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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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In the passing two days, Caleb did not rest. He knew that the title of Underboss meant nothing if the men didn't fear and respect him more than they feared Bronte. He also begin to insert his influence as the new Underboss in the mob actively.
He used his max level Persuasion and Acting Skill alongside his acquired second level Leadership Skill. The combination was intoxicating. He didn't just give orders, he inspired a terrifying loyalty. He visited the docks, the warehouses, and the back alley gambling dens.
He made sure even the lowest member knew who he was. He learned the names of the street soldiers, asked about their families, and then coldly instructed them on the new standard of discipline. He was fair, but he was utterly ruthless, projecting an image of a man who saw everything.
More importantly, he also personally appeared to organize the men for the incoming attack that will be launched at Cornwall in Annesburg.
He stood in the musty armories of Saint Denis, inspecting the repeaters, rifles, and shotguns the men were taking.
"Clean that action," Caleb snapped at a young soldier, pointing to a Litchfield repeater. "A jammed gun in the woods means a dead man. I don't tolerate dead weight on my operations."
He reviewed the logistics, ensuring they had enough dynamite for the mines, but secretly ensuring they carried lighter ammunition loads than they should have, subtly weakening their sustained fighting capability for the trap he had laid.
He met with Carmelo and the other strike team leaders in his new parlor, pouring them Guido's expensive whiskey while reviewing the map one final time.
"Remember," Caleb told them, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "Speed is our armor. We hit the sorting facility, we plant the charges, we fall back to the tree line. Do not engage the Maxim guns directly. Let the fire do the work."
"We understand, Underboss," Carmelo said, looking at Caleb with a mixture of awe and absolute trust. "We follow your lead."
On the evening of the second day, as the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across Saint Denis, the strike force assembled.
Caleb stood on the balcony of his mansion, looking down at the courtyard. Two dozen of Bronte's finest, most hardened killers were gathered there, their horses restless, their weapons gleaming in the dying light. They were silent, focused, ready to burn an empire to the ground for a man who intended to watch them die.
He walked down the stairs, his duster coat sweeping behind him. He carried his Litchfield Repeater and his twin Navy Revolvers. He looked every inch the general they believed him to be.
He mounted Morgan. The mare snorted, tossing her head.
"Smells like blood and foolish men," she projected.
"Exactly," Caleb whispered back.
He rode to the front of the column, turning Morgan to face the men. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. His Leadership Skill ensured every ear was straining to hear him.
"Tonight," Caleb said, his voice carrying perfectly in the still air, "we end Leviticus Cornwall. We strike at his heart. We take his wealth, and we leave him nothing but ashes and regret for daring to disrupt our boss and our family."
He drew one of his Navy Revolvers, holding it high.
"For the Don! For the family!"
"For the Don! For the family!" the men roared back, a bloodcurdling battle cry that echoed off the stone walls of the estate.
Caleb spun Morgan around, kicking her into a trot. "Move out!"
The column of riders moved through the city streets like a dark, silent river, heading north toward Roanoke Ridge. As they passed the city limits and entered the untamed wilderness, the air grew cooler, smelling of pine and damp earth.
The ride took hours, navigating the treacherous paths in the dark. Caleb rode at the front, his mind sharp, his Perception scanning the tree lines for any early of Cornwall's men doing patrols. He was leading lambs to the slaughter, and he felt absolutely nothing but a cold, hard satisfaction.
As they neared Annesburg, the glow of the mining town became visible through the trees, a harsh, industrial light cutting through the natural darkness. The smell of coal smoke and sulfur grew strong.
Caleb signaled for the column to halt. They were a mile out, hidden deep within a thick grove of pine trees overlooking the Kamassa River gorge.
"Dismount," Caleb ordered quietly. "Tie the horses. We move on foot from here."
The men obeyed instantly, moving with practiced silence.
Caleb gathered the capos around him, kneeling in the dirt and unfurling a small, hand drawn map by the light of a hooded lantern.
"This is it," Caleb whispered. "Carmelo, take Team Beta. Move up the ridge line to the upper shafts. Wait for my signal before you move on the supports."
"What is the signal, Underboss?" Carmelo asked, his face painted in shadow.
Caleb looked up, a grim smile touching his lips. "The sky is going to turn orange. You'll know."
He turned to the rest of the men. "Team Alpha, with me. We're going down into the belly of the beast. Check your dynamite. Check your primers."
As the men readied their explosives, Caleb stood up, looking down at the sprawling, ugly machinery of the Annesburg mining facility.
He could see the Pinkerton patrols, small figures walking the perimeter with rifles. He could see the watchtowers, the menacing silhouettes of the Maxim guns pointed out into the dark.
The stage was set. The trap was primed.
"Alright," Caleb said, his voice barely a breath. "Let's go burn a rich man compound."
Caleb moved first, slipping down the steep, rocky incline that bordered the northern edge of Annesburg. The air here was a toxic cocktail of coal dust, wood smoke, and the metallic tang of heavy machinery. Behind him, Team Alpha, a dozen of Bronte's most vicious enforcers, followed, their dark coats blending into the shadows of the gorge.
With his max level Sneaking Skill active, Caleb was less a man and more a phantom. His boots found the softest patches of soil, completely avoiding the loose shale and snapping twigs that would have betrayed a normal man.
