Fallout:Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion

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I quickly descended behind our lines, making sure to keep the vertibird out of range of enemy fire. I knew that a well-placed shot to the rotors, which were the only part not shielded by armor, could bring us down. A single hit in the wrong place would spell disaster.

As soon as we touched down, I jumped out of the vertibird and connected to the communications of my legionaries. The battle was intense, and the radio operators of each centuria were exchanging crucial information.

"The profligates are dismounting from their vehicles and charging our positions in the village. We've secured elevated positions and are inflicting casualties," one of the operators reported.

"We see them. We have a direct line of fire on them. The light mortars are ready. Where do we drop the barrage?" the other centuria operator asked.

"One hundred meters north of the village entrance," responded the operator.

The light mortars fired, their projectiles tracing a perfect arc before impacting with a deafening blast. The explosions shook the ground, sending up clouds of dust and debris, momentarily forcing the Sundogs to retreat from their charge.

"Good shot! Keep up the pressure, don't let them regroup," I shouted to my operators, watching as the enemy scattered under the impact. The attack had worked, but we couldn't relax just yet.

"Preparing another barrage, awaiting your command, centurion!" the mortar operator informed.

"Hold for my signal!" I ordered, as I sprinted toward the frontlines to join the legionaries in the village. From my slightly elevated position, I could see the profligates still advancing, slower now but with grim determination.

Bolt-action rifle shots rang out from the rooftops, with my men reloading quickly and with precision—just as I had trained them—while the tribals charged recklessly in straight lines. Some Sundogs were cut down before they reached the first trench, but others, armed with pistols and blades, made it dangerously close.

I finally reached the position where Cato, leading my centuria, was holding back the onslaught of the Sundogs. The sound of rifles cracking and the brutal clash of machetes filled the air. Cato, covered in dust and sweat, was shouting orders as he fought to keep the enemy at bay.

"Hold the line! Do not fall back!" Cato yelled, firing his anti-material rifle at a Sundog who had gotten too close, tearing him apart with the immense power of the shot.

"Centurion! You're finally here! We're holding, but these bastards keep coming. Their vehicles are bringing them in waves," Cato shouted when he saw me.

The other centuria, stationed at a higher position, was raining mortar fire on the enemy vehicles on the far side of the village. Explosions rocked the area, sending debris and bodies flying, sowing chaos among the Sundogs as they tried to regroup.

"They're trapped in their own strategy. We've got them right where we want them. If they advance, we have the advantage to wipe them out, and if they try to regroup, the mortars will tear them apart," I said, watching as the Sundog vehicles began to retreat under the barrage of explosions.

"Keep firing! Don't let up!" I shouted to Cato's men. "We hold the line, and they'll cover us with the mortars. If we keep this formation, they'll have no choice but to retreat."

The booming sound of the heavy mortars added to the chaos of the battlefield, each blast hammering down on the Sundogs' heads. The explosions decimated everything in their path—vehicles, men, and any attempt to organize another offensive. The mortar fire from the west was doing its job, breaking the enemy lines with every barrage.

From our elevated position in the buildings, the legionaries kept firing with precision, protecting the main access to the village. The Sundogs, though fierce, were beginning to fall back. Each wave they sent was met with a relentless combination of mortars and bolt-action rifles.

"Don't let up, they're about to break!" I shouted to my men at the entrance.

Cato came up to me, covered in dust and smoke. "The heavy mortars are tearing them apart. I don't think they'll hold much longer."

"Perfect. Keep the men in their positions. I don't want anyone getting cocky. These profligates have a reputation for being unpredictable," I responded, keeping my eyes on the enemy lines. Despite being weakened, the Sundogs still fought with a dangerous desperation.

The gunfire continued, and the explosions gave no respite to the Sundogs. I saw some of their vehicles trying to retreat, but the mortar fire reached them before they could escape. Even so, a few of the more desperate tribals kept charging on foot, only to be swiftly gunned down by our legionaries.

Finally, the tribals, after suffering relentless punishment, broke ranks. Chaos erupted among them as they decided they'd had enough and began to flee, abandoning their precious vehicles that had been destroyed by mortar fire. The area where their transports had been stationed was now a field of destruction, with burning wrecks and bodies scattered everywhere.

We watched as they fled in disarray across the dusty plain, no longer organized, like animals running for their lives.

"They're fleeing, no vehicles! They've got no way to regroup!" Cato yelled, pointing to the disorganized exodus of the Sundogs.

"Cease fire! Conserve ammunition!" I ordered, watching as the battle had finally turned in our favor.

The Sundogs were fleeing, tails between their legs. The dust kicked up by their feet and the panic in their movements made it clear they had been utterly defeated.

"Alright, make sure no profligate is left alive, and begin searching the bodies. I want any useful equipment recovered," I commanded my legionaries as I adjusted my power armor. "Cato, you're with me. Let's check the Sundogs' vehicles, maybe there's something worth salvaging."

Immediately, the orders were relayed over the radios. The legionaries moved quickly, organizing a sweep across the battlefield to recover any valuable gear from the fallen. I knew the Sundogs, though defeated, might have some technology worth salvaging—perhaps parts that could be useful in future battles.

Cato joined me quickly, rifle in hand, as we headed toward the charred wreckage of the enemy vehicles. As we approached, the stench of burnt metal and oil hit us hard, with smoke still rising from the debris.

