Know Your Enemy

[Rattlesnake Creek, No-Man's Land near the NUSA Border]

Engines howled and screamed within the vacuum of the tunnel, the stale and dry heat choking and depriving them of fresh air. Faint light flickered at either end, one dissipating into darkness as the other grew brighter. The lead vehicle drove erratically, its movements rash and designed to confuse, whereas the pursuit vehicle followed closely with regimented precision, intent just to keep pace.

What the lead vehicle wrapped in Aldecaldos' livery didn't yet know is that it wasn't being chased... it was being driven. Every move of the pursuit vehicle was intentional, aimed at evoking a very specific action... or reaction...

And they were very good at their chosen vocation, the lead vehicle moving exactly as they predicted... and wanted.

The Aldecaldos might have celebrated as they broke out of the infamous smuggling tunnels and into the open air, the pursuit vehicle appearing to break off. This side of No Man's Land was their backyard... but little did they know what awaited them further down the expansive gully.

Before they knew what was in front of them, the ruggedized vehicle caught itself on a high-tensile steel tripwire, the thin strand tearing through the front bumper, fenders, and hood until it hit the solid engine block. The vehicle upended itself, nose digging into the dry-cracked creek bed as it flipped over onto its roof, the crash resounding off into the empty desert all around.

As the dust cleared after almost a full minute of no movement, the two nomads shook themselves awake and fought to break free of their harnesses, crashing against the crushed roof of their car before crawling out through their respective bent and broken windows into the hot sand. Throats were dry, muscles stiff, but as they both cleared the vehicle, they checked each other for injuries before checking their weapons. Even if the pursuit vehicle was gone, someone had set a trap for them... and that wasn't even counting the rapidly inbound Griffin fast-attack drones that roamed the last kilometer on either side of the border.

To illustrate their point for them, they were met with a low whooshing sound as one of the aforementioned drones cleared the sand dunes and descended into the creek bed, maintaining a hovering position with haunting red optics as it sounded the alert. Two large panels separated outward on either side of its sleek black body, mechanical arms articulating as the once-concealed rotary cannons engaged, the barrels whirring to life.

The nomads locked and loaded their own iron, prepared to make their last stand before several loud booms sounded from a near distance. The drone listed to one side from the impact of several shotgun blasts against one of its panels. The optics shuddered before a final shot drew blood in the form of smoke, the drone crashing in the sand as a heavy cloud of dust formed.

The two nomads didn't know who to thank for saving them, but if the last few minutes were any indication of things to come, they would rather have taken their chances with the drone. The lifeless pile of scrap metal fizzed and sparked, the optics going dark as the smoking barrel of the shotgun was placed deep in its guts and another blast rang out.

Holding the shotgun was something resembling a man... although neither nomad was convinced that what they were looking at was actually human. The veiny and vascular melding of flesh and poorly-maintained chrome stood over six feet tall, a ragged steel-toed boot propped proudly on the drone's husk. The man's body was covered in tribal ink and brand scars as he stood shirtless in the morning sun, a tattered and torn tied-off jumpsuit bunched around his waist. His dread-hawked head and every other visible part of his 'ganic skin was painted over with white ash, black marks on his face resembling a skull as he bared his chromed teeth and chuckled, raising the shotgun to hip level before firing off two more rapid blasts...

--

[Meanwhile at Mother Base...]

—BANG—

Smoke rose from the business end of Jackson's revolver, his eyes narrowed and trained down the sights as the shot rang out, followed by a metallic pling as the bullet impacted a steel plate down the range. A series of several more shots erupted from his right, Jayce shouldering a rifle with short bursts as he looked on proudly. She was doing right by her old man, a wide smile plastered on her face as she emptied another magazine before relaxing her stance.

Back inside the hangar, Addie was nursing a beer between laughing fits as she teased Bison, "Wha— you dirty dog! Ya fucked his wife to a finish and then stole the information out of 'is head?!"

"Hey hey... hey!", Bison raised his hands defensively between loading fresh rounds into magazines laid out on the table as he laughed along with Addie, "I was called upon to do a job, and I like to put my best foot forward, okay?"

