Old Glory Once Again! (Modern US in Fallout) by t99_2020

Words: 31k+

Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/old-glory-once-again-modern-us-in-fallout.1157551/

(For many in the Wasteland, the mention of the United States can conjure many emotions, some positive, most scathingly negative.

But there is no doubt that the US of the Old World has been extinguished, a dead nation.

Unless...?

Through chance, the US that won the Cold War, has now found itself an entrance to the Wasteland.

While Old Glory explores this alternative reality, the rumors of a Dead Nation prompt immediate action.

Because if there's one thing that's certain? It's that War....

War Never Changes.)

Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting

Mojave Desert

Nevada, US

December, 202X

Throughout his long career, General Monroe had seen much. It came with the job, so to say. From his early days watching over Checkpoint Bravo, to overseeing the first strikes on Saddam's army, Monroe knew that tomorrow could spring open some new variable, with subsequent plans rendered obsolete.

In other words, bullshit ready to make his life harder than it was.

But if the report that he had received was true, all of what he had just experienced would pale in comparison to… whatever the fuck this was.

"General, we arrived."

"Good. Set us down." Monroe ordered the pilot, the helicopter setting down on the landing strip, the rotors silent within a minute. Not a comfortable ride, but it did its job.

Turning his attention to the rest of the base, Monroe narrowed his eyes. Even in the darkness of the early day, Nellis Air Force Base was on high alert. Flight crews moved to and fro, frantically getting the aircraft ready, ranging from fuel to missile pods. In the cockpits, pilots were already seated, immediate deployment imminent.

It wasn't only the birds that were getting ready. In the distance, he could see armed personnel present, already in squads. Under the lights, they stood ram-rod straight, awaiting orders. Most notably, S10 NBC respirators adorned the faces of those present.

From an outside perspective, it would seem that Nellis was readying for war. Unusual circumstances, to say the least.

Nellis, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to be a training facility for advanced cadets. While some movement was expected during major operations, Nellis was relatively quiet. After all, deep in the Southwest, Nellis wasn't like the bases in Korea, where one spark meant war. No hostile force would ever realistically be on American soil.

That was, until now.

It was the reason why he had been scrambled by the Chief of Staff. An unknown force had been engaged by troops nearby, and had raised the alarm. From the initial reports, none of the hostiles had even attempted to slow down, before engaging the patrolling soldiers. Thankfully, no casualties.

And now, here he was, trying to piece together this absolute clusterfuck.

Opening the cockpit door, Monroe was greeted by the post commander.

"General Monroe, we've been expecting you." Colonel Luchart said, a crisp salute following after.

"The same to you, Colonel." Monroe replied back with a salute of his own. "Now then… I've already seen the report, but to say that I'm in disbelief is…"

"Indeed." Luchart's mouth morphed into a grimace, as if he couldn't believe what he saw. Reaching into his pocket, he handed Monroe the folder. "Before the Geiger counters went off the scales, we managed to snap a few pictures for the autopsies."

Walking across the field, Monroe opened the folder, taking the picture out. For a solid ten seconds, he was silent, trying to process what the picture was conveying to him. If it weren't for the serious face that Luchart was displaying, he would have thought it an early April Fool's joke.

Except, it wasn't.

"Jesus… that's one ugly son of a bitch." Monroe uttered under his breath finally.

"Believe me, I didn't believe them before I actually saw…" Luchart paused, trying to find the best word. "Them."

"Zombie. You can call it a zombie."

And on first glance, it did look like one. From head to toe, what looked to be necrotizing flesh was present all over. Strips of skin seemed to be falling off, scarred with a sickly green color, red muscle decorating it. The head was even worse, with only clumps of hair decorating the head. Where there was once a nose, nothing remained, besides a hole. Finally, the eyes were a deep black color, with no sclera present whatsoever.

All in all, a zombie straight out of those horrid B-movies his grandson liked to watch.

But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was what they were wearing that was the most eye-catching.

Even if the elements had shredded the cloth, it was apparent that the zombie was wearing military wares. An olive green uniform, from the looks of it. Going through the photos, Monroe noticed the other zombies wore the same, no matter how damaged they appeared to be. One even was wearing an olive green helmet.

More questions emerged in Monroe's head. Questions that he would have the answers to soon enough. But first, the most vital aspect of this incursion…

"How tight is the quarantine?"

Luchart sighed. "As best as we could. Chemical Corps should be arriving soon, but a good number of personnel were exposed to them."

Monroe wasn't one to be spooked easily, but a chill went up his spine. "Any changes in them?"

"Not as far as we can tell. Doctor Lee has been keeping them under observation in the wing." A ghost of a smile appeared on Luchart's face. "Good news? A solid day has passed without them turning into one of those things."

