Veiled Imperfections

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"Centurion Valerianus, this is Legate Gaius. Proceed with the bombardment of Camp Forlorn Hope. I want it leveled by tomorrow. You are authorized to use as much mortar ammunition as deemed necessary. I repeat, all available mortar ammunition. And if you find it prudent, use artillery. Understood?"

"Roger, Legate," Valerianus replied through the static on the radio.

I switched channels. "Centurion Aelianus, hold positions. I repeat, hold positions. Ensure your men do not advance beyond the established trenches. I want everyone in place, ready for further orders."

"Understood, Legate," Aelianus responded, his voice steady on the other end of the radio.

The radio crackled again.

"Legate Gaius, this is Centurion Lucullus. The profligates' defenses are crumbling. Now is the time to strike while they're disoriented. Requesting permission to advance."

I took a moment before responding. "Negative, Centurion Lucullus. Your orders are to hold position and await reinforcements from Centurion Marcellus. Repeat, hold position. Your cohort has been in combat for too long and is low on ammunition. We won't risk our men under these conditions. Proceed with waiting."

A brief silence followed on the line, then a "Roger, Legate. We will hold the position."

My orders were clear and precise: unrelenting bombardment of Novac, a steady push against Nipton, and a continuous advance northward. Each of these directives was relayed to my centurions, who executed my will on the battlefield as extensions of myself. The cohesion of the legions was absolute, every move calculated, every advance planned to weaken and exhaust the NCR without granting them any reprieve.

I had commissioned a detailed map of the Mojave, and each time I issued an order, I moved my strategic pieces across that map, maintaining absolute control over every active front. Thanks to this system, no detail escaped my oversight, and the Legion coordinated its attacks with precision few armies could match. The reports arriving at my desk detailed not only the movement of my own forces but also those of the NCR, thanks to a network of spies we had embedded within their ranks. One of those agents, an officer named Picus with the rank of captain in the NCR, provided us with critical intelligence. Every three days, Picus sent a detailed report on the NCR's actions and plans against us, allowing us to anticipate and counter their attempts to regain ground.

My strategy of manipulating the media to undermine General Lee had been a resounding success. The propaganda and constant coverage of casualties had sown discord in the NCR. Protests erupted in their major cities, and pacifist senators raised their voices, calling for negotiated peace or even total withdrawal from the Mojave. Public pressure on Lee struck indirectly at his leadership, affecting morale more than the war itself. Many NCR citizens now viewed the Mojave as a meat grinder, a cursed region where their sons were sent, never to return.

While these elements didn't decide the war in a tactical sense, they impacted the NCR soldiers' morale, which was a valuable tool. Public resistance to the war meant fewer reinforcements, fewer soldiers willing to face the Legion, and, ultimately, fewer parents willing to sacrifice their children for an increasingly inhospitable territory.

"A full ammunition convoy destroyed, Legate Gaius," Vulpes announced in his calm and calculating tone, entering my tent without making a sound, as always. "Though it cost the lives of three of my more expendable frumentarii."

I kept my gaze on the map spread before me, every marked point representing a planned action across the Mojave's vast expanse. The destruction of an NCR ammunition convoy was undoubtedly a victory.

"As expected," I replied without looking up. "With each calculated strike, we bring the NCR closer to exhaustion. Your frumentarii knew the cost, and they fulfilled their purpose with honor."

Vulpes nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. "The NCR's morale is at a critical point, Legate. Protests in their cities and divisions in their Senate are hindering their ability to react quickly. The pressure on General Lee increases by the day."

"Although it's anticipated that soon, the general will receive thousands of reinforcements and advanced equipment in the coming weeks," Vulpes calmly reported, "Kimball intends to throw everything against the Legion."

A slight smile crossed my face as I analyzed the implications. "That would be ideal," I replied. "With so many new troops, it will take time to organize them effectively. Our spies will have the opportunity to embed themselves within their ranks and, with some luck, infiltrate key positions. It's only a matter of time before our advantage becomes apparent."

Vulpes nodded, grasping my intention to continue preparing for the final phase of the campaign. "Then, shall we continue securing the routes toward New Vegas?"

"Yes," I replied. "By next week, our forces should control all access points to the city. Once it's surrounded, we'll only have to wait patiently for the return of Legate Lanius. With his arrival, the fall of New Vegas will be inevitable."

Vulpes was about to deliver the latest report from our spies when the entrance to the tent opened. Lucius, the Praetorian Prefect, entered with his usual solemn and calculated authority, his martial stance underscoring the seriousness of his message.

"Lord Caesar wishes to know in detail how the front is progressing," Lucius said, his voice firm and respectful, conveying the importance of this update.

With a gesture, I invited him to approach the map, where all the Legion's positions and movements in the Mojave were plotted. It was evident that Caesar was tracking every step of this campaign, and I knew that my words would be carefully judged.

Lucius observed me with a penetrating gaze, reaffirming the order. "Lord Caesar wishes to hear this information personally, Legate."