Jackson turned and joined in, walking back to the table as he interrupted, "Truth be told, Bison didn't do much o' anythin', 'cept get 'is dick wet and take a shower..."

"And I drank some mighty fine whiskey... don't forget that part...", Bison continued defending himself as Jackson chuckled, "Yeah, 'at was some tasty hooch... shame I didn't swipe the bottle on our way out."

Bison's face twisted, almost looking insulted as he rounded the table to an old ragged carry bag, reaching in as he fired back, "And just who the hell do you think I am?"

He slowly pulled his hand free of the bag, proudly holding the very same bottle as he placed it gently on the table, "Best save it for a good occasion, though..."

Jackson allowed himself a vulnerable moment as he approached Bison with arms wide open, embracing the big lug as he praised him, "Ah, what would I do wit'out ya...?"

He took a page from Bison's book, reaching up and leaving a wet kiss on his bearded cheek as they continued laughing among themselves. Doc Strong stood off to the side just shaking his head at the entire affair as he called out, "You know one of these days, you're going to come back with something I can't treat, right?"

Bison winked at the good doctor, "You only live once, Doc... can't let ya be bored."

"I reckon Joshua's no stranger to all kinds o' shit...", Jackson mused as he loaded fresh rounds into his iron one by one, "But good heavens, that swingin' cod you're packin's likely to give me nightmares..."

"As if we don't have enough already between us?", Addie cut back in, locking eyes with Jackson as they smiled at one another.

Nel appeared from around the corner, skin glowing from the afternoon sun as she casually approached the table. Bison took notice first as she surveyed the selection of weapons laid out, settling on a sawed-off magazine-fed pump shotgun. Always the father figure of the group, Jackson's eyes widened as he asked, "Woah, woah, woah... sure Bison's taught ya a thing or two 'bout cleanin' this hardware, but have you ever used it...?"

The girl didn't say a word as she smiled, racking the pump back and sighting that the chamber was clear before she masterfully slammed a loaded magazine in and racked the pump forward again. She kept the barrel pointed down or away from the group at every step of the demonstration as she walked out to join Jayce facing the range. She brought the gun up, firmly pressing the polymer stock into her shoulder as she trained down the sights.

All of the crew watched in stunned silence as their little albatross fired shell after shell at each of the posted targets downrange before doubling back. Her stance was awkward at best, but her handling of the weapon was almost scary to watch. For as small as she was, she didn't move an inch against the heavy recoil of slugs hurtling forward from the smoothbore barrel, a heavy impact of metal against metal ringing out as each shot found its mark.

Even Jayce had eased off the line, staring at Nel with a burning blush in her cheeks. As if she wasn't already turned on just by being around the girl, watching her handle the bucking bronco of a lead-slinger like a toy was... impressive...

Finally, the shotgun clicked empty, Nel loosening her stance as she lowered the weapon and exhaled. Her narrowed eyes softened, and she looked to Jayce before giving an uncharacteristically confident wink with a smirk and a light punch to the arm before turning back. She approached the table again, cradling the stock in the crook of her elbow as she held the iron up, releasing the empty magazine into her free hand. She laid the magazine down on the table, followed by the shotgun next to it as she looked up to Jackson and curled a smile.

Able to breathe again, he chuckled and shrugged his eyebrows as he said, "A'ight... fair 'nough...", and offered her a cold beer. Unsurprisingly, she took a step back, her face twitching as she subtly shook her head. He had to figure she had enough nasty shit pumped in her body through her relatively short life to not have any taste for alcohol or anything else, and he couldn't blame her. Instead, he set the unopened bottle back on the table and offered his hand. She dipped her head as she sheepishly accepted, carefully closing the gap as he wrapped his arm around her, planted a kiss in the crown of her peach fuzz, and whispered, "Good work, kid... 's some fine shootin'."

Even though she liked the warm feeling of another person's caring embrace, she was still awkward about the idea of affection as she just stood there. Jackson picked up the stiffness in her body as he laughed under his breath and let her go. Addie was the first to outwardly tease him as she crossed his path and said quietly, "Wish you'd handle me like that..."

It was just loud enough to leave Bison and Doc Strong standing wide-eyed as they watched her walk and sway her hips all the way to the line. She unholstered a handgun strapped to her ample thigh, a lifelong partner and trusted companion, performing a flashy one-handed press check before she took aim. She gripped with both hands and settled into her stance as she opened fire, one shot every second. Her form was immaculate, regimented, and she didn't flinch at all.

Jackson's cheeks were flushed, a smile crossing his face as he watched her. There was something sensual about the woman in everything she did, be it firing her gun, drinking her coffee, or even just suiting up to go for an afternoon joyride in their warbird. It didn't matter what, it all left Jackson feeling some type of way.

Taking after her old man, Jayce walked back, giving a gentle punch to his arm as she leaned in, "Keep starin', Pa... eyes might get stuck."

He laughed as he corralled his pride and joy into a hug, kissing the side of her head and firing back, "Guess we ain't so different..."

He had a point. Love was in the air as of late, and the tension was felt by everyone present. It would boil over eventually, but when was the million-eddie question...

As if to ruin the moment, as soon as Addie stopped firing, Bison called out to Jackson from across the table, "Hey hoss... we got fast inbound at the front of the base. Two trucks by the looks of it..."

Jackson's face hardened as he cut to Bison, unholstering his revolver as he called all of the crew to hunker down. Bison and Doc Strong both grabbed automatic rifles from the table, slamming in fresh magazines and racking bolts as they joined the boss in walking briskly across the hangar to the far end. A cloud of dust was visible off in the distance, growing bigger as the vehicles got closer.

As he stood under the open hangar door, Jackson zoomed in with his Kiroshis, looking for any identifying marks on the vehicles. Both of his boys stood at the ready beside him, assholes clenched but otherwise appearing calm on the surface. Jackson did a double-take before rolling his eyes as he motioned to both of them, "Stand down, fellas... they's friendly."

A dangerous assumption, but Jackson knew well enough to know Panam would be dead and cold in the ground for at least a week before she ever let someone else make off with her beloved Warhorse... and they'd seen each other only two days prior back in the City.

He released the hammer on his revolver and holstered it, Bison and Strong following suit as they lowered their rifles and switched to safe. He wore a weary smile as he stepped out to meet them halfway, arms out and waving as a laugh crept in.

Sure enough, Panam's truck and another marked in Aldecaldos' colors screeched to a stop on the concrete runway as Jackson approached. It wasn't even a second before Panam nearly jumped out of the driver's seat, losing her balance and almost falling flat on her face. Something was wrong, but that didn't stop the old man from teasing her anyway, "Had I known y'all was payin' us a visit, would've rolled out a welco—"

"No time!", Panam spat as she barreled into Jackson's chest and wrapped him up tight. She was shaking, her breathing uneven as she tried to calm herself. Jackson elected to keep his mouth shut, looking over her shoulder to find Mitch stepping down from the passenger side, a morose look on his face.

Jackson took the chance and asked, "Okay, kid... what's goin' on...?"

He felt Panam fighting with herself before she pulled away and took several deep breaths, "I'm sorry, Jax... for bum-rushing you like this, I really am... but we need your help."

--

Panam sat on the unusually comfortable couch in the middle of the hangar, staring at the floor as she beat herself up. Addie sat dutifully right next to her, rubbing her back and otherwise just silently letting her know a choom was there. Behind them, Mitch, Doc Strong, Bison, and Jackson were conversing over a table with a holographic map showing the Badlands from the NUSA Border wall up to the SatWave power plant. Mitch manipulated the map to zoom in on a familiar spot, "We've had a lot of trouble with our tunnels being overrun lately... I'm sure you heard when you helped us out."

Jackson nodded, keeping his mouth shut and letting his old comrade continue, "Well, we've been making do without, but things have gotten worse... we got word from some friends in Yucca that our outlander boogeymen are outgrowing their camp. All signs point to them possibly making a move to our side of the border."

"...so ya wanted to put eyes on...", Jackson mused as he stroked his chin, eliciting another outburst from Panam, "I knew it was a trap, but I sent them in anyway! Fuck!"