"Keep them there." Monroe tersely ordered. "If anything happens, lock the base down. Nobody gets in, or out."

Luchart simply nodded, guiding Monroe to one of the hangars, now an impromptu quarantine site. At the entrance, two soldiers, clad in outdated CBRN outfits stood at alert, guarding the entrance.

'Note to self. Request an update on wares if things blow over. Not fucking ready by any standards.'

It didn't take long before both Luchart and Monroe were clad in the same outfits, being washed down heavily with God-knows-what. Probably some compound that hadn't seen the light of day in decades.

With a shudder, the hangar door opened slightly, allowing the two men to enter.

Helicopters and jets remained silent, for fear of the contamination that may have spread. As such, it took a solid minute for the two commanders to get to their destination. Still, it was easy to find where the quarantine site was.

More soldiers, garnered in CBRN uniforms, stood at attention, surrounding the body bags laid on the ground.

And in the center…

"Doesn't make any sense by any measure, but what the hell do I know…" A woman's voice emanated from the white radiation suited figure, carefully examining the teeth of one of the "zombies", carefully using sutures to remove the molars with a sickening crack. Laid on the ground next to the zombie, were an additional six body bags.

"Doctor Haville, I hope that I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Ah! Not at all Colonel." Haville dropped the molar into a container of some sort, before standing up to greet the two. "And I assume General Monroe?"

"Indeed. In better times, I would have done things by the book, but the Oval Office is demanding answers. So…" Monroe pointed to the half-opened body bag. "What the hell are those things, and more importantly, what's the risk assessment?"

Zipping up the bodybag, Haville let out a sigh.

"The good news is that whatever those things are, there's no risk for biological contamination. No viruses, bacteria, prion or anything of that nature."

"Why is that?"

Haville grabbed a yellow instrument to her right, motioning it over the bodybag. Immediately, the Geiger counter shrilled in alarm, as the rapid-fire clicking echoed throughout the hangar.

"Three thousands roentgens. There's enough ionizing radiation emanating from their bodies to neutralize any antigen. Frankly, I'm shocked that they didn't keel over from the rads themselves."

While he didn't see their faces, he could tell the soldiers on standby were very uncomfortable, judging by the way they fidgeted with their weapons. Evidently, Luchart must have felt the same way.

"Not to worry, General. We're doing shifts to minimize the radiation exposure. Next shift should be moving in the next five minutes. We advised Haville to move as well but…"

"Not to worry. The radiation suit is top of the line. I can afford to stay here for a while." Haville responded, rifling through the bag on the ground, next to the bodybag. "It's allowed me to go through them more carefully. And… I think there's a few items that may be of interest to you."

The first item, was for sure, something that was out of the ordinary. With practiced hands, Haville handed the oversized pistol to Luchart.

"I'm not a soldier, but I'm pretty sure they don't produce pieces like this. Like… at all."

"Right on that part. This ain't no pistol I'm familiar with. Let me have a look."

Luchart gave the pistol to Monroe, taking note of its condition. Weathered with age, but no significant wear or tear. Rather than a magazine, a revolver-like cylinder was used. He narrowed, his eye at the numbers and words stamped onto the barrel.

MODEL 6520

Still, every pistol followed the same principles. Careful to not point the barrel at anyone, Monroe clicked the safety on, before extracting one of the bullets from the chamber.

Luchart whistled in response at the size of the bullet. "Definitely not one of ours. One shot from that, and that'll put anyone down."

"Indeed… but it doesn't get to the bottom of this. Anything else?"

Haville simply nodded, before taking another item out of the bag, this time with gentle care.

"At first glance, I thought this was a cruel joke." Haville soberly spoke, giving the dog-tags to the general. "But, I'm not so sure now."

One look, and the General softly cursed.

SMITH

FARADAY

617369679963

O NEG

CATHOLIC

Monroe wasn't one to believe in coincidences. This wasn't just any dog-tag, it was a distinctively American one. Combined with the shredded uniforms, as well as the other dog tags, and the zombies became a variable that was familiar and unfamiliar simultaneously.

One that he wouldn't leave to chance.

"Dr. Haville, when you're done here, run the dog tags on our database. Find if there's a match."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then we can at least cross out one possibility." Monroe handed the pistol back to Haville. "At the very least, we won't have to send letters out."

Cold, by any measures. But as far as he was concerned, these creatures weren't American soldiers, not by any measures. Certainly not to the men who had been attacked by these… things.

It was at this point that the hangar doors shuddered open once again, making every soldier raise their weapons slightly. No other visitors were expected.

"Colonel Luchart!" The soldier yelled, running towards the group. "Urgent message from Patrol Gamma!"

