I watched in awe as our courageous leader Lt. Ridge carried the president's only son, Andrew Richardson over his shoulder. The little snot, destined to be as cruel to the Enclave as his father was, was currently unconscious and helpless in every way. We aided him into the lifeboat and we all sat down. "How many fatalities?" Ridge demanded, putting the sleeping boy down beside him.
We departed from the oil rig. Considering that it was the dead of night and we hadn't alerted anyone of our presence, our escape was squeaky clean. "We were forced to execute two," another rebel reported, "But no fatalities on our side. Thank God they didn't notice us, or it would've been a bloodbath. Can you imagine? Dozens of advanced power armours clashing against each other with the highest calibre energy weapons available? Not to mention, they have Frank on their side. It would've ended pretty damn quick if we woke him up. I heard that Frank-"
"That's enough", Lt. Ridge scolded, cutting the rebel off, "The important thing is that we have him."
We all stared at the boy. He was dressed in a puny mediocre armour suit, probably meant for getting him acquainted to the heavy weight that wearing a full set of power armour entailed. Fresh blood was splattered on the torso, meaning that someone had died for Ridge to obtain the child. "President's kid, eh?" one rebel snickered, "Never seen him up close before. Looks pretty boring to me."
"Now now," Ridge chuckled, the oil rig rapidly fading behind us in the foggy night, "If raised right... this boy could become our deadliest weapon."
By dawn, we reached the shores of California. Being careful to avoid Navarro, we docked a little ways north of it and set up a small camp site. The Enclave was more than familiar with Ridge's thoughts about the Enclave. Once Andrew Richardson was reported as missing, our crew would be the prime suspects.