"You didn't send anyone into anything, kid...", Mitch tried in vain to console her, "...they volunteered..."

"Yeah, and now they're dead!", she fired back, dropping her head in her hands, "I swear I'll kill those motherfuckers myself..."

Mitch turned back to the table as he manipulated the map again and explained, "We sent a lone vehicle, two scouts... they picked up what they thought was a tail on the way back. Turns out the boogeymen were waiting for them on the other side."

"Hounds to the hunters...", Doc Strong chimed in as he looked at the map. Mitch nodded and kept going, "We got a last transmission from them before they went underground... then radio silence. Surveillance drone picked this up after the fact..."

He swiped over the map, bringing up an artifacted recording from high altitude of a smoldering overturned vehicle with two corpses nearby. They were stripped naked, bodies torn to pieces and left to rot in the sun. Jackson whistled at the entire grisly scene as he asked, "Guessin' they found somethin' they wasn't s'posed to...?"

Mitch raised an eyebrow as he side-eyed Jackson and swiped away the recording, bringing up a series of images in its place. There were piles of crates marked over with all the usual names... Techtronika, Darra Polytechnic, Militech, and even Constitutional Arms. Parked all around were rugged vehicles covered in Raffen markings, and their purpose was clear. They were safeguarding the stockpile. Jackson crossed his arms and asked, "They know somethin' we don't...? Goin'ta be hard to move that much weight through the tunnels quickly."

"Well, it gets better...", Mitch teased, "We're finding out the Border checkpoint's got more Raffen ink filling the ranks than Militech these days... guess good help is hard to find. And then there's this..."

The map returned to the forefront, Mitch shifting east to what should have been an all-but abandoned old Militech detention center as he swiped up another video. Smoke and dust filtered up into the air, people hard at work as they repaired the building in broad daylight. The perimeter gates were already painted over, and it was clear to whom the area belonged. Still, Doc Strong asked the pertinent question, "Wasn't that place abandoned?"

"Yeah... was...", Mitch chuckled as he pointed to Panam on the couch, "...thanks to our fearless leader breaking out Cass back in 2081 with another crew based out of the City... old Snake Nation cowboy with a really thick mustache... Militech dumped the whole site as a total loss soon after. Wraiths have been squatting there for a couple of years now..."

Strong smiled at the cowboy comment, curious if the leg he helped set a long time ago at Vik's clinic in Watson belonged to the one and the same. Jackson read between the lines as he stared at the video, "Lookin' like Wraiths an' your outlanders might be sharin' a toothbrush 'fore long..."

Mitch nodded, "Seems to be the logical conclusion... the outlanders are moving hardware across the Border, paid-for patrol guards waving them on by without so much as a second look. We have reliable intel says they're planning a big move tonight to this old detention center, just after sundown and passing along Sage Gulch Road..."

"Past the ol' airport...", Jackson finished Mitch's sentence for him with a cheeky smile as it all came together, "...you wan'a ambush 'em, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's the idea...", Mitch smiled back, "...we've got some help from Dakota too, but we're short a few hands... and a warbird."

Jackson placed his hands on his hips and sighed, "Ain't much time to prepare..."

"We're making preparations now...", Mitch assured him, "...laying low at the old airport, but we'll be ready when the time comes."

"And we'll pay... whatever you ask, we'll pay...", Panam called out from the couch as she turned and looked to Jackson with hopeful eyes.

"Sort all 'at out later...", he waved her off as he looked to Strong and Bison. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from their mouths... and Addie's. Both men nodded, and Jackson looked to his favorite Aussie fly-girl as she smiled, "Follow you anywhere, hoss..."

Not one to be left out, Jayce stepped up with Nel only a few paces behind as she asked, "What can we do...?"

Jackson's face contorted as he chided her firmly, "Y'all can stay put an' watch after each other."

