Tired Warner propped himself up against a rock in the barren expanse of baked ground. Sweat stung his eyes as his vision grew blurry from pain. Reaching up he undid his helmet letting it hit the ground and spin in place before settling. Looking down he realized the world was just mocking his failure. Green eyes stared at him full of joy, the red headed woman's expression full of happiness heedless of the fifty years that separated them. Heedless of the screams that still echoed in his head mixed with the copper tinge of blood. Overhead the two vultures still circled but drew bolder now that he had stopped. Slowly they dropped altitude to inspect their target. Taking a ragged breath Warner stared up at the sun which was equally merciless as it beat him with heat.<br/><br/>Was it a mistake to have a least a weeks supplies of food,several cans of ammo and camping supplies in Betty? Was it a mistake to bring her on patrols instead of doing it on foot? Maybe but it wouldn't of changed anything in the end. The first few days he quickly learned that foot patrols ate up too much water. It limited the size of the perimeter he could keep safe around the Ark. Unpractical for the long sojourns he needed to do to recon the farther expanses of the wastes.  So he used Betty with caution he usually never drove her into conflict, always keeping to defilade to hide her. Covering her with a tarp at certain points so he had a base camp of sorts which helped him expand his foot patrols. All this was plotted on a map back at the Ark which housed still enough supplies to restock if he got Betty back. Losing Betty was a blow but it wasn't the end of the line, she wasn't laden with everything in the Ark just enough for a few days.<br/><br/>Being only a few miles from the Ark he wasn't expecting to run across an encounter this close, he took the precautions to scout before hand. Never understanding that the thing keeping him from the bikers was Betty, he didn't understand that and figured they just steered clear of him because he never bothered them. He knows now but it's a little late for that. Spitting out a glob of blood one of the vultures landed on the rock and pecked at his blood stained fatigues. Blood had began to run down his leg to drip over his boots leaving a trail. Any other time of the day losing the MRAP would be a temporary setback but Betty was more then a simple MRAP to him. She represented America, untouched and clean in a land of savages.  She was his<em>home</em>, his sanctuary from the harsh cruel bleak wastes that surrounded him. She had become the symbol of what he fought for. Now she was gone being defiled by a bunch of barbarians.<br/><br/>With tired heavy limbs he swatted the vulture away before slumping against the rock. Pulling out a map from one of his armor pouches Warner unfolded it on the dusty dry ground. Several black dots littered the paper and he pulled out his compass with a pencil. Slowly he did some calculation to find his position. The nearest emergency cache he had set up, nothing more then food,a box of ammo and water, was on the way to the hold. They were intended to supply him in case he got lost or something happened to him like today. Enough was there to get him to the Ark but in this case he needed a doctor so they weren't much help. Putting everything back he felt weak now after the effort to preform the math so he just set his head back and looked up at the blue sky. It was there that he began to cry from exhaustion, from fifty years of pent up emotions. It all spilled out of his eyes and down his cheeks.<br/><br/>"Just take me God..." Warner sputtered as the other bird landed at his feet picking at the blood on his boots. "Deliver me from this nightmare...someone. I'm just a man from Texas not the man to save the world. Why did you have to lump this on me? Why not Gunner? Why not Young? Why not men who do this for a living?" His questions were answered by the blowing of wind across the wastes carrying no answers with it. Nothing came to him just the hot sun watched from it's high perch to mock the Marine. "I'm sorry Second Lieutenant Gunner, I'm sorry Maria...I'm a failure...I can't save anyone, not even eight lousy gangsters." The vultures buddy landed on the other side to pick at the half wet and dry blood on his shoulder, the pain barely registered to the barely conscious soldier. Eyelids felt heavy as he ran out of water for tears causing Warner to take another ragged breath. Fighting it he stood on shakily feet woozy from blood loss but Warner began to stumble towards the direction of the Hold. So this was how things were going to end for him, not with a bang but a whimper.<br/><br/><em>Chesty Puller is rolling over in his grave</em>