"Slow down there, son." Luchart gestured, allowing the man to catch his breath in the CBRN gear he had on. "Name and rank?"

"Lieutenant Roths, sir!"

'What's the situation then, Lieutenant?"

Roths paused for a moment, looking at the bodybags. Thankfully, Haville had sealed the one she had been working on. "Patrol Gamma has encountered an unknown entity, and they're awaiting further instructions."

"Not hostile?"

"Affirmative. From what I was able to gather, it's… complicated." Roths let out the last words with skepticism.

"How complicated?"

'Should not have asked that question, Luchart.'

Zombies were one thing. Even ones that shouldn't even be living, keeling over from what should have been lethal amounts of radiation.

But the robot in front of him was an entirely different kettle of fish.

"And your name is?"

"AS STATED BEFORE, MY DESIGNATION IS T-5078 GUTSY MODEL C! MR. GUTSY, FOR SHORT!" The robot screamed out loud, giving Monroe the shivers. He swore he could hear the Sergeant calling him a maggot.

It wasn't like any of those new-fangled drones that had become prevalent over Afghanistan. For one, this robot seemed to be able to think for itself. Hovering above the air on a single jet, the olive-colored robot seemed to have no troubles with movement. Three optics attached to the main chassis, complemented the three arms that the "Mr. Gutsy" had. One of which seemed to glow, ominously.

No matter how rusted the metal was, Monroe was sure that this robot was years ahead of what the boys at DARPA could build.

"So, Mr. Gutsy…" Luchart continued, straightening his officer uniform. "Why did you decide to initiate contact with Patrol Gamma?"

"A DELIGHTFUL QUESTION!" The robot responded again, making the soldiers of Patrol Gamma jump slightly. "IN ACCORDANCE WITH COMBAT PROTOCOL CHARLIE ZULU 4, ALL UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ARE TO BE NEUTRALIZED AS POTENTIAL COMMIE SYMPATHIZERS!"

Monroe gave a bewildered glance at Luchart. The technology on display was in sharp contrast to the almost McCarthy-like dialogue being spitted out.

"And why did you decide to talk things out?"

"BEFORE PROTOCOL CHARLIE ZULU 4 COULD BE INITIATED, ONE OF PATROL TEAM GAMMA STATED THAT THEY WERE AFFILIATED WITH THESE GOD-BLESSED US ARMED FORCES!" The robot's optics narrowed. "WHILE I HAD MY DOUBTS, YOUR APPEARANCE INDICATES THAT I AM INDEED IN THE PRESENCE OF US ARMY ONCE AGAIN!"

While he would have preferred the CBRN ware now, Monroe was counting his lucky stars that he had heeded the advice of Patrol Team Gamma. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't worn his General outfit.

It was clear that he wouldn't be getting any answers about the zombies from this propaganda piece. But he still could find out where they were coming from.

"Can you at least tell us where you're operating from?"

"CERTAINLY, GENERAL MONROE!" Without hesitation, the robot turned its back to the men with an alarming speed. "FOLLOW ME!"

As General Monroe followed the robot, he could see that Luchart was motioning the soldiers, their weapons ready at a moment's notice. One nod, and the robot, advanced technology be damned, would be nothing but scraps.

It didn't take long before the group was entering into one of the caves surrounding the Nellis. A click, and the flashlights lit up the cave with no troubles. No further conversations occurred, for fear of pissing off the "Better Dead than Red" robot in front of them.

A few minutes passed, as the group entered deeper into the cave. With every step, Monroe couldn't help but feel that he was walking into a trap…

And then… he saw it.

"You've got to be shitting me." One of the soldiers let out, shock apparent in his tone. "Some kind of fucking Stargate project?!"

While he would have admonished the private at any other time, he would let it slide, for now.

Because even he couldn't help but feel the same way.

In front of him, defying all known laws of physics and gravity, was a portal, about the size of a warehouse entrance, buzzing with energy. But what caught his attention next was more eye-catching.

On the other end, attached to the metal wall, was a flag, one that had seen much, much better days. The white stars were in the wrong positions, with fewer of them in general. But even the damage couldn't hide what it was supposed to be.

"FORGIVE ME GENERAL! IF I HAD KNOWN THAT YOU WOULD BE ARRIVING ALL THESE YEARS LATER, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE THE STARS AND STRIPES SHINED LIKE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE!"

"WELCOME! TO THE FOUR STATES COMMONWEALTH DEFENSE COMMAND!"

AN: After watching the Fallout TV show, this plot idea couldn't help but get stuck in my head.

As a note, I'm not part of the military, so I may be getting stuff wrong. If it helps, you can try to give some advice in the posts down below.

Edit: Song for the Day:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNK0jzAzKQ8