She didn't like that answer, and she tried to press her case, "But Pa, I can at lea—"

"No!", her old man cut her off, his voice booming loud enough to leave everyone puckered. His jaw was clenched, not liking one bit having to take that tone with Jayce, of all people. But she was his world, and he would do anything to protect her. He hoped she would understand at the end of the day, but for the moment, her face twisted in frustration and she stomped off. Nel stood for a moment, eyes locked on Jackson before she turned and followed.

As the tension in the air subsided, there were preparations to be made, and no time to make them. Everyone scurried about to do their part as Jackson looked to Panam and said, "Hey... you didn't do anythin' wrong."

She was gearing up to retort, but he cut her off, "Those boys knew what they's signin' up to do, and they did it anyway... ain't a slight on you. It's a testament to how much your people love an' respect you..."

A warm smile crept on Panam's face, even if she didn't feel any better about it, and wouldn't for a long time. Still, she nodded as Jackson walked off and gave his last thoughts on the matter, "Chin up, kid... we're goin'a need that fiery temper."

Fuck. You. Jackson Calloway... and thanks...

--

[Some time later...]

The air was still tense, even though the crew had already departed a few hours prior, Addie at the helm of their aerodyne with the boys in tow. The hangar was empty, save for Jayce working out her frustrations on one of Bison's punching bags while Nel looked on and tried to come up with something she could do to help soothe her choomba's nerves.

She saw too much of Jackson in Jayce, that raw energy bordering on untamed aggression, and she hated that she didn't have anything to offer. At least with the old man, she had a common ground in terms of their collective trauma. Jayce was still pure, for lack of a better word. She wasn't naïve by any means, but thus far she had been protected by all the crew from the horrors of the world around them.

Jayce finally stopped, a last hit landing on the suspended bag as she leaned against it and shouted into the air. She was soaked in sweat, all of her muscles flexed with bruises forming on her bare knuckles as she gritted her teeth. She just wanted to prove that she could handle herself. She wanted to do her part. She wanted all of them to know she wasn't just some weak kid that needed protecting.

In the back of her mind, she knew why her old man had ordered her to stay behind, but it didn't help her temper at the moment to try and be practical. She just wanted to help. Here and now, she felt useless.

Nel read her like an open book, stepping forward as she asked a question, "W-Why does everyone call me an albatross...?"

Jayce scoffed, a smirk crossing her face. She knew Nel was trying to distract her, and she appreciated the effort as she looked to her little choomba and answered, "...asked Addie the same thing, couple o' weeks ago..."

"...and...?", Nel pressed her, genuinely curious. Jayce pulled away from the bag as she sat down on a nearby bench to catch her breath, "Somethin' 'bout an old world superstition... albatross was a sign o' good luck for sailors. Said if one was found, it was to be protected... if somethin' 'appened to it, well..."

She shrugged her shoulders and wiped the sweat from her brow with a small towel as Nel connected the dots, "So they think I'm... good luck?"

Jayce smiled as she looked at Nel, admiring her curiosity as she read between the lines, "You're tryin'a settle me, ain't ya...?"

Nel smiled back as she sat down next to Jayce and looked at the floor between her own feet, "I-I don't need to be protected... but it's important to him... and he trusts you."

She was right, and the lightbulb clicked on in Jayce's head as she reasoned through it all. Jackson wanted to protect his girls, and the best way to do that was to make sure they were together...

Another cheeky smile crossed her face as she looked at her old man's rusted rover sitting off in the distance, and she flashed her teeth as she stood up, looked at Nel and said, "I got an idea..."

Nel could tell where she was headed, and she suddenly panicked at her underhanded attempt having backfired. Jayce didn't give her a chance to protest, grabbing a heavily-modified short barrel rifle from the table and slamming in a fresh magazine. She grabbed an empty duffel bag, loading various small arms... including Nel's favored sawn-off from earlier... as she said, "You're my charge... 's my responsibility to look after ya."

She racked the bolt and turned towards the vehicle as she continued, "I'm goin' out there, so unless you wan'a make a liar out o' me..."

Nel smiled as she finished Jayce's sentence for her, "...I'll just have to come with you..."

Jayce nodded, tossing the bag into the bed of the rover before taking a seat behind the wheel as she looked to Nel, "Any ol' time, Peaches..."

--