The only time my party actually killed the damned thing was one that just returned from the Death Valley trip. So they're all decked out in Power and Pseudochitinous Armour, wielding Proton Axes and not much else (because fun as it was, most of them ran out of ammo by the end), and it felt like the ending of a Hollywood movie -- when the protagonist that had previously failed to overcome some obstacle that used to feel impossible for him/her returns to his/her hometown, and gives it a good push and discovers that it's no longer so impossible.
It was so cathartic, I almost cried.
(Also, for all the years I've been playing Wasteland, it only happened three years ago)
War doesn't determine who is right. War determines who is left.