I nodded, fully aware of what this request implied. Caesar desired a firsthand update, and any hesitation would be seen as a lack of confidence in our strategy. I glanced at Vulpes, who remained silent, understanding his report would have to wait until after my audience with Caesar.

"Very well, Lucius," I replied. "I'll meet with Caesar immediately."

Lucius gave a slight nod and followed me to Caesar's command tent, the place where the leader of the Legion himself directed the Mojave campaign, observing our every move with the precision of a chess master, calculating each next step.

Upon entering, Caesar sat before his own map, eyes fixed on the marked points and reports laid out on the table. The lamp light cast shadows that accentuated his severe, calculating expression.

"Lord Caesar," I said, bowing in respect, "I bring a detailed report on the situation at the front."

Caesar looked at me expectantly. "Proceed, Gaius. Tell me how our campaign progresses."

Calmly, I outlined each aspect of the operation. "Our forces are already securing the roads to New Vegas, and we expect to control all access points within a week. The NCR, though receiving reinforcements, is struggling with organization due to the influx of inexperienced troops. This delays their response capability, creating a window for our spies, embedded in their ranks, to spread misinformation."

Caesar nodded slightly, his face impassive as he absorbed each word. I continued.

"Additionally, we've begun strategic bombardments on key points like Forlorn Hope, weakening their resupply capabilities. The frumentarii have targeted several supply convoys, destroying them before they could reach their destinations. Protests in NCR cities and pressure on General Lee increase daily. Our spies have sown rumors of internal conflicts and distrust in NCR command, further weakening their morale."

Caesar leaned forward, a faint smile of satisfaction appearing. "Excellent, Gaius… soon I will have my Rome, the jewel in the desert…" he said, trailing off, his gaze fixed on the empty air, as if his thoughts had drifted to a place unreachable to others. He only blinked occasionally, his intense expression frozen, captivated by that vision.

I watched in silence, but when I glanced at Lucius, I noticed something that caught my attention: a faint shadow of concern on his face. His posture remained firm and martial, but his eyes betrayed unease. Seeing Caesar so lost in thought, almost disconnected from the present, had touched a nerve in the praetorian prefect.

I moved closer to Caesar with a mix of alarm and urgency. "Oh, shit…" I muttered, unable to hold back the reaction at seeing him in that state.

"Watch your mouth! You're in the presence of Lord Caesar," Lucius murmured, a mix of anger and fear in his voice as he saw our leader in that strange pause, trapped in distant thoughts.

Without wasting time, I began removing my power armor. Caesar, as if finally returning to himself, blinked and looked at me with confusion, the vacant intensity in his gaze fading.

"Where…? I will rule and bring order to… what are you doing, Legate?" he asked, his tone reflecting surprise as he saw me, visibly concerned and so close to him, stripped of my armor.

"Lord Caesar," I replied, steadying my voice, "I believe we should speak alone." I cast a firm glance at the praetorians around us, knowing the last thing we needed was for this conversation to be misinterpreted or to fuel rumors.

Caesar glanced around, his gaze scanning the faces of his protectors before nodding slightly. "Everyone, leave us," he commanded, his tone regaining something of its usual strength. The praetorians exchanged quick looks among themselves but obeyed without hesitation, leaving the tent in reverent silence, leaving only Lucius, Caesar, and me.

"How long have you had these mental lapses?" I asked seriously, as I took a small flashlight from one of my compartments and turned it on, shining it directly into Caesar's eyes to observe his pupils and any abnormal signs.

Caesar squinted, visibly irritated. "What is this about, Gaius? My mind is as clear as ever."

"With all due respect, Lord Caesar," I insisted, "if we want this vision of Rome in the desert to come true, we need you to be in the best possible condition." Lucius watched silently, his concern evident yet respectful of the moment.

Lucius finally spoke with cautious restraint. "Lord Caesar has had these lapses somewhat frequently in recent months. At first, we thought it was just the exhaustion of the campaign… but they seem to be occurring more often."

Caesar leaned back in his seat, exhaling a deep sigh, as if releasing a burden he'd been carrying in silence. "Very well, let's state the obvious," he began, his tone so direct that neither Lucius nor I dared to interrupt him. "There is something wrong with me. The headaches started a couple of months ago. At first, they weren't too severe… but now they come frequently, and they are… debilitating."

He paused, passing a hand over his forehead as if recalling the pain made him relive it in that very moment. "In the past two weeks, my left leg has been dragging. It's stiff, hard to move. And you've both seen me disconnect. Lucius says I stare into the void, blink a few times, and then continue speaking as if nothing happened." He looked at us with a mixture of resignation and determination in his eyes. "So, what's the diagnosis?"

Lucius and I exchanged a glance, and the weight of his words hung in the air. I cleared my throat, aware of the gravity of the situation. "Lord Caesar, based on what you've described, it could be a growth in your head—a tumor—that's pressing on certain areas of the brain and causing these symptoms."

Caesar gave a slight smile, though his eyes reflected a blend of defiance and acceptance. "Congratulations, you've just appointed yourself my personal doctor as well as my legate. Do you have what you need to treat my condition?"