Corporal Hayes directed one team toward the northern side.
"I want two fighting positions here."
"Wide enough for three riflemen."
Nearby, another squad filled empty sandbags with gravel dug from beside the old roadway.
Shovels bit steadily into the ground.
Within half an hour, low defensive walls had begun taking shape.
Private Dawson wiped sweat from his forehead as he dropped another filled sandbag into place.
"I think we're getting faster."
The engineer working beside him smiled.
"We've had plenty of practice."
Farther east, combat engineers stretched strands of salvaged wire between several abandoned cargo containers.
The barrier wouldn't stop determined attackers.
That wasn't its purpose.
It would force anything approaching the camp to slow down and reveal its position.
Exactly what Brooks wanted.
Doctor Hayes selected one corner of the encampment for a temporary aid station.
The routine felt almost familiar now.
Canvas sheets were stretched overhead.
Medical crates opened.
Clean blankets laid across folding cots.
Within minutes, another small field clinic stood ready despite hopefully never being needed.
One medic looked around.
"I'd really like one mission where we don't have to unpack these."
Hayes smiled faintly.
"I'd like that too."
"But I'd rather have them ready."
Nearby, another team assembled several small tents.
Not luxurious.
Just enough shelter from the cold Atlantic wind.
The weather looked increasingly uncertain as darker clouds drifted farther inland.
One soldier secured another guide rope before stepping back.
"That'll hold."
His partner tugged firmly against one corner.
"It better."
"I don't feel like chasing tents into the ocean."
A few soldiers laughed quietly.
Even Brooks smiled.
Little moments like that helped ease the tension without distracting anyone from the work.
Within two hours the empty section of dockyard had changed completely.
Two Humvees guarded the perimeter.
Sandbag positions overlooked every likely approach.
The supply truck sat protected inside the defensive ring.
A small medical station waited beside several neatly erected tents.
Lookouts rotated between observation points while radio operators established steady communication inside the camp.
Lieutenant Parker slowly walked one complete circle around the perimeter before returning to Brooks.
"I'd sleep here."
Brooks looked around thoughtfully.
"So would I."
Neither man meant comfortably.
Only safely.
Sometimes that was enough.
The afternoon passed quietly.
The only sounds came from seabirds circling overhead, waves striking the pilings beneath the docks, and the occasional hammer as engineers reinforced another section of the perimeter.
Eventually Brooks looked at his watch.
"They've been gone long enough."
Almost on cue, movement appeared near the tree line west of the camp.
Five familiar figures emerged from between the pines.
Sergeant Mason's patrol had returned.
The camp guards immediately recognized them.
"Patrol returning."
Brooks walked forward to meet them.
Mason removed his cap briefly before speaking.
"We completed the circuit."
Brooks folded his arms.
"What did you find?"
Mason smiled slightly.
"Nothing."
Brooks raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing?"
Ellis answered.
"No fresh Gulper nests."
"No Mirelurks."
"No Trappers."
"No Super Mutants."
Murphy unfolded a hand-drawn sketch.
"We checked the coastline."
"The hills behind the docks."
"The tree line."
He pointed toward several marked locations.
"Only old animal tracks."
"Nothing recent."
Grant nodded.
"If anything's still out there…"
"…it's keeping well away from us."
Brooks accepted the report with visible satisfaction.
"Good."
"Exactly what I wanted to hear."
Doctor Hayes handed each member of the patrol a fresh canteen.
"Drink."
"You've earned it."
Murphy accepted his gratefully.
"I wasn't going to argue."
With the patrol safely back inside the perimeter, Brooks finally allowed the expedition a short break.
"Thirty minutes."
"Eat something."
"Sit down."
"Check your equipment."
"Once we're finished…"
"…we start searching."
The announcement was met with quiet appreciation.
The soldiers scattered throughout the camp.
Some sat atop ammunition crates while opening ration tins.
Others leaned against sandbags cleaning rifles that had become damp from the sea air.
Private Dawson removed his helmet and stretched his back.
"I forgot how good sitting feels."
Grant laughed.
"You've only been standing for half the day."
"It felt longer."
Doctor Hayes carried mugs of hot coffee from a small field stove.
She handed one to Brooks.
"You haven't stopped moving since we got here."
Brooks accepted it gratefully.
"Neither have you."
She shrugged.
"Occupational hazard."
The captain took a long sip before looking toward the enormous dock complex beyond their camp.
The buildings seemed almost to be watching them.
Patient.
Silent.
Keeping their secrets.
After half an hour Brooks stood once more.
The coffee cups disappeared.
Helmets went back on.
Rifles were checked again.
The brief rest was over.
He gathered everyone around the hood of the lead Humvee where Lieutenant Parker had spread out a rough sketch of Fringe Cove Docks.
"This is where we begin."
Parker pointed with a pencil.
"The complex is larger than it looked from the road."
He tapped the largest structure.
"Central warehouse."
The enormous rectangular building dominated the middle of the dockyard.
"It'll probably be the most important structure here."
Next he indicated another location farther southeast.
"Large secondary warehouse."
"Almost as big."
He continued marking the map.
"Two smaller utility buildings northwest of the main yard."
Then the shoreline.
"Three piers."
He touched each one in turn.
"North."
"Northwest."
"Southeast."
Finally he circled several symbols floating offshore.
"Several derelict fishing boats."
"And a rusting barge."
Brooks looked around the gathered squad leaders.
"We search everything."
"But we search intelligently."
He pointed toward the central warehouse.
"We'll start there."
The expedition crossed the open yard cautiously.
The enormous warehouse towered over them as they approached.
Its faded paint had long since peeled away, leaving rust-streaked steel exposed to decades of harsh coastal weather.
One of the massive loading doors remained firmly shut.
Lieutenant Parker examined the locking mechanism.
"Heavy chain."
"Still intact."
Engineer Dawson knelt beside it.
He tested the padlock.
"It hasn't been forced."
Brooks stepped closer.
"Can we cut it?"
Dawson studied the thick steel.
"Eventually."
"But not quietly."
"And not quickly."
Another engineer inspected a side entrance.
"Same story."
"Locked."
Windows high above were either boarded shut or too narrow for anyone to climb through safely.
Brooks considered the building for a long moment.
The warehouse clearly deserved a thorough search.
But forcing entry without first understanding the surrounding area didn't feel wise.
Not after the ambush that had greeted them on arrival.
He finally shook his head.
"We'll come back."
Lieutenant Parker looked mildly surprised.
"You don't want to force it now?"
"No."
Brooks looked slowly across the rest of the dockyard.
"I don't like opening one enormous unknown while we've still got half the docks unexplored."
He rested a hand against the cold warehouse door.
"If there's something waiting inside…"
"…it can wait another few hours."
The officers quietly agreed.
Brooks turned back toward the rest of the expedition.
"We leave the central warehouse for now."
He pointed toward the smaller buildings to the northwest.
"We'll clear the rest of Fringe Cove first."
"Then we'll come back."
No one argued.
It matched the Republic's approach everywhere else on the Island.
Patient.
Methodical.
Never rushed.
The search resumed as the soldiers advanced toward the smaller buildings near the northwestern edge of the docks, while behind them the silent central warehouse remained locked tight, guarding whatever secrets had survived two centuries behind its weathered steel doors. Somewhere inside the sprawling dock complex, hidden among abandoned offices, forgotten piers, derelict boats, or perhaps beyond that sealed warehouse itself, the nuclear launch code was still waiting.
Then the narrow service road leading toward the northwestern corner of Fringe Cove Docks was little more than cracked concrete broken apart by decades of frost, saltwater, and neglect.
Captain Brooks raised a clenched fist.
The column halted.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The only sounds were the distant cries of gulls and the rhythmic crash of waves beneath the weathered piers.
Brooks slowly scanned the area one more time before lowering his hand.
"First Squad with me."
"Second Squad, maintain security."
"If anything moves…"
"…I want to know before it reaches us."
A chorus of acknowledgements answered him.
The soldiers advanced carefully toward the two smaller buildings Lieutenant Parker had marked earlier.
Compared to the enormous central warehouse, these structures were modest like old maintenance offices by the look of them. Their walls leaned slightly after two centuries of Atlantic storms, while faded paint peeled away from warped wooden siding.
One building still carried a rusted metal sign.
Dock Maintenance Office
Only a few letters remained readable.
The rest had long ago surrendered to rust.
Parker rested a hand against the front door.
"It isn't locked."
Brooks nodded once.
"Standard entry."
Two riflemen moved into position.
One eased the old door inward.
Its hinges protested with a long, groaning creak that echoed through the empty dockyard.
Flashlights swept across the interior.
Dust danced through the pale morning light.
"No movement."
Brooks entered first.
The room had clearly once served as an administrative office.
Broken desks sat where employees had abandoned them.
Filing cabinets lined one wall.
Several shelves had collapsed beneath the weight of years.
An old calendar still hung crookedly beside a cracked window.
The date remained frozen forever.
October 2077.
Private Dawson quietly whistled.
"It's like nobody ever came back."
"They probably didn't," Doctor Hayes answered softly.
The search began exactly as Republic procedure demanded.
Nothing was ignored.
Nothing was assumed.
Every filing cabinet was opened.
Every drawer removed.
Desk compartments were searched.
Loose floorboards were lifted.
Wall panels were tapped for hidden spaces.
Even the ventilation ducts were inspected with flashlights.
Lieutenant Parker crouched beside an overturned cabinet.
"Nothing here."
Another soldier opened a small steel locker.
Inside sat several raincoats, a rusted lunchbox, and an employee identification badge so faded that no photograph remained.
"No documents."
"No containers."
"No safes."
Brooks looked around one final time.
"Clear."
Nobody looked disappointed.
Not yet.
There was still far too much of Fringe Cove left to search.
The second smaller building stood only thirty meters away.
Unlike the office, this one had once been a storage shed.
The heavy wooden doors had already collapsed inward years earlier.
Nature had begun reclaiming the interior.
Tall weeds pushed through cracked concrete.
Sea grass covered portions of the floor.
A family of seabirds burst from the rafters as the soldiers stepped inside, startling several younger riflemen.
Private Collins instinctively raised his rifle before lowering it again with an embarrassed smile.
"I'll pretend nobody saw that."
Grant chuckled.
"We absolutely saw it."
Even Brooks smiled briefly.
"I'd rather you react too quickly than not at all."
Inside, rows of rusted shelving stretched from one end of the building to the other.
Old ropes.
Broken pulleys.
Fishing nets reduced to little more than tangled strands.
Several large wooden crates had collapsed into piles of rotten timber.
The engineers worked methodically.
Crowbars pried open remaining crates.
Flashlights examined every corner.
One soldier discovered a small locked toolbox beneath a shelf.
"Captain."
Brooks walked over.
"What've you got?"
The lock came apart easily under an engineer's screwdriver.
Inside only rusted hand tools.
Pipe wrenches.
Screwdrivers.
A measuring tape.
Nothing more.
Brooks nodded.
"Keep looking."
Another twenty minutes passed.
Every shelf.
Every crate.
Every storage locker.
Every inch of the little building received the same careful attention.
Finally Lieutenant Parker closed his notebook.
"Nothing."
Brooks looked around the empty structure one final time.
"So much for the easy answer."
Nobody complained.
They simply moved on.
The expedition regrouped outside beneath the gray morning sky.
Brooks unfolded the map again.
"Buildings are clear."
He tapped the shoreline.
"Next."
"The piers."
Three weathered wooden piers stretched into the Atlantic like long fingers reaching toward the horizon.
Each looked capable of collapsing at any moment.
Brooks wasn't taking chances.
"Engineers first."
"Test every section."
"If the wood won't hold us…"
"…we don't walk on it."
The engineers immediately began probing each walkway using long metal poles.
Rotten planks were marked with bright chalk.
Stable sections received approval.
Only then did the search teams begin advancing.
The northern pier came first.
It extended nearly eighty meters into the harbor.
Half the railings had disappeared long ago.
Fishing equipment remained scattered everywhere.
Broken lobster traps.
Collapsed bait barrels.
Rusted anchors.
Private Dawson knelt beside one weather-beaten tackle chest.
Locked.
He forced it open.
Inside rested nothing except decayed fishing line and hooks reduced almost entirely to rust.
Nearby another soldier searched beneath the pier itself using a flashlight.
"Only seaweed."
Grant climbed carefully aboard a small fishing skiff still tied to one side.
The little boat rocked dangerously beneath his weight.
He searched every compartment.
The engine housing.
The fuel locker.
The storage bench.
Nothing.
Lieutenant Parker scribbled another note.
"Northern pier…"
"…clear."
The northwest pier proved even worse.
Large sections had already fallen into the sea.
The remaining timbers groaned beneath every careful footstep.
Brooks ordered only four soldiers onto it at one time.
No unnecessary risks.
The search continued exactly as before.
Storage boxes.
Fuel drums.
Rope lockers.
Hidden compartments beneath maintenance platforms.
Nothing.
Doctor Hayes pointed toward a weathered utility cabinet bolted beside one piling.
"Check that."
Engineer Dawson removed the corroded hinges.
Inside was electrical switches.
Old wiring.
Nothing remotely connected to launch authorization materials.
Brooks sighed quietly.
"Keep moving."
Finally they reached the southeastern pier.
This one had once accommodated larger commercial vessels.
The remains of loading cranes still overlooked the water.
Several cargo containers rested half-open nearby.
One by one they were searched.
Empty.
Another contained ruined shipping manifests.
Another held only rotten sacks of fertilizer.
Private Collins climbed into a tiny harbor office perched at the end of the pier.
He emerged several minutes later shaking his head.
"Nothing except paperwork."
"Anything readable?"
"Not unless you enjoy mold."
Another half hour disappeared.
Eventually Parker closed his notebook again.
"Three piers complete."
"No launch code."
The soldiers gathered near the shoreline.
Nobody seemed discouraged.
Only thoughtful.
Brooks looked slowly across the harbor.
"If it isn't on the piers…"
"…then we check everything floating beside them."
Eyes gradually shifted toward the scattered collection of abandoned vessels resting throughout Fringe Cove.
Some still floated.
Barely.
Others had sunk until only portions of their cabins remained above water.
One old trawler leaned heavily against a pier.
Another fishing boat had settled completely onto the muddy shoreline after running aground decades earlier.
Farther offshore rested an enormous rusting barge.
Silent.
Motionless.
Like another forgotten island.
Lieutenant Parker looked across the water.
"This could take a while."
Brooks nodded.
"It probably will."
"But we're not leaving until we've checked every one."
The searches began with the vessels easiest to reach.
The first fishing boat yielded little.
Broken nets.
Rusted hooks.
A ruined engine.
No hidden compartments.
The second proved much the same.
Private Dawson crawled beneath the cabin floor using a flashlight.
He emerged several minutes later coated in dust.
"Nothing."
Grant climbed aboard another weathered lobster boat tied loosely to an old piling.
Its deck sagged alarmingly beneath his boots.
"Easy…"
Ellis warned.
"I'm trying."
Every hatch opened.
Every locker inspected.
Nothing.
Attention shifted toward the large rusting barge anchored a short distance offshore.
A small inflatable boat carried six soldiers across.
Brooks remained onshore directing operations through the radio.
The boarding team disappeared onto the massive steel deck.
For nearly forty minutes they searched.
Cargo holds.
Crew quarters.
Engine room.
Navigation bridge.
One by one the reports came back.
"Bridge clear."
"Engine room clear."
"Forward compartment clear."
Nothing.
The final report arrived.
"Barge secure."
"No launch code."
The inflatable returned.
Brooks accepted the news without visible frustration.
He simply unfolded the map again.
Only a handful of vessels remained.
Murphy, who had spent much of the morning quietly observing the shoreline through binoculars, suddenly pointed toward the northwest pier.
"Captain."
Brooks looked up.
"What is it?"
Murphy lowered the binoculars.
"There's one boat we haven't checked."
Everyone followed his gaze.
Partially hidden beneath the remains of the northwest pier rested what had once been a single-deck fishing vessel.
Or perhaps a small tugboat modified for harbor work.
Time had made it difficult to tell.
The bow had run aground years ago.
The stern sat lower in the water.
Half the cabin remained above the tide.
The other half had already surrendered to the Atlantic.
Seaweed draped across its railings.
Broken windows stared blankly toward shore.
Lieutenant Parker studied it.
"I almost dismissed it."
Brooks nodded.
"So did I."
He looked toward Dawson.
"Think she'll hold us?"
The engineer considered the wreck carefully.
"Only one way to find out."
A small boarding team approached cautiously.
Water splashed around their boots as they crossed the muddy shoreline.
The wreck shifted slightly beneath their weight but held.
"Easy."
Dawson tested each step before allowing the others forward.
The deck had partially collapsed.
Several holes exposed flooded compartments below.
Inside the cabin, decades of seawater had left everything coated in thick layers of salt and silt.
Private Collins shined his flashlight around.
"Looks like nobody's touched this place in centuries."
Brooks stepped carefully through the doorway.
"Search anyway."
The little cabin contained surprisingly little.
A broken wheel.
Navigation charts dissolved into pulp.
A rusted radio.
Rotten storage benches.
Grant lifted one bench.
Nothing.
Murphy inspected the overhead compartments.
Empty.
Doctor Hayes searched what had once been a tiny sleeping berth.
Only mildew and collapsed bedding remained.
For several minutes…
Nothing.
Then Dawson frowned.
"Captain."
Brooks turned.
"What is it?"
The engineer had crouched beside the floor near what remained of the helm.
He brushed away layers of mud using a gloved hand.
Beneath them…
Steel.
Not part of the boat.
A square outline gradually appeared.
Dawson cleaned away more debris.
Everyone leaned closer.
Lieutenant Parker smiled slowly.
"That's not flooring."
"No."
Dawson knocked gently against it.
"Hollow."
He scraped away another layer.
A recessed handle emerged.
Followed by a combination dial.
Private Collins blinked.
"That's a safe."
"It certainly is."
Brooks knelt beside it.
A heavy steel floor safe had been built directly into the cabin deck.
Protected from casual discovery.
Almost completely hidden beneath decades of mud and debris.
Murphy let out a quiet breath.
"Now that's interesting."
Dawson examined the mechanism.
"Old."
"But not impossible."
Brooks looked at him.
"Can you open it?"
The engineer smiled faintly.
"I'd like to try."
The cabin fell almost completely silent.
Outside, the Atlantic continued washing gently against the stranded hull.
Dawson opened his toolkit.
Small picks.
Precision screwdrivers.
Thin steel probes.
He worked patiently.
Nobody rushed him.
After everything they had already searched, another ten minutes meant nothing.
The old lock resisted.
Years of corrosion made every movement difficult.
Finally Dawson reached for a small bottle of lubricant.
A few careful drops disappeared into the mechanism.
He tried again.
Click.
The dial moved.
Another click.
The tumblers slowly began cooperating.
Private Collins held his breath.
Grant quietly folded his arms.
"Come on…"
Dawson concentrated completely.
One final adjustment.
Then clunk.
The cabin echoed with the unmistakable sound of heavy locking bolts retracting.
Nobody moved.
Dawson slowly looked up.
"I think…"
"…we've got it."
Brooks nodded.
"Open it."
The heavy steel door lifted reluctantly.
Rust protested all the way.
Inside rested a waterproof military document case.
Unlike everything else around it…
It looked remarkably well preserved.
Brooks carefully lifted it free.
The faded government seal remained visible beneath layers of dust.
Lieutenant Parker swallowed.
"That can't be coincidence."
Brooks unclipped the latches.
The waterproof seal released with a soft pop.
Inside lay several carefully protected documents.
One thin sealed envelope immediately caught everyone's attention.
Across its front, in faded but unmistakably readable lettering, were the words:
Nuclear Launch Authorization Code
Silence filled the tiny cabin.
Nobody spoke.
For several long seconds, they simply stared.
After days of searching…
The Harbor Grand Hotel.
The safe room.
The security recording.
The convoy.
The ambush.
The camp.
The systematic search of nearly every corner of Fringe Cove Docks.
It had all led here.
Brooks finally allowed himself a slow smile.
"There it is."
Lieutenant Parker laughed quietly, almost in disbelief.
"I was beginning to think this island was going to keep sending us somewhere else."
Murphy shook his head with a grin.
"Not today."
Brooks carefully closed the waterproof case again before handing it to Parker.
"Don't open it again unless Commander Sico orders it."
Parker accepted it with both hands.
"You have my word."
Brooks keyed his radio.
His voice remained calm, but everyone listening could hear the satisfaction beneath it.
"All stations."
"This is Captain Brooks."
A brief burst of static answered.
"Go ahead, Captain."
Brooks looked once more at the recovered case before speaking.
"Our search is complete, we've found the nuclear launch code."
A smile then spread across nearly every face in the cabin.
______________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-