"Think we'll find anything worth salvaging from this mess?" Cato asked as he inspected one of the wrecked vehicles.

"It's possible. The profligates aren't idiots. Even though they fled, it's likely some of their vehicles had equipment we can reuse. And if not, we can at least strip them for parts to maintain our own vehicles. If we find any intact vehicles, we'll have more capacity to transport loot."

We began examining the wrecked vehicles. Most were too damaged to repair, but I found some electronic components and weapons parts that could be recycled. I also stumbled upon a few crates of ammunition that, miraculously, hadn't exploded during the bombardment.

"This could be useful," I said, hefting a crate of ammunition. "It's not much, but it'll do for training."

"These are just copies of our own vehicles," Cato said with disdain, kicking at a half-melted wheel.

"Paullus's legacy," I muttered, as I began dismantling the engine of another vehicle. "When he lost to these damned tribals, he didn't just bring back defeat—he brought back the shame of having our equipment stolen and copied."

The engine I was working on was a basic design, but functional if repaired. With some modification, we could mount it on another chassis and have an additional transport vehicle ready to haul more equipment to the front lines

Some of my legionaries spread out across the field of bodies, slitting the throats of all the profligates who were still breathing but crippled by the intensity of the fire we had rained upon them. Those who seemed capable of recovery were quickly chained and collared as slaves, ready to be handed over to the slave master.

"We've killed hundreds of these profligates," Drusus said as he approached from his position.

"It was a good massacre, but we can't relax," I replied, eyes still fixed on the bodies. "I want all the captives in chains and ready to be sent to camp. We can't afford to waste time here—too much ammunition spent, and another attack like this could leave us dry. They outnumber us, and that would be a problem."

Drusus nodded and continued overseeing the task. The legionaries worked efficiently, chaining the captured profligates and preparing them for transport.

Our victory had been decisive, with few casualties on our side—just a couple of dead from close combat when a few Sundogs had managed to breach our defenses. Despite their numbers, the Sundogs were a fierce and war-hardened people, used to battle and conflict.

For several days, the skirmishes continued without pause. The tribals fought with fierce resistance in every village and defensive post we encountered as we advanced. Despite our superior weaponry and organization, the profligates managed to ambush and force us back at times, using their knowledge of the terrain to their advantage.

One centurion, too confident in his progress, overextended his unit and was surrounded. When we reached his position, we found his entire group massacred. The bodies of his legionaries were strewn across the ground, with clear signs that they had been ambushed and picked off one by one.

"This is what happens when you underestimate the enemy," Drusus muttered as we surveyed the battlefield. It was a reminder that any mistake in this campaign would be paid for in blood.

"Gather what we can use and bury our dead. Lanius won't tolerate more failures. Next time we face these tribals, we won't be as lenient," I ordered, beginning to oversee the collection of bodies and whatever equipment we could salvage.

The centurion's failure cast a shadow over us, a reminder of the consequences of carelessness. Lanius would not let this go unanswered, and soon we were launching fierce attacks on the remaining settlements, which had been evacuated of their civilian population, leaving only defenders behind.

As our advance continued and we reached larger settlements, the resistance grew even more intense. What started as skirmishes turned into full-blown battles. The profligates, desperate to defend what little they had left, fought with a brutality that made each victory bloodier than the last.

However, the ferocity of the enemy was not what worried me most. It was what happened after each victory. The legionaries, worn out by the prolonged campaign and driven by a thirst for vengeance, became unchained beasts after each triumph. Conquered cities turned into slaughterhouses, with legionaries carrying out summary executions and mass killings. The smoke from burning bodies mixed with the screams of survivors.

Rape became a daily occurrence. Every village conquered, every settlement destroyed, became a scene where the power of the Legion was asserted not just through weapons but through fear and submission. The legionaries saw it as another reward of war, a way to affirm their dominance over the defeated. There were no restrictions, no rules to limit this behavior. Brutality was part of the Legion's daily life, and rape was simply seen as another facet of victory.

It was during this time that I discovered my reputation within the Legion. While other centurions rewarded their men with slaves or indulged themselves after victories, my approach was different. I did not hand out carnal rewards, nor did I allow chaos in my ranks. Word spread that, under my command, such rewards weren't to be expected. Instead, I offered something far more valuable: the chance to live and serve for many more years under Lord Caesar.

My focus was clear: anyone under my command would live longer than those in any other century. I personally funded the equipment of all my men, ensuring they had the best gear money, iron, and ammunition could buy. I didn't offer immediate gratification, but the guarantee that they would walk away from battles with their bodies intact. Every rifle, every piece of armor I acquired for them was an investment in their survival—and my own stability as a centurion.

Because of this approach, my century had become one of the deadliest, and yet the one with the fewest casualties during the three weeks of skirmishes against the Sundogs. While the casualty rate for a new legionary in the Legion often ranged from thirty to seventy percent in their first battles, the rate in my century was less than one percent. My men, better equipped and trained, achieved feats that surpassed veteran decanus from other centuries.

This would all be tested in the coming days. After weeks of attacks and retreats, the Sundogs had finally gathered all their forces. Lanius, with his ruthless strategy, had provoked them into leaving their hiding places and facing us for a final, decisive battle in the open field. This wouldn't be another skirmish or ambush—this time, both armies would meet face to face.

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