The mobsters behind him were good, seasoned killers all of them, but next to Caleb's supernatural silence, they sounded like a herd of cattle. He frequently had to pause, raising a gloved hand to halt their advance when a heavy footfall echoed too loudly against the rock face.
They reached the perimeter of the eastern sorting facility. It was a massive, multi tiered wooden structure where tons of coal were washed, sorted, and loaded onto the waiting trains. The area was illuminated by harsh, sputtering arc lamps. Pinkerton and Cornwall's guards walked the catwalks, their silhouettes stark against the industrial glow.
"Wait here," Caleb breathed to the capo next to him, a ruthless killer named Silvio. "I'll clear the path to the main boilers."
Before Silvio could even nod, Caleb vanished.
He moved through the maze of stacked lumber and coal carts with terrifying grace. He spotted two Pinkertons standing near a side entrance, smoking cigarettes and complaining about the damp cold. Caleb closed the distance in seconds. He drew his civil war knife, a length of cold steel that caught no light.
With a fluid, lethal motion,utilizing his max level Knife and Hand to Hand Combat Skill, he grabbed the first guard from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth while driving the blade upward into the base of the skull.
As the man went limp, Caleb ripped the blade free and threw it in the same continuous motion. The knife spun through the air and buried itself to the hilt in the throat of the second guard before he could even register his partner's death. Both men crumpled silently to the coal dusted earth.
Caleb retrieved his knife, wiped it clean on the dead man's coat, and signaled Team Alpha to move forward.
They infiltrated the ground floor of the sorting facility. The noise of the machinery running on the night shift masked their entry. Caleb directed his men to the massive, iron bellied steam engines that powered the conveyer belts and lifts.
"Plant them," Caleb whispered, his voice cutting through the mechanical roar. "On the pressure valves and the main pistons. Long line of fuses."
As the mobsters scurried to attach the bundled dynamite, Caleb broke off from the group. He needed to ensure the isolation of the battlefield.
He scaled a wooden trellis on the side of the main administrative office, reaching the roof in seconds. There, running from a wooden pole to the building, were the thick telegraph wires connecting Annesburg to Saint Denis and Van Horn.
Caleb drew his knife and severed the lines. They snapped with a sharp twang, coiling uselessly into the mud below. No reinforcements could be called in from the outside. The slaughterhouse doors were officially locked.
He dropped back down to the ground level just as Silvio finished tying off the last fuse.
"Fuses are set, Underboss," Silvio reported, his eyes wide with adrenaline.
"Light them," Caleb ordered. "Then we fall back to the secondary staging point near the tracks. Get ready to shoot anything wearing a badge."
The matches flared, the sulfurous hiss of the fuses mixing with the hiss of the steam engines. Caleb and Team Alpha sprinted out of the facility, diving behind a line of heavy steel train cars just as the three minutes expired.
BOOM!
The explosion was magnificent. The ground shook violently, throwing several of Bronte's men off their feet. A massive fireball erupted from the heart of the sorting facility, blowing the heavy wooden walls outward into splinters. The sky above Annesburg instantly turned a brilliant, violent orange, illuminating the polluted clouds.
Secondary explosions followed as the pressurized steam boilers ruptured, sending shrapnel tearing through the air like artillery fire.
The signal was given.
High up on the ridge line, a chorus of detonations answered. Team Beta, led by Carmelo, had blown the structural supports of the upper mine shafts. Tons of rock and earth began to slide, crushing the rail tracks and burying the entrance to the main veins.
"Attack!" Caleb roared, drawing his Litchfield Repeater. "Burn it all down!"
The night erupted into total warfare.
The Pinkertons and Cornwall's private guards, initially stunned by the massive explosions, quickly rallied. Alarms blared across the town. From the barracks and the administrative buildings, dozens of armed men poured out into the orange lit streets.
"Over by the trains! Suppressing fire!" a Pinkerton captain screamed, pointing toward Team Alpha's position.
Bullets began to ping and spark against the steel train cars. Caleb didn't flinch. He leaned out from cover, his max level Rifle Skill guiding his hands with mechanical perfection. He didn't just fire, he calculated wind, distance, and trajectory in a fraction of a second.
He worked the lever of the Litchfield with blinding speed. Every trigger pull found a target. He dropped the Pinkerton captain with a shot clean through the chest.
He shifted his aim, putting a bullet through the eye of a guard winding up to throw a stick of dynamite. The guard dropped the explosive at his own feet, wiping out three of his comrades in a red mist.
But Cornwall's defenses were robust. High above, in the reinforced wooden watchtowers overlooking the rail yard, the heavy tarps were thrown back. The sinister, metallic clanking of Maxim guns being loaded echoed over the rifle fire.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
The heavy machine guns opened up, spitting a continuous stream of hot lead down into the yard. The suppressing fire was devastating. Wood splintered, brick walls disintegrated, and two of Bronte's men from Team Alpha were literally torn to pieces as they tried to sprint between cover, their bodies dancing macabrely under the hail of bullets.
"The Maxims are on!" Silvio screamed over the din, pressing himself flat against the train wheels. "We can't move!"
This was exactly what Caleb had planned. The meat grinder was spinning up.
"I'll handle the towers! Keep them busy on the ground!" Caleb shouted, playing the fearless commander perfectly.
He rolled out from under the train car, using his max level Sneaking and his high agility stats to sprint through the shadows, weaving between piles of coal and abandoned carts. Bullets chewed the dirt at his heels, but he was always a fraction of a second faster than their aim.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -