A series of short posts about what happens when you unfreeze your dad a day early.
The Commonwealth Wars
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Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
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Author's Note: This is a timeline intended to give some rough backstory for Fallout in general and 4 specifically. It's mostly canon stuff.
----
April 2052: Driven by a desperation for increasingly limited resources, Europe and the Middle East are embroiled in a general war.
July 2052: Increasingly less relevant as the world order decays under the weight of resource crises, the United Nations is declared disbanded.
December 2053: As part of the ongoing resource war, Tel Aviv is destroyed by a nuclear weapon, ascribed to a terrorist organization.
January 2054: With the nuclear taboo broken, a limited nuclear exchange occurs between the European Commonwealth and the Middle Eastern Alliance. The war would continue until 2060.
February 2054: With nuclear armageddon now firmly entrenched as a realistic possibility, the US government begins Project Safehouse - the construction of vaults intended to shelter at least some of the mainland US population in the event of nuclear war, for as long as needed. Construction of the new vaults will start in late 2054.
January 2066: Chinese forces begin an invasion of Alaska, sparking a full-scale war between China and the United States, in order to secure the remaining oil reserves.
February 2071: Sergeant Nathan Grey ends up in command of the First Platoon of the 108th Infantry Regiment's Fox Company after heavy Chinese bombardment kills all higher ranking officers. For meritorious service and rallying Fox Company into a counterattack that bought time for other forces to consolidate and push the Chinese back, Nathan Grey is sent to OCS. He would return to the 108th as Second Lieutenant Grey.
August 2071: The 108th Regiment is rotated off the front and sent to security duties on the Alaskan pipeline. Fox Company quickly becomes the preferred formation in the regiment to use for anti-saboteur duty due to their high state of readiness and willingness to engage in any task, an attitude encouraged by both their official commander - Captain Nora Smith - and the 'new' Second Lieutenant. Nathan Grey is swiftly made First Lieutenant and closely regarded as Smith's favorite 'problem solver' for his dedication to troop discipline.
June 3rd, 2072: Official annexation of Canada is ordered. US Army and Marines elements already present along the Alaskan pipeline find themselves in full military combat.
June 12th, 2072: The 108th Regiment, newly re-equipped with T-51 powered armor, punches through Canadian lines and begins causing havoc in the enemy rear, with Captain Nora Smith leading Fox Company in particular in a vicious campaign against enemy logistics that is credited with breaking the back of the Canadian counteroffensive. Captain Nora Smith credits Lieutenant Grey in her reports.
August 2072: The 108th Regiment is rotated off the front once again, due to attrition. Due to this same attrition, Captain Smith has been made Major and given charge of the 3rd Battalion of the Regiment, with Lieutenant Grey likewise made Captain of Fox Company. Both feature in propaganda reels and 'enjoy' numerous rumors. Only one of these - that they are lovers - has a basis in fact.
November 2072: The 108th Regiment is assigned to anti-partisan duties, a task it would remain utilized for for its remaining service in Canada.
January 2073: Major Nora Smith suffers significant injury due to a partisan IED and is honorably discharged. The 3rd Battalion is placed under the command of Major Thomas Hedge. Fox Company remains under 'Nate the Rake's' (an ironic nickname given his scrupulous habits and teetotallery) command.
February 2073: Nora Smith begins studying for her law degree while in recovery. She takes accelerated coursework, and excels.
March 2073: Incidents of 'indiscipline' begin to rise among the 108th Regiment in response to continued partisan activity and attacks by disorganized Canadian regular forces. Fox Company in particular shows a predilection for reprisals and preemptive strikes that, in normal circumstances, would be considered concerning. Major Thomas Hedge responds with standard punishments and takes credit for victories regardless.
August 2073: Major Thomas Hedge is found dead after ordering a Fox Company sergeant accused of knowingly causing civilian casualties to base pending investigation. His death is ascribed to partisan activity. Captain Nathan Grey is breveted into his position by Colonel Leavenworth, in the hopes that a well-liked officer can maintain discipline.
December 2073: Incidents in the 3rd Battalion drop back to typical wartime levels. Attacks by partisan forces begin to increase, however, and the 108th Regiment as a whole displays increasingly ruthlessness.
March 2074: The United States begins an invasion of mainland China.
February 2075: After a long and cold winter, the 108th Regiment begins a campaign of targeted reprisals against local hubs of partisan activity, with the 3rd Battalion leading the charge.
April 2075: Major Nathan Grey is filmed supervising the execution of a partisan commander in Vancouver. The footage will later be used for domestic consumption.
May 2075: Several members of Fox Company, Nathan Grey among them, are finally discharged from service with honors. Due to a close personal relationship, many choose to settle down in the Boston area. Nathan Grey confirms what everyone in the company already knew by marrying Nora Smith later that month. He quickly finds work in construction.
January 2076: Sergeant Shaun Macabee, one of Grey's close subordinates and friends from the Fox Company days, dies of complications from stomach surgery.
August 4th, 2076: Nathan Grey responds to the realization that he will become a father in eight months by passing out in front of his wife.
January 2077: Chinese forces finally retreat from Anchorage, Alaska.
May 2077: Nathan and Nora Grey's son, Shaun, is born.
October 23rd, 2077: The Chinese government, facing a losing war on their home soil, elects to resort to nuclear bombardment of the United States. The United States responds, and the world ends in fire. The Vaults created by Project Safehouse prove for many to be not at all what was promised, as the Vaults were instead constructed as testing grounds for the deranged minds of the American military-industrial complex. One of these Vaults, Vault 111, takes in Nathan Grey, Nora Grey, and Shaun Grey. It is a cryogenics project, intended to assess the effects of deep freezing and transmit those results to Vault Tec higher-ups for their own use. All three, along with dozens of neighbors and friends, are left in suspended animation. The world outside moves on, as survivors band together and try to live another day in a world scarred by nuclear war and unleashed biological weapons.
2110: Formed from remnants of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology staff, the underground Institute is officially declared. Focused on continuing technological research in secret, they remain hidden from the gradually arising post-war order. Despite those efforts, rumors of their existence quickly spread.
2140: Drawing from pre-War history of the Boston area, the first groups of 'Minutemen' are formed from cooperatively-minded survivors, homesteaders, and scavengers. Dedicated to mutual self-defense, they quickly grow as a means for communities to band together in the face of the monsters of the new world. They adopt military ranks - a leading 'General' with independent 'colonels' running individual contingents - but this has little to do with the prewar meaning of those ranks.
2178: The Institute begins experimenting with the Forced Evolutionary Virus as a means of creating artificial humans. Due to the pervasive radiation exposure of human 'samples' (both people and corpses) taken, the only results of Super Mutants. These are released on the surface, and quickly become a significant threat.
2180: The Minutemen defend Diamond City, the largest and most prosperous of the Boston townships, built in the ruins of Fenway Park, from a Super Mutant invasion. This catapults the movement into prominence, and they quickly establish a proper headquarters in the ruins of Fort Independence, named, somewhat obviously, The Castle.
2182: The Minutemen begin to use their influence in an attempt to form a proper governing coalition among the Commonwealth's settlements, including the Institute. They are met with significant roadblocks, not only in communication but in the complex, decades-long rivalries and histories between tribes, cities, and even some part-time mercenary and bandit groups.
2186: The Institute, tiring of the deadlock, and under the auspices of a newly appointed and hawkish Director, instigates the CPG Massacre. Initially intended to scare the delegates into compliance, it instead degenerates into a firefight that claims the lives of all present. The Minutemen lose significant prestige for sponsoring the failed government.
2227: The Institute, having run into a roadblock in their cloning and creation of artificial life, decide to utilize Vault 111 and its frozen denizens. Seeking completely untouched DNA, they choose to abduct Shaun Grey. Due to the quick temper of their agent, Conrad Kellogg, Nora Grey is killed. Nathan Grey, able to observe this, is put back on ice as a backup.
2229: An early prototype synth intended to mimic a human commits a massacre in Diamond City, before being gunned down by security personnel. The realization that synths can successfully mimic humans perfectly, rather than being the obviously mechanical models seen previously, causes a region-wide wave of paranoia and mistrust to grow.
2240: The Castle is severely damaged and its garrison massacred by a Mirelurk Queen. This causes the Minutemen to lose region-wide coordination, especially with continued refusal by Diamond City to support the movement, seeing it as a threat to their independence. This begins a slow decline under a series of weak generals.
2247: Shaun Grey, raised in the Institute his entire life, earns his first doctorate.
2255: The Brotherhood of Steel, a post-war group of power-armor-utilizing soldiers determined to safeguard and suppress dangerous technologies, arrives in the ruins of Washington DC as an expedition led by Owen Lyons. They set up operations in the remnants of the Pentagon and begin a protracted war against the Super Mutants there (created by experiments in Vault 87).
2257: Shaun Grey is appointed Director of the Institute. Under his tenure, the Institute begins far more aggressive infiltration and experimentation than ever before.
2266: The modern incarnation of the organization known as the Railroad comes into being. Initially intended to focus on freeing all slaves, they found themselves attacked by the Institute for unknown reasons, with this latest massacre leaving only two survivors, who reformed the Commonwealth branch into a far more clandestine and secretive group focused on the Institute and their synths - namely, freeing them from Institute control.
2270: The Brotherhood in DC splits as Elder Owen Lyons refuses to dedicate resources towards securing technology, instead being more concerned with the Super Mutant threat and the protection of the locals. The Brotherhood Outcasts believe themselves to be the true Brotherhood, working solely to keep technological might focused firmly in their hands, and away from those who might start another nuclear conflict.
2277: The Brotherhood presence in DC, despite decades of grinding warfare and being forced to refill its ranks with local Wastelanders, manages to triumph over a group proclaiming itself to be the re-established US government, known as the Enclave, and to reactivate a water purifier which could cleanse the Potomac River of radiation. The Brotherhood subsequently begins to entrench its hold over the DC area.
2281: The Brotherhood Outcasts are re-integrated under the young Elder Maxson. With his ranks swelled and the stolen materiel and expertise returned, the Brotherhood can look towards expansion.
2282: General Becker dies. Minutemen operations are sufficiently disturbed by this point that they essentially collapse entirely as individual colonels break off with their own groups. The Minutemen essentially cease to exist as a coherent organization, with most members returning to full-time farming or scavenging.
September 2287: The last active Minutemen contingent, under Colonel Ezra Hollis, falls during the defense of the town of Quincy, which is massacred by Gunner mercenaries. Minuteman Preston Garvey rallies remaining survivors and townsfolk and flees north. His fellow militiamen and settlers are picked off one by one over the next month, until only he, three other Minutemen, and four traumatized survivors remain.
October 9th, 2287: The Institute sends a signal to Vault 111 a day ahead of schedule, overriding the cryo chambers. After over two hundred years of continuous operation, only one remains active: the chamber containing Nathan Grey.
----
April 2052: Driven by a desperation for increasingly limited resources, Europe and the Middle East are embroiled in a general war.
July 2052: Increasingly less relevant as the world order decays under the weight of resource crises, the United Nations is declared disbanded.
December 2053: As part of the ongoing resource war, Tel Aviv is destroyed by a nuclear weapon, ascribed to a terrorist organization.
January 2054: With the nuclear taboo broken, a limited nuclear exchange occurs between the European Commonwealth and the Middle Eastern Alliance. The war would continue until 2060.
February 2054: With nuclear armageddon now firmly entrenched as a realistic possibility, the US government begins Project Safehouse - the construction of vaults intended to shelter at least some of the mainland US population in the event of nuclear war, for as long as needed. Construction of the new vaults will start in late 2054.
January 2066: Chinese forces begin an invasion of Alaska, sparking a full-scale war between China and the United States, in order to secure the remaining oil reserves.
February 2071: Sergeant Nathan Grey ends up in command of the First Platoon of the 108th Infantry Regiment's Fox Company after heavy Chinese bombardment kills all higher ranking officers. For meritorious service and rallying Fox Company into a counterattack that bought time for other forces to consolidate and push the Chinese back, Nathan Grey is sent to OCS. He would return to the 108th as Second Lieutenant Grey.
August 2071: The 108th Regiment is rotated off the front and sent to security duties on the Alaskan pipeline. Fox Company quickly becomes the preferred formation in the regiment to use for anti-saboteur duty due to their high state of readiness and willingness to engage in any task, an attitude encouraged by both their official commander - Captain Nora Smith - and the 'new' Second Lieutenant. Nathan Grey is swiftly made First Lieutenant and closely regarded as Smith's favorite 'problem solver' for his dedication to troop discipline.
June 3rd, 2072: Official annexation of Canada is ordered. US Army and Marines elements already present along the Alaskan pipeline find themselves in full military combat.
June 12th, 2072: The 108th Regiment, newly re-equipped with T-51 powered armor, punches through Canadian lines and begins causing havoc in the enemy rear, with Captain Nora Smith leading Fox Company in particular in a vicious campaign against enemy logistics that is credited with breaking the back of the Canadian counteroffensive. Captain Nora Smith credits Lieutenant Grey in her reports.
August 2072: The 108th Regiment is rotated off the front once again, due to attrition. Due to this same attrition, Captain Smith has been made Major and given charge of the 3rd Battalion of the Regiment, with Lieutenant Grey likewise made Captain of Fox Company. Both feature in propaganda reels and 'enjoy' numerous rumors. Only one of these - that they are lovers - has a basis in fact.
November 2072: The 108th Regiment is assigned to anti-partisan duties, a task it would remain utilized for for its remaining service in Canada.
January 2073: Major Nora Smith suffers significant injury due to a partisan IED and is honorably discharged. The 3rd Battalion is placed under the command of Major Thomas Hedge. Fox Company remains under 'Nate the Rake's' (an ironic nickname given his scrupulous habits and teetotallery) command.
February 2073: Nora Smith begins studying for her law degree while in recovery. She takes accelerated coursework, and excels.
March 2073: Incidents of 'indiscipline' begin to rise among the 108th Regiment in response to continued partisan activity and attacks by disorganized Canadian regular forces. Fox Company in particular shows a predilection for reprisals and preemptive strikes that, in normal circumstances, would be considered concerning. Major Thomas Hedge responds with standard punishments and takes credit for victories regardless.
August 2073: Major Thomas Hedge is found dead after ordering a Fox Company sergeant accused of knowingly causing civilian casualties to base pending investigation. His death is ascribed to partisan activity. Captain Nathan Grey is breveted into his position by Colonel Leavenworth, in the hopes that a well-liked officer can maintain discipline.
December 2073: Incidents in the 3rd Battalion drop back to typical wartime levels. Attacks by partisan forces begin to increase, however, and the 108th Regiment as a whole displays increasingly ruthlessness.
March 2074: The United States begins an invasion of mainland China.
February 2075: After a long and cold winter, the 108th Regiment begins a campaign of targeted reprisals against local hubs of partisan activity, with the 3rd Battalion leading the charge.
April 2075: Major Nathan Grey is filmed supervising the execution of a partisan commander in Vancouver. The footage will later be used for domestic consumption.
May 2075: Several members of Fox Company, Nathan Grey among them, are finally discharged from service with honors. Due to a close personal relationship, many choose to settle down in the Boston area. Nathan Grey confirms what everyone in the company already knew by marrying Nora Smith later that month. He quickly finds work in construction.
January 2076: Sergeant Shaun Macabee, one of Grey's close subordinates and friends from the Fox Company days, dies of complications from stomach surgery.
August 4th, 2076: Nathan Grey responds to the realization that he will become a father in eight months by passing out in front of his wife.
January 2077: Chinese forces finally retreat from Anchorage, Alaska.
May 2077: Nathan and Nora Grey's son, Shaun, is born.
October 23rd, 2077: The Chinese government, facing a losing war on their home soil, elects to resort to nuclear bombardment of the United States. The United States responds, and the world ends in fire. The Vaults created by Project Safehouse prove for many to be not at all what was promised, as the Vaults were instead constructed as testing grounds for the deranged minds of the American military-industrial complex. One of these Vaults, Vault 111, takes in Nathan Grey, Nora Grey, and Shaun Grey. It is a cryogenics project, intended to assess the effects of deep freezing and transmit those results to Vault Tec higher-ups for their own use. All three, along with dozens of neighbors and friends, are left in suspended animation. The world outside moves on, as survivors band together and try to live another day in a world scarred by nuclear war and unleashed biological weapons.
2110: Formed from remnants of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology staff, the underground Institute is officially declared. Focused on continuing technological research in secret, they remain hidden from the gradually arising post-war order. Despite those efforts, rumors of their existence quickly spread.
2140: Drawing from pre-War history of the Boston area, the first groups of 'Minutemen' are formed from cooperatively-minded survivors, homesteaders, and scavengers. Dedicated to mutual self-defense, they quickly grow as a means for communities to band together in the face of the monsters of the new world. They adopt military ranks - a leading 'General' with independent 'colonels' running individual contingents - but this has little to do with the prewar meaning of those ranks.
2178: The Institute begins experimenting with the Forced Evolutionary Virus as a means of creating artificial humans. Due to the pervasive radiation exposure of human 'samples' (both people and corpses) taken, the only results of Super Mutants. These are released on the surface, and quickly become a significant threat.
2180: The Minutemen defend Diamond City, the largest and most prosperous of the Boston townships, built in the ruins of Fenway Park, from a Super Mutant invasion. This catapults the movement into prominence, and they quickly establish a proper headquarters in the ruins of Fort Independence, named, somewhat obviously, The Castle.
2182: The Minutemen begin to use their influence in an attempt to form a proper governing coalition among the Commonwealth's settlements, including the Institute. They are met with significant roadblocks, not only in communication but in the complex, decades-long rivalries and histories between tribes, cities, and even some part-time mercenary and bandit groups.
2186: The Institute, tiring of the deadlock, and under the auspices of a newly appointed and hawkish Director, instigates the CPG Massacre. Initially intended to scare the delegates into compliance, it instead degenerates into a firefight that claims the lives of all present. The Minutemen lose significant prestige for sponsoring the failed government.
2227: The Institute, having run into a roadblock in their cloning and creation of artificial life, decide to utilize Vault 111 and its frozen denizens. Seeking completely untouched DNA, they choose to abduct Shaun Grey. Due to the quick temper of their agent, Conrad Kellogg, Nora Grey is killed. Nathan Grey, able to observe this, is put back on ice as a backup.
2229: An early prototype synth intended to mimic a human commits a massacre in Diamond City, before being gunned down by security personnel. The realization that synths can successfully mimic humans perfectly, rather than being the obviously mechanical models seen previously, causes a region-wide wave of paranoia and mistrust to grow.
2240: The Castle is severely damaged and its garrison massacred by a Mirelurk Queen. This causes the Minutemen to lose region-wide coordination, especially with continued refusal by Diamond City to support the movement, seeing it as a threat to their independence. This begins a slow decline under a series of weak generals.
2247: Shaun Grey, raised in the Institute his entire life, earns his first doctorate.
2255: The Brotherhood of Steel, a post-war group of power-armor-utilizing soldiers determined to safeguard and suppress dangerous technologies, arrives in the ruins of Washington DC as an expedition led by Owen Lyons. They set up operations in the remnants of the Pentagon and begin a protracted war against the Super Mutants there (created by experiments in Vault 87).
2257: Shaun Grey is appointed Director of the Institute. Under his tenure, the Institute begins far more aggressive infiltration and experimentation than ever before.
2266: The modern incarnation of the organization known as the Railroad comes into being. Initially intended to focus on freeing all slaves, they found themselves attacked by the Institute for unknown reasons, with this latest massacre leaving only two survivors, who reformed the Commonwealth branch into a far more clandestine and secretive group focused on the Institute and their synths - namely, freeing them from Institute control.
2270: The Brotherhood in DC splits as Elder Owen Lyons refuses to dedicate resources towards securing technology, instead being more concerned with the Super Mutant threat and the protection of the locals. The Brotherhood Outcasts believe themselves to be the true Brotherhood, working solely to keep technological might focused firmly in their hands, and away from those who might start another nuclear conflict.
2277: The Brotherhood presence in DC, despite decades of grinding warfare and being forced to refill its ranks with local Wastelanders, manages to triumph over a group proclaiming itself to be the re-established US government, known as the Enclave, and to reactivate a water purifier which could cleanse the Potomac River of radiation. The Brotherhood subsequently begins to entrench its hold over the DC area.
2281: The Brotherhood Outcasts are re-integrated under the young Elder Maxson. With his ranks swelled and the stolen materiel and expertise returned, the Brotherhood can look towards expansion.
2282: General Becker dies. Minutemen operations are sufficiently disturbed by this point that they essentially collapse entirely as individual colonels break off with their own groups. The Minutemen essentially cease to exist as a coherent organization, with most members returning to full-time farming or scavenging.
September 2287: The last active Minutemen contingent, under Colonel Ezra Hollis, falls during the defense of the town of Quincy, which is massacred by Gunner mercenaries. Minuteman Preston Garvey rallies remaining survivors and townsfolk and flees north. His fellow militiamen and settlers are picked off one by one over the next month, until only he, three other Minutemen, and four traumatized survivors remain.
October 9th, 2287: The Institute sends a signal to Vault 111 a day ahead of schedule, overriding the cryo chambers. After over two hundred years of continuous operation, only one remains active: the chamber containing Nathan Grey.
Last edited:
First Meeting
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
October 9th, 2287
Part of him refused to grasp it.
It was gone. All of it was gone.
Well, except for the robot. And everything in his house, which Codsworth had somehow, miraculously, managed to maintain, alongside (most) of the rest of the neighborhood.
But Nora…Shaun…
She'd been it for him, the only one who'd seen what he'd been capable of and never flinched away, harnessed it, made it work. When he'd run wild, she'd accepted that too. She'd been the hand on his shoulders, holding his leash - the one he could trust when he didn't trust himself. They'd made a son together, and they'd been going to raise him, despite it all.
And some bald fuck with a revolver had ended that, stolen his future and killed the only person he'd ever loved.
Not that he had the slightest idea where to start looking. He hadn't even seen anyone else yet - Concord had been a bust, all he'd found was a dog, some giant mole-rat things, and some dusty fucking skeletons - so, for lack of a better idea, he was heading towards Lexington.
From a soldiering perspective, it was alright. He had his guns, plenty of ammunition thanks to Codsworth's ruthless maintenance habits, and his old set of combat armor, plus the dog had stuck around. It wasn't freezing cold and there was a blessed lack of partisans lurking behind every bush.
If not for the hammerbeat of 'find who did this, get your kid back' in the back of his skull, it would be almost enjoyable.
Naturally, no sooner had he thought this than he heard gunfire from the road ahead. Gunfire, and the distinctive report of laser weapons. The dog took off like a rocket, barking madly, and Nate went after it.
Breath even, eyes sharp, head on a swivel. Round that turn of the tarmac, take in the chaos.
Two on one side, makeshift guns - improvised laser weapons? Matching hats and they moved like professionals, herding a gaggle of unarmed civilians on. On the other side - bunch of hobo types with even shittier guns. Bandits, clear as day, hooting and hollering.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Fire.
The first laser beam slammed into the head of a bandit. Brain matter and flesh flash-vaporized into steam, and the bandit's head exploded with an ugly splattering noise.
Fire. Fire. Fire.
Three more dead by the time they even noticed, quick as you please - scrapheap armor couldn't hold against the finest laser tech of General Atomics, and half these fuckers didn't even have helmets. Guns swiveled his way - Nate kept firing.
He was aware, in a way, of the civvies booking it, the two guys with the funny hats herding them like sheepdogs as they laid down half-assed suppressive fire. How they'd not died so far became obvious pretty quick when the bandits opened fire - shit guns, no discipline, they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.
Nate rose from his crouch, still firing as he went, each shot a hit and each hit a kill. The bandits wavered, then broke and ran - he still didn't stop firing. Down. Down. Down.
All tangoes down.
"Holy shit," one of the hat-guys said, as Nate sucked in a breath at last, and lowered his laser rifle.
"That was…pretty damn impressive," the other - big coat, bigger gun, probably the one in charge - said. "Thanks for your help, Mister…"
"Grey," Nathan said flatly. "You people are…?"
"I'm Preston Garvey. This here's Ricky Holt - Commonwealth Minutemen."
He couldn't help but chuckle. "Minutemen? I go back in time and not realize it?"
Garvey blinked. "You haven't heard of us?"
"Buddy, I crawled out of a tube a few hours ago in that shitbox Vault up north, and the robot in what's left of my house tells me it's been two hundred and ten years since then. Assume I don't know shit."
"...okay, I'll just deal with all that later. You've helped us out of a jam - here." He tossed a pouch at Nate, who caught it on reflex - it clinked, and he managed to fumble the drawstring open enough to get a look inside.
"Bottle caps?"
"Folks use 'em for currency. Backed by Diamond City and Bunker Hill's water." The man shouldered that makeshift gun of his - looked like a hand-cranked dynamo mounted on a laser rifle projector, probably one shot at a time. "Figure you can use it. Rick, get the others up north - Concord's not far, and you can rest up before you press on to that sanctuary Mama Murphy keeps talking about."
"Boss, you're not seriously thinking -"
"I'm thinking I'm not gonna leave anyone behind, and we need everyone we can get if another gang of raiders comes calling. I'm going."
"Shit, alright. I'll get them moving."
"Concord's deserted, but doesn't offer much," Nate offered. "If you're talking my old neighborhood…hell, Codsworth will probably like neighbors."
The dog, who'd been rooting around at the bandit corpses, barked.
"Well, Dogmeat likes you," Garvey said. "So, you feel like doing us another favor?"
Nate tilted his head. Well, it was a lead. And it sounded like these Minutemen had some kind of organization. Might as well.
"What's the problem?"
"The ghouls - uh…well, basically zombies from the old comic books - drove us out of Lexington. A couple of my people were planning on staying around long enough to get the bodies of our people who didn't make it. Then the raiders hit us, and it all went to hell. I'm gonna go see if I can find them."
Sounded like a clusterfuck. But hey, what else was new?
"Thing is, I could use an extra hand. And, well…" Garvey gestured at the road, and the better part of two dozen dead bandits. "You're pretty good in a gunfight, putting it mildly. You mind helping me out?"
Nate shrugged. "Sure. Why not? We can swap stories later."
Part of him refused to grasp it.
It was gone. All of it was gone.
Well, except for the robot. And everything in his house, which Codsworth had somehow, miraculously, managed to maintain, alongside (most) of the rest of the neighborhood.
But Nora…Shaun…
She'd been it for him, the only one who'd seen what he'd been capable of and never flinched away, harnessed it, made it work. When he'd run wild, she'd accepted that too. She'd been the hand on his shoulders, holding his leash - the one he could trust when he didn't trust himself. They'd made a son together, and they'd been going to raise him, despite it all.
And some bald fuck with a revolver had ended that, stolen his future and killed the only person he'd ever loved.
Not that he had the slightest idea where to start looking. He hadn't even seen anyone else yet - Concord had been a bust, all he'd found was a dog, some giant mole-rat things, and some dusty fucking skeletons - so, for lack of a better idea, he was heading towards Lexington.
From a soldiering perspective, it was alright. He had his guns, plenty of ammunition thanks to Codsworth's ruthless maintenance habits, and his old set of combat armor, plus the dog had stuck around. It wasn't freezing cold and there was a blessed lack of partisans lurking behind every bush.
If not for the hammerbeat of 'find who did this, get your kid back' in the back of his skull, it would be almost enjoyable.
Naturally, no sooner had he thought this than he heard gunfire from the road ahead. Gunfire, and the distinctive report of laser weapons. The dog took off like a rocket, barking madly, and Nate went after it.
Breath even, eyes sharp, head on a swivel. Round that turn of the tarmac, take in the chaos.
Two on one side, makeshift guns - improvised laser weapons? Matching hats and they moved like professionals, herding a gaggle of unarmed civilians on. On the other side - bunch of hobo types with even shittier guns. Bandits, clear as day, hooting and hollering.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Fire.
The first laser beam slammed into the head of a bandit. Brain matter and flesh flash-vaporized into steam, and the bandit's head exploded with an ugly splattering noise.
Fire. Fire. Fire.
Three more dead by the time they even noticed, quick as you please - scrapheap armor couldn't hold against the finest laser tech of General Atomics, and half these fuckers didn't even have helmets. Guns swiveled his way - Nate kept firing.
He was aware, in a way, of the civvies booking it, the two guys with the funny hats herding them like sheepdogs as they laid down half-assed suppressive fire. How they'd not died so far became obvious pretty quick when the bandits opened fire - shit guns, no discipline, they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.
Nate rose from his crouch, still firing as he went, each shot a hit and each hit a kill. The bandits wavered, then broke and ran - he still didn't stop firing. Down. Down. Down.
All tangoes down.
"Holy shit," one of the hat-guys said, as Nate sucked in a breath at last, and lowered his laser rifle.
"That was…pretty damn impressive," the other - big coat, bigger gun, probably the one in charge - said. "Thanks for your help, Mister…"
"Grey," Nathan said flatly. "You people are…?"
"I'm Preston Garvey. This here's Ricky Holt - Commonwealth Minutemen."
He couldn't help but chuckle. "Minutemen? I go back in time and not realize it?"
Garvey blinked. "You haven't heard of us?"
"Buddy, I crawled out of a tube a few hours ago in that shitbox Vault up north, and the robot in what's left of my house tells me it's been two hundred and ten years since then. Assume I don't know shit."
"...okay, I'll just deal with all that later. You've helped us out of a jam - here." He tossed a pouch at Nate, who caught it on reflex - it clinked, and he managed to fumble the drawstring open enough to get a look inside.
"Bottle caps?"
"Folks use 'em for currency. Backed by Diamond City and Bunker Hill's water." The man shouldered that makeshift gun of his - looked like a hand-cranked dynamo mounted on a laser rifle projector, probably one shot at a time. "Figure you can use it. Rick, get the others up north - Concord's not far, and you can rest up before you press on to that sanctuary Mama Murphy keeps talking about."
"Boss, you're not seriously thinking -"
"I'm thinking I'm not gonna leave anyone behind, and we need everyone we can get if another gang of raiders comes calling. I'm going."
"Shit, alright. I'll get them moving."
"Concord's deserted, but doesn't offer much," Nate offered. "If you're talking my old neighborhood…hell, Codsworth will probably like neighbors."
The dog, who'd been rooting around at the bandit corpses, barked.
"Well, Dogmeat likes you," Garvey said. "So, you feel like doing us another favor?"
Nate tilted his head. Well, it was a lead. And it sounded like these Minutemen had some kind of organization. Might as well.
"What's the problem?"
"The ghouls - uh…well, basically zombies from the old comic books - drove us out of Lexington. A couple of my people were planning on staying around long enough to get the bodies of our people who didn't make it. Then the raiders hit us, and it all went to hell. I'm gonna go see if I can find them."
Sounded like a clusterfuck. But hey, what else was new?
"Thing is, I could use an extra hand. And, well…" Garvey gestured at the road, and the better part of two dozen dead bandits. "You're pretty good in a gunfight, putting it mildly. You mind helping me out?"
Nate shrugged. "Sure. Why not? We can swap stories later."
Kylia Quilor
I Have Two Moods, and Bitter is One of Them.
- Location
- Hiding in the corner of your vision.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This could be cool. Give the minutemen a stronger starting position, save some lives...
You have my interest.
You have my interest.
Imperial Helldog
410,757,864,530 DEAD LIZARDS
Mhm...
Mhm!
I see exactly what you're doing, and I am 100% here for it. Warms my heart to see people embracing Bethesda's interactions with old Fallout lore.
Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
Another settlement has need of our help. I'll mark it on your map
Taking Stock
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
October 9th, 2287
Josh knew he was a dead man.
Dead end, a bunch of ferals, and nowhere to go.
Well, hell. He was gonna live up to Anthony's example. Have a hell of a party on the way out, and drag plenty of guests into it. He only had a laser musket - five to ten seconds to recharge with the hand-crank, so he had to make each shot count. Not exactly the best when you had nowhere to run and a fuckton of angry ferals after you…but hey, better than harsh language.
Deep breaths, man.
He was crouched behind some of the storage room's junk - the second one of the ferals outside poked its head in, he'd probably be spotted, but he'd take that fucker's head off. Whether he'd be able to recharge before the rest swarmed him, well, that was up to luck.
Shit, he hoped Emma had the sense to run.
He tensed as he heard footsteps - then blinked as the unmistakable sound of laser rifle fire echoed back from the front of the storefront, followed half a second later by the raspy howls of the ferals. One busted down the door, feet scrabbling as it tried to keep its balance, and Josh pulled the trigger half on instinct. The sound of the blast was lost in the havoc coming from the front of the store, even as it ripped the feral in half at the chest. Shit. Shit shit shit - who the hell was busting down the door, it couldn't be Preston and the others.
Another feral came lunging through the door, only for a beam of red light to lance out from the other door and kneecap the thing, a second following to core right through its head. The man responsible followed a moment later - a big mother in head-to-toe combat armor, toting a laser rifle. For half a second, Josh thought the Gunners had tracked them down - but the emblem on the man's chest was the old US Army star, not the skull emblem the mercs used.
"You Josh Sawyer?" the man asked.
Josh nodded mutely.
"Good. Preston's got Emma - saddle up, soldier, you're coming home."
Well, shit, he wasn't going to say no. He got to his feet in a flash. "Wait a sec, what about Anthony?"
"The dead guy in the pharmacy? Well, that depends. You want to carry him out?"
"Not leaving his body unless I have to," Josh said. "He deserves a grave, at least."
The big guy nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go. Don't think we got all of them."
Shit, alright - but despite the stranger's words, no more ferals showed up. They had the time to get ahold of Anthony's body and gun without a single one showing up.
Somehow, he figured the mound of dead ferals near the entrance had something to do with it. The stranger had some skills, that was for certain.
Also, Anthony was fucking heavy.
"What's your name?" he asked, as he shouldered his friend's corpse (not like that was something new, he'd lost a lot of people since Quincy, played graveyard detail more times than he could count).
"Nate," the stranger answered. "Ran into your people on the road - felt like lending a hand."
"Well, that's better than most. You said Preston's with you?"
"Round back. Let's go."
The way out was clear - and there was Preston and Emma the second they rounded the corner. He offered a salute. "Preston."
"Josh."
"We still headed north?"
"Yeah. Concord's a ghost town according to Nate, but Mama Murphy was on the money about Sanctuary."
"That so? Well, I'll take anything that isn't full of raiders or ghouls at this point."
"We'll stop on the way back," Nate said. "Want to police those…raiders. Plenty of guns and ammo, never a bad time to gear up."
"Fair enough," Preston said. "Josh…that Tony?"
"Yeah. I'm not gonna…" He shook his head, conscious of the weight on his shoulders. "I'll keep up."
"Don't have to. Give him here."
He almost didn't want to, but Preston took Anthony with a lot more ease than Josh could've. "We'll see him buried at Sanctuary," his leader promised. "Least we can do."
"Gonna take us the rest of the day, even if it's close to Concord," Emma said. "You sent the others off with Rick?"
"Yeah," Preston confirmed. "So we better get moving, shouldn't we?"
October 10th, 2287
The surviving Minutemen, and Nathan Grey, convene for a meeting after arriving at Sanctuary and resting for the night. Anthony Sikes (posthumously ranked CMF Sergeant Sikes) is buried with honors.
Well, nobody had died, and nobody was likely to die for a good while, so he was calling this a win.
Still, he needed to make sure things stayed that way. Hence this little meeting between himself, Sturges, Garvey, and the wannabe militiamen.
"So. Murphy says I should be heading to Diamond City if I want to figure out where my kid is, but my gut tells me that's gonna be a bit of a problem. Especially if Lexington's full of zombies and bandits."
"Cambridge is worse," Preston said. "We had to steer clear of it on our way north. And it's the best way through if you're going alone, we managed to punch through since we were in a group, but raiders will go after anyone traveling on their own."
"Right. So. I'm thinking I want to sit down and make sure I've got a plan, see the lay of the land before we get anything done. That in mind, it'd be bad fucking manners to let you all starve to death, or get raided, so let me lay out what we've got here - not like we had time to do so last night."
He pointed at the floor. "The Vault up the hill's a new thing, before that I was digging a fallout shelter and prepping it in the basement. Was planning for it to take as many of the neighbors as I could, so it's well-stocked, and the food and water will tide you over for a month or two even without you rationing it. Only had the one suit of combat armor, but it was a hell of a lot easier for a friend to make sure some laser rifles fell off inventory. Half a dozen of them, and enough microfusion cells to last for a year of shooting. Longer, if you charge 'em off a generator. Better than the damn musket contraptions you've been using. Yours if you want them, but I'd like to train you up and make sure you're gonna be proper soldiers."
The militia nodded at that, eager little buggers.
"Meanwhile," Sturges drawled, "we've gotta establish the basics of settling down. Buildings are in good enough condition everyone can get a roof over their heads, and I'll start sorting through the collapsed ones for stuff to shore up the others. We're gonna need to dig wells, or start purifying the water from the river - either way, lot of hard labor. At least Jun and Marcy seem up for it."
"I worked construction before all this," Nate supplied. "I'll lend a hand if I have the time. They built these places sturdy. Plus, Concord's just down the road. Anything we can't find here, we can search there, right?"
"Hauling all of that's gonna be hard without a Brahmin, but we'll make do," Preston said. "Thing is, we're more likely to have trouble if anyone notices we're here. Not likely, but still. We'll need a guard rotation - and walls, sooner or later. I don't want to be chased out of another home again."
The militia seemed fired up by that. Good. He wasn't gonna take over Garvey's little operation, but they needed someone to show them the ropes. Having Garvey on the same page would keep it simpler.
"I'm gonna be leaning on you for intel," Nate admitted. "Still don't know half of what's happened to the world since I went on the ice. You boys got a proper chain of command, or are you all following his lead?"
The militia exchanged looks.
"More the second one," Rick admitted, adjusting his sunglasses. "Preston's been leading us since Quincy, but it's not like any of us have ranks."
"Hell, not like there's any more Minutemen around," Emma murmured. "He could call himself General if he wanted, and -"
"No." Preston leaned forward in his seat, eyes suddenly cold. "There were twenty of us a month ago, Emma. Hell, if not for Nate's help here, I don't think any of us would've made it out. I'm not cut out for it - I could barely protect myself, much less the rest of you." He let out a breath, pulled himself back. "Besides. It's not like there's enough of us to even need a General. Or even a colonel."
"You want my two cents?" Nate probed. Preston grunted, and he pressed on. "You told me a bit about Quincy. Way I see it, that kind of clusterfuck's what happens when you decide to play militia instead of being a proper military when taking on that kind of role. Way I see it…someone's got to have a rank, and there's got to be more than just a single fella and his gang for organization." He shook his head. "But you're right. That can be a problem for a bit later. Right now…we've got priorities on what to build and scavenge, so what can everyone do and what's around that we can lean on?"
"I'm no doctor, but I know how to handle the usual injuries, and we've got stims and the usual survival gear on hand," Josh said.
"I'm a good shot, and know how to hunt," Emma supplied. "Plus, with the woods around, there should be plenty of game even this late in the year. It'll help with food, and clothing too, sooner or later. Winters can be pretty nasty."
"Well, you know me - I'm a fixer and tinkerer," Sturges drawled. "Least I can do is keep everyone's gear in good hock, but mostly I'll be building everything we need. Gonna be a lot of work."
"The Longs are alright, and both of them know how to scavenge," Preston added. "Mama Murphy…well, she's old, and I don't want her going back to the chems, no matter how good her 'Sight' is."
Right. The psychic whatever nonsense. Not his problem. "She's kept up with you this long. Hell, she can keep logs and take inventory if nothing else."
Preston nodded. "As for me - well, I can fight, at least, and scout a good bit - plus I know how to fort up places like this. If we can get our hands on the right weapons, I mean real artillery, we can make this place safe as houses…Rick, how about you?"
"Eh, I'm a decent shot, same as the rest of us - but I can show you all around a cookpot if we get the chance and Emma manages to come up with some meat. Better than two hundred year old food, no offense."
"None taken," Nate said with a smile. "Then that leaves me. I used to be a pre-war officer, before that, my unit was in charge of partisan hunting in Canada." His smile broadened. "Let's say I know more than all of you put together in how to lead firefights, keep men in line, and go on long marches through hostile country. For this shitshow of a world, guess that means hunting down raiders and training men to be half-decent at the same." He swept the militia with a practiced eye. "That, and construction and tinkering. Build it, modify it, break it down - I know that kind of stuff like the back of my hand. So I suppose I'll be helping where I can. So what about what's near us?"
"I know the Abernathy family has a pretty decent stake a bit south of here, and there's a warehouse nearby - might be something useful there, or we might be able to get the trucks working, if we could make it safe," Preston mused. "Plus I heard there's some other folks trying to settle Tenpines Bluff to the east. Trudy has a trading post down near Lexington, too, and she owes us for chasing off those chem pushers. Any of them could use a hand if we could spare it, and be willing to do us a good turn. Abernathy's are closest, though."
Nate nodded. Sounded like the beginning of things. "We'll get ourselves settled and cleaned up, then pay 'em a visit, I think. Meet the new neighbors, and see if any want to take a shot here, instead of wherever they're shacked up. Strength in numbers, and all that. Today, though…let's get to work cleaning the neighborhood out."
Josh knew he was a dead man.
Dead end, a bunch of ferals, and nowhere to go.
Well, hell. He was gonna live up to Anthony's example. Have a hell of a party on the way out, and drag plenty of guests into it. He only had a laser musket - five to ten seconds to recharge with the hand-crank, so he had to make each shot count. Not exactly the best when you had nowhere to run and a fuckton of angry ferals after you…but hey, better than harsh language.
Deep breaths, man.
He was crouched behind some of the storage room's junk - the second one of the ferals outside poked its head in, he'd probably be spotted, but he'd take that fucker's head off. Whether he'd be able to recharge before the rest swarmed him, well, that was up to luck.
Shit, he hoped Emma had the sense to run.
He tensed as he heard footsteps - then blinked as the unmistakable sound of laser rifle fire echoed back from the front of the storefront, followed half a second later by the raspy howls of the ferals. One busted down the door, feet scrabbling as it tried to keep its balance, and Josh pulled the trigger half on instinct. The sound of the blast was lost in the havoc coming from the front of the store, even as it ripped the feral in half at the chest. Shit. Shit shit shit - who the hell was busting down the door, it couldn't be Preston and the others.
Another feral came lunging through the door, only for a beam of red light to lance out from the other door and kneecap the thing, a second following to core right through its head. The man responsible followed a moment later - a big mother in head-to-toe combat armor, toting a laser rifle. For half a second, Josh thought the Gunners had tracked them down - but the emblem on the man's chest was the old US Army star, not the skull emblem the mercs used.
"You Josh Sawyer?" the man asked.
Josh nodded mutely.
"Good. Preston's got Emma - saddle up, soldier, you're coming home."
Well, shit, he wasn't going to say no. He got to his feet in a flash. "Wait a sec, what about Anthony?"
"The dead guy in the pharmacy? Well, that depends. You want to carry him out?"
"Not leaving his body unless I have to," Josh said. "He deserves a grave, at least."
The big guy nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go. Don't think we got all of them."
Shit, alright - but despite the stranger's words, no more ferals showed up. They had the time to get ahold of Anthony's body and gun without a single one showing up.
Somehow, he figured the mound of dead ferals near the entrance had something to do with it. The stranger had some skills, that was for certain.
Also, Anthony was fucking heavy.
"What's your name?" he asked, as he shouldered his friend's corpse (not like that was something new, he'd lost a lot of people since Quincy, played graveyard detail more times than he could count).
"Nate," the stranger answered. "Ran into your people on the road - felt like lending a hand."
"Well, that's better than most. You said Preston's with you?"
"Round back. Let's go."
The way out was clear - and there was Preston and Emma the second they rounded the corner. He offered a salute. "Preston."
"Josh."
"We still headed north?"
"Yeah. Concord's a ghost town according to Nate, but Mama Murphy was on the money about Sanctuary."
"That so? Well, I'll take anything that isn't full of raiders or ghouls at this point."
"We'll stop on the way back," Nate said. "Want to police those…raiders. Plenty of guns and ammo, never a bad time to gear up."
"Fair enough," Preston said. "Josh…that Tony?"
"Yeah. I'm not gonna…" He shook his head, conscious of the weight on his shoulders. "I'll keep up."
"Don't have to. Give him here."
He almost didn't want to, but Preston took Anthony with a lot more ease than Josh could've. "We'll see him buried at Sanctuary," his leader promised. "Least we can do."
"Gonna take us the rest of the day, even if it's close to Concord," Emma said. "You sent the others off with Rick?"
"Yeah," Preston confirmed. "So we better get moving, shouldn't we?"
October 10th, 2287
The surviving Minutemen, and Nathan Grey, convene for a meeting after arriving at Sanctuary and resting for the night. Anthony Sikes (posthumously ranked CMF Sergeant Sikes) is buried with honors.
Well, nobody had died, and nobody was likely to die for a good while, so he was calling this a win.
Still, he needed to make sure things stayed that way. Hence this little meeting between himself, Sturges, Garvey, and the wannabe militiamen.
"So. Murphy says I should be heading to Diamond City if I want to figure out where my kid is, but my gut tells me that's gonna be a bit of a problem. Especially if Lexington's full of zombies and bandits."
"Cambridge is worse," Preston said. "We had to steer clear of it on our way north. And it's the best way through if you're going alone, we managed to punch through since we were in a group, but raiders will go after anyone traveling on their own."
"Right. So. I'm thinking I want to sit down and make sure I've got a plan, see the lay of the land before we get anything done. That in mind, it'd be bad fucking manners to let you all starve to death, or get raided, so let me lay out what we've got here - not like we had time to do so last night."
He pointed at the floor. "The Vault up the hill's a new thing, before that I was digging a fallout shelter and prepping it in the basement. Was planning for it to take as many of the neighbors as I could, so it's well-stocked, and the food and water will tide you over for a month or two even without you rationing it. Only had the one suit of combat armor, but it was a hell of a lot easier for a friend to make sure some laser rifles fell off inventory. Half a dozen of them, and enough microfusion cells to last for a year of shooting. Longer, if you charge 'em off a generator. Better than the damn musket contraptions you've been using. Yours if you want them, but I'd like to train you up and make sure you're gonna be proper soldiers."
The militia nodded at that, eager little buggers.
"Meanwhile," Sturges drawled, "we've gotta establish the basics of settling down. Buildings are in good enough condition everyone can get a roof over their heads, and I'll start sorting through the collapsed ones for stuff to shore up the others. We're gonna need to dig wells, or start purifying the water from the river - either way, lot of hard labor. At least Jun and Marcy seem up for it."
"I worked construction before all this," Nate supplied. "I'll lend a hand if I have the time. They built these places sturdy. Plus, Concord's just down the road. Anything we can't find here, we can search there, right?"
"Hauling all of that's gonna be hard without a Brahmin, but we'll make do," Preston said. "Thing is, we're more likely to have trouble if anyone notices we're here. Not likely, but still. We'll need a guard rotation - and walls, sooner or later. I don't want to be chased out of another home again."
The militia seemed fired up by that. Good. He wasn't gonna take over Garvey's little operation, but they needed someone to show them the ropes. Having Garvey on the same page would keep it simpler.
"I'm gonna be leaning on you for intel," Nate admitted. "Still don't know half of what's happened to the world since I went on the ice. You boys got a proper chain of command, or are you all following his lead?"
The militia exchanged looks.
"More the second one," Rick admitted, adjusting his sunglasses. "Preston's been leading us since Quincy, but it's not like any of us have ranks."
"Hell, not like there's any more Minutemen around," Emma murmured. "He could call himself General if he wanted, and -"
"No." Preston leaned forward in his seat, eyes suddenly cold. "There were twenty of us a month ago, Emma. Hell, if not for Nate's help here, I don't think any of us would've made it out. I'm not cut out for it - I could barely protect myself, much less the rest of you." He let out a breath, pulled himself back. "Besides. It's not like there's enough of us to even need a General. Or even a colonel."
"You want my two cents?" Nate probed. Preston grunted, and he pressed on. "You told me a bit about Quincy. Way I see it, that kind of clusterfuck's what happens when you decide to play militia instead of being a proper military when taking on that kind of role. Way I see it…someone's got to have a rank, and there's got to be more than just a single fella and his gang for organization." He shook his head. "But you're right. That can be a problem for a bit later. Right now…we've got priorities on what to build and scavenge, so what can everyone do and what's around that we can lean on?"
"I'm no doctor, but I know how to handle the usual injuries, and we've got stims and the usual survival gear on hand," Josh said.
"I'm a good shot, and know how to hunt," Emma supplied. "Plus, with the woods around, there should be plenty of game even this late in the year. It'll help with food, and clothing too, sooner or later. Winters can be pretty nasty."
"Well, you know me - I'm a fixer and tinkerer," Sturges drawled. "Least I can do is keep everyone's gear in good hock, but mostly I'll be building everything we need. Gonna be a lot of work."
"The Longs are alright, and both of them know how to scavenge," Preston added. "Mama Murphy…well, she's old, and I don't want her going back to the chems, no matter how good her 'Sight' is."
Right. The psychic whatever nonsense. Not his problem. "She's kept up with you this long. Hell, she can keep logs and take inventory if nothing else."
Preston nodded. "As for me - well, I can fight, at least, and scout a good bit - plus I know how to fort up places like this. If we can get our hands on the right weapons, I mean real artillery, we can make this place safe as houses…Rick, how about you?"
"Eh, I'm a decent shot, same as the rest of us - but I can show you all around a cookpot if we get the chance and Emma manages to come up with some meat. Better than two hundred year old food, no offense."
"None taken," Nate said with a smile. "Then that leaves me. I used to be a pre-war officer, before that, my unit was in charge of partisan hunting in Canada." His smile broadened. "Let's say I know more than all of you put together in how to lead firefights, keep men in line, and go on long marches through hostile country. For this shitshow of a world, guess that means hunting down raiders and training men to be half-decent at the same." He swept the militia with a practiced eye. "That, and construction and tinkering. Build it, modify it, break it down - I know that kind of stuff like the back of my hand. So I suppose I'll be helping where I can. So what about what's near us?"
"I know the Abernathy family has a pretty decent stake a bit south of here, and there's a warehouse nearby - might be something useful there, or we might be able to get the trucks working, if we could make it safe," Preston mused. "Plus I heard there's some other folks trying to settle Tenpines Bluff to the east. Trudy has a trading post down near Lexington, too, and she owes us for chasing off those chem pushers. Any of them could use a hand if we could spare it, and be willing to do us a good turn. Abernathy's are closest, though."
Nate nodded. Sounded like the beginning of things. "We'll get ourselves settled and cleaned up, then pay 'em a visit, I think. Meet the new neighbors, and see if any want to take a shot here, instead of wherever they're shacked up. Strength in numbers, and all that. Today, though…let's get to work cleaning the neighborhood out."
New Hands, Harsh Truths
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
October 11th, 2287
The settlers of Sanctuary begin scavenging from the town of Concord, finding most of the buildings completely uninhabitable but still filled with useful salvage and materials, including a pre-War suit of battered but still usable T-45 power armor. This proves serendipitous, as their scavenging draws the attention of a lone Deathclaw lairing in the town sewers, which is killed in a brief but terrifying firefight. The town begins to be stripped of useful materials as it offers little shelter and is less defensible than Sanctuary. At the same time, others are already taking notice of the new settlement.
"This is a stupid fucking idea," Jane grumbled to her buddies as they made their way towards the tiny bridge. "They'll probably just shoot us."
"There's a chance they won't, and you need a doc to look at that leg," Dave shot back. "Now shut the fuck up and let me do the talking."
"Fine. But if this goes south, last words are gonna be 'I told you so'."
"Fuck off. HEY! ANYONE IN THERE?"
"You know," a voice said from behind them, "you didn't need to yell. We know you're here."
What the fu-
They whirled, only to be confronted with the barrel of a laser rifle. "Keep your hands clear of your guns, boys and girls," the woman who'd snuck up on them drawled.
Everyone slowly raised their hands, except for Dave, who was keeping a tight grip on Fang's collar. "Easy. We came here to talk," he cautioned.
The brunette with the gun raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. You all look like raiders, and I'm supposed to expect you're just here to talk."
"Yeah, well - everyone does shit they're not proud of. We've been scraping by, same as everyone else. But our friend needs a hand, so we're gonna swallow our fucking pride. Show 'em the leg, Jane."
Oh, fuck this…fine. She hiked up the leg of her trousers, showing the bloody bandage. "Mole rat bite," she explained. "Not healing right, and we don't have a doc."
The woman hadn't lowered her gun. "So you want, what. Medical help? What for?"
"No, we want to not be hunting mole rats for food out in the woods. A bed or two would be nice. And…well, hell. Never heard of people who'll refuse working hands, right?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. "You want to join up."
"Yeah, if you're willing."
She snorted. "Not really. Seen too many raider gangs to be that trusting. None of you look like users, though. So here's how it's gonna be. Drop your guns and gear, you'll get them back when we can trust you. There's a house for you, don't go wandering around outside it after dark. No chems, no going off to strongarm other people, don't start fights - even if someone else starts mouthing off, which Marcy definitely will. Do that, lend a hand where it's needed, and share anything you hunt or scavenge, and you get food, water, a roof over your head, and meds. We'll see about anything else if you can keep your noses clean."
"You've done this before."
"Nah. You bunch are the first. But we knew it'd happen sooner or later, went over what to offer. The others figured it was better to offer people like you a way out than to make enemies we didn't need. So. We have a deal?"
What an uptight pain in the ass - but she could see Dave assessing. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he unslung his pipe-rifle and put it down on the ground. She dropped her own pistol, and Barney and Tool did the same a second later with their sawn-offs. "Deal."
"Good." The brunette whistled sharply, and another man popped out from behind a tree to cover them as she began gathering up their guns. Shit, they'd have been able to crossfire them in a second. "Josh, take them to Codsworth, get them situated, bathed, and in something that ain't rags, then see to little miss leg wound. I'll lock up the guns."
Well, shit, at least they hadn't been shot.
—-
October 13th, 2287
Nathan Grey and Richard 'Rick' Holt return from a 'long patrol' to scout out various nearby trouble spots and make contact with other local settlements. In this, they are almost overwhelmingly successful, in both clearing out potential problems, scavenging new materials, and securing new alliances…
"-the satellite array's cleaned out, and we managed to haul back another minigun and some ammo for it, plus a cart full of what they had to salvage and that half-wrecked suit of PA," Nate said as Preston wrote everything down. "There's more, but you should probably wait until Concord's tapped out or you need some specific electronics. Plus a scrapyard to pick over. The duo up at Tenpines weren't too happy to hear we weren't going to kill thirty-odd raiders in a frontal assault and that their little stake was too far out to be worth defending, but they followed us back anyway. The Abernathy's were happy to have the heads of the raiders who killed their daughter, though, and they'd like some extra hands on the harvest, and are willing to trade food for guns or protection. Speaking of…picked up some new hands of our own?"
"A few. Ex-raiders."
"You sure about the 'ex'?" Nate asked, concern flitting across his face.
"No, but they're behaving themselves and none of them have been going for the chems. One had an infected leg, Josh's keeping her off it and treating it, which seems to have won the rest over." Preston leaned back in his chair. "Looks like we'll make it through the winter, between what we can trade and hunt for, and what you had stored up. Going to be a lot of work, but we should manage. And with Trudy saying she'd point the next caravan our way, you should be able to make it to Diamond City. Am I wrong?"
Nate shrugged. "Not particularly. Was going to point out the same thing. Should be, what, a week or two before that caravan gets here?"
"Just about." He drummed his fingers against the table. "Say you find him. You…well, you ever think about joining us?"
"What, the Minutemen? You serious?"
"You remember what I said, a few days back? About barely being able to keep myself safe? Well…look. I can handle a firefight, lead men. I can't organize them like you can. Get everyone working and on the same page. Hell, it was your idea to start with with taking in anyone who turned up, and raiders going more than a day without trying to kill someone is a damn near miracle in my book." He took off his hat, rested his chin on his hands. "The way I see it…the Minutemen need to be something different from here on out. Something organized. Something that won't fall apart because everyone's got petty differences with everyone else. One group, one ideal, one way forward. And you…I think you might be one of the best people to make them that. And I know the others agree."
"You talked to Rick."
"And Josh. And Emma. And everyone else. If you're gonna keep pulling our butts out of the fire, might as well make it official."
Nate's mouth opened, then closed. Then he shook himself. "You're selling yourself short, Garvey."
"Maybe. But I'm not hearing a no. Look. You'll have time to think on it all the way to Diamond City, and wherever else you end up hunting him down."
October 22nd, 2287:
Nathan Grey departs Sanctuary as a caravan guard, alongside ex-raider Tool and Rick the Minuteman. His path takes him to the Commonwealth's major center - Diamond City, home to over a thousand permanent residents.
October 24th, 2287:
While traveling through Cambridge, the caravan is attacked by numerous feral ghouls, stirred up by the unexpected presence of a Brotherhood reconnaissance team from the East Coast chapter bivouacked at Cambridge Police Station. This recon team, under Paladin Danse, assists the caravan in eliminating the ghouls with zero casualties. Richard Holt, acting as representative for the Minutemen, exchanges information with the Brotherhood soldiers, and manages to achieve radio contact with Sanctuary using the Brotherhood base's transmitter, extending an offer of mutual assistance between Garvey's Minutemen. Having sustained severe casualties from the dangers of the Commonwealth already, Paladin Danse accepts in order to be able to continue his mission.
October 25th, 2287:
Nathan Grey arrives in Diamond City, remaining there while his companions return to Sanctuary. Once there, he begins attempting to sort out the kidnapping of his son along with the local detective, the synth Nick Valentine. They, and Nathan's companions, track down the mercenary Kellogg in the ruins of Fort Hagen and interrogate him, before executing him in cold blood.
November 4th, 2287:
Nathan Grey returns to Sanctuary alone.
The settlers of Sanctuary begin scavenging from the town of Concord, finding most of the buildings completely uninhabitable but still filled with useful salvage and materials, including a pre-War suit of battered but still usable T-45 power armor. This proves serendipitous, as their scavenging draws the attention of a lone Deathclaw lairing in the town sewers, which is killed in a brief but terrifying firefight. The town begins to be stripped of useful materials as it offers little shelter and is less defensible than Sanctuary. At the same time, others are already taking notice of the new settlement.
"This is a stupid fucking idea," Jane grumbled to her buddies as they made their way towards the tiny bridge. "They'll probably just shoot us."
"There's a chance they won't, and you need a doc to look at that leg," Dave shot back. "Now shut the fuck up and let me do the talking."
"Fine. But if this goes south, last words are gonna be 'I told you so'."
"Fuck off. HEY! ANYONE IN THERE?"
"You know," a voice said from behind them, "you didn't need to yell. We know you're here."
What the fu-
They whirled, only to be confronted with the barrel of a laser rifle. "Keep your hands clear of your guns, boys and girls," the woman who'd snuck up on them drawled.
Everyone slowly raised their hands, except for Dave, who was keeping a tight grip on Fang's collar. "Easy. We came here to talk," he cautioned.
The brunette with the gun raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. You all look like raiders, and I'm supposed to expect you're just here to talk."
"Yeah, well - everyone does shit they're not proud of. We've been scraping by, same as everyone else. But our friend needs a hand, so we're gonna swallow our fucking pride. Show 'em the leg, Jane."
Oh, fuck this…fine. She hiked up the leg of her trousers, showing the bloody bandage. "Mole rat bite," she explained. "Not healing right, and we don't have a doc."
The woman hadn't lowered her gun. "So you want, what. Medical help? What for?"
"No, we want to not be hunting mole rats for food out in the woods. A bed or two would be nice. And…well, hell. Never heard of people who'll refuse working hands, right?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. "You want to join up."
"Yeah, if you're willing."
She snorted. "Not really. Seen too many raider gangs to be that trusting. None of you look like users, though. So here's how it's gonna be. Drop your guns and gear, you'll get them back when we can trust you. There's a house for you, don't go wandering around outside it after dark. No chems, no going off to strongarm other people, don't start fights - even if someone else starts mouthing off, which Marcy definitely will. Do that, lend a hand where it's needed, and share anything you hunt or scavenge, and you get food, water, a roof over your head, and meds. We'll see about anything else if you can keep your noses clean."
"You've done this before."
"Nah. You bunch are the first. But we knew it'd happen sooner or later, went over what to offer. The others figured it was better to offer people like you a way out than to make enemies we didn't need. So. We have a deal?"
What an uptight pain in the ass - but she could see Dave assessing. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he unslung his pipe-rifle and put it down on the ground. She dropped her own pistol, and Barney and Tool did the same a second later with their sawn-offs. "Deal."
"Good." The brunette whistled sharply, and another man popped out from behind a tree to cover them as she began gathering up their guns. Shit, they'd have been able to crossfire them in a second. "Josh, take them to Codsworth, get them situated, bathed, and in something that ain't rags, then see to little miss leg wound. I'll lock up the guns."
Well, shit, at least they hadn't been shot.
—-
October 13th, 2287
Nathan Grey and Richard 'Rick' Holt return from a 'long patrol' to scout out various nearby trouble spots and make contact with other local settlements. In this, they are almost overwhelmingly successful, in both clearing out potential problems, scavenging new materials, and securing new alliances…
"-the satellite array's cleaned out, and we managed to haul back another minigun and some ammo for it, plus a cart full of what they had to salvage and that half-wrecked suit of PA," Nate said as Preston wrote everything down. "There's more, but you should probably wait until Concord's tapped out or you need some specific electronics. Plus a scrapyard to pick over. The duo up at Tenpines weren't too happy to hear we weren't going to kill thirty-odd raiders in a frontal assault and that their little stake was too far out to be worth defending, but they followed us back anyway. The Abernathy's were happy to have the heads of the raiders who killed their daughter, though, and they'd like some extra hands on the harvest, and are willing to trade food for guns or protection. Speaking of…picked up some new hands of our own?"
"A few. Ex-raiders."
"You sure about the 'ex'?" Nate asked, concern flitting across his face.
"No, but they're behaving themselves and none of them have been going for the chems. One had an infected leg, Josh's keeping her off it and treating it, which seems to have won the rest over." Preston leaned back in his chair. "Looks like we'll make it through the winter, between what we can trade and hunt for, and what you had stored up. Going to be a lot of work, but we should manage. And with Trudy saying she'd point the next caravan our way, you should be able to make it to Diamond City. Am I wrong?"
Nate shrugged. "Not particularly. Was going to point out the same thing. Should be, what, a week or two before that caravan gets here?"
"Just about." He drummed his fingers against the table. "Say you find him. You…well, you ever think about joining us?"
"What, the Minutemen? You serious?"
"You remember what I said, a few days back? About barely being able to keep myself safe? Well…look. I can handle a firefight, lead men. I can't organize them like you can. Get everyone working and on the same page. Hell, it was your idea to start with with taking in anyone who turned up, and raiders going more than a day without trying to kill someone is a damn near miracle in my book." He took off his hat, rested his chin on his hands. "The way I see it…the Minutemen need to be something different from here on out. Something organized. Something that won't fall apart because everyone's got petty differences with everyone else. One group, one ideal, one way forward. And you…I think you might be one of the best people to make them that. And I know the others agree."
"You talked to Rick."
"And Josh. And Emma. And everyone else. If you're gonna keep pulling our butts out of the fire, might as well make it official."
Nate's mouth opened, then closed. Then he shook himself. "You're selling yourself short, Garvey."
"Maybe. But I'm not hearing a no. Look. You'll have time to think on it all the way to Diamond City, and wherever else you end up hunting him down."
October 22nd, 2287:
Nathan Grey departs Sanctuary as a caravan guard, alongside ex-raider Tool and Rick the Minuteman. His path takes him to the Commonwealth's major center - Diamond City, home to over a thousand permanent residents.
October 24th, 2287:
While traveling through Cambridge, the caravan is attacked by numerous feral ghouls, stirred up by the unexpected presence of a Brotherhood reconnaissance team from the East Coast chapter bivouacked at Cambridge Police Station. This recon team, under Paladin Danse, assists the caravan in eliminating the ghouls with zero casualties. Richard Holt, acting as representative for the Minutemen, exchanges information with the Brotherhood soldiers, and manages to achieve radio contact with Sanctuary using the Brotherhood base's transmitter, extending an offer of mutual assistance between Garvey's Minutemen. Having sustained severe casualties from the dangers of the Commonwealth already, Paladin Danse accepts in order to be able to continue his mission.
October 25th, 2287:
Nathan Grey arrives in Diamond City, remaining there while his companions return to Sanctuary. Once there, he begins attempting to sort out the kidnapping of his son along with the local detective, the synth Nick Valentine. They, and Nathan's companions, track down the mercenary Kellogg in the ruins of Fort Hagen and interrogate him, before executing him in cold blood.
November 4th, 2287:
Nathan Grey returns to Sanctuary alone.
From the Ground Up
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Ragnarok101
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November 5th, 2287
"He talked - though it took some persuading," Nate said as they walked along the riverbank, Dogmeat trotting a few paces behind. "Ten years old - and whatever that Doc in Goodneighbor found confirmed it. I missed ten years of his life, and he's back in the Institute. Which…" he shook his head. "He's not my kid. Whoever they have raising him - and I fucking hope it's not Kellogg who's been doing it for the past few years - I'm never going to be his father."
In the distance, a raven cawed. Nate picked up a rock and threw it in the bird's general direction. Preston let him - the man clearly hadn't slept last night, and had the look of someone barely hanging on by his fingernails.
"I could…what? Go hunt down Virgil, whoever the fuck that might be, and hope he knows how to get inside - if he's even survived the Glowing Sea? Bust down the Institute's gates, for a kid who won't know me? Become a goddamn kidnapper? Fuck that. Nora's avenged, Kellogg died screaming, and Shaun - if that's even the name he has there - has someone looking out for him. That's as good as I can hope for." He stalked on, hands in the pockets of the coat he'd picked up in Diamond City, breath steaming in the cold air. Preston followed half a step behind, river on one side, the stakes marking the boundaries of the slowly expanding wall on the other.
"No," Nate continued. "That part's done. Then there's the rest of my life ahead of me." He turned to Preston. "You wanted me to lead your bunch of militia when we last talked. And I've had time to think on it. You're still sure about it?"
Preston put his hands in his pockets, swept his eyes over the river. "Now? That depends. When I asked…you were going to find your kid, bring him back. Try to make a world for him that wasn't a mess. That's not a road that's open anymore. So what I want to know is…what would the Minutemen end up being, if you were in charge?"
Nate was silent for a moment, silhouetted against the tree line. "An army," he answered at last. "A better one than the one I was in. One that could protect everyone, keep the Commonwealth safe." He turned back towards Preston, eyes still and frozen as a winter pond. "One that has a chain of command. Oaths of service. The structure that can make them more than a gaggle of undertrained farmers."
One that keeps the Institute from ever doing something like this again went unsaid between the two of them.
Preston met Nate's cold, cold eyes, and held out a hand. "Good enough. Welcome aboard…General."
Nate took it. "Not much of an army."
"Maybe. But you've got a few ideas about changing that, don't you?"
Nate didn't quite smile - more bared his teeth. "That I do. Let's get to work, partner."
—
November 13th, 2287
Commonly accepted as the date of the founding of the Commonwealth Militia Force (CMF), more often referred to as Minutemen, identically to their predecessor organization.
Tool hadn't been sure about this, well…this whole thing. Sure, Jane had needed a doc, but they'd been raiders. How hard would it've been to just force one to treat her?
'Course, that would've been a really shit idea to try on these folks, so maybe Dave had had a point even back then. But still. He hadn't thought it'd be worth it.
But instead…well, hell. It was nice, alright? No chems, sure, but none of them had hit those all that hard to begin with. In exchange for that, and for enduring Marcy Long, Queen of Bitchiness, they got food, water, a roof over their heads that wasn't absolute dogshit, and work that actually, well…actually meant something.
Building shit. A kinda future, where they wouldn't be scraping by, with other people who had their backs, not because they were the scariest motherfuckers around, but because they gave a shit.
Hell, take the Abernathy's. A gang like Ack-Ack's might've stolen from 'em, but the Minutemen had played it safe and lent a hand, and now everyone in Sanctuary had a good deal on the food and some help in how to best grow their own, even if winter coming on would make it kinda a bitch.
Tool knew he wasn't the brightest, but not eating another MRE sounded mighty fine, and he hadn't even needed to hold anyone at gunpoint to do it.
So, yeah. He'd gone from Tool the raider to Tool the settler, gunhand, caravan guard, builder, whatever the hell Nate or Preston or Sturges needed at the moment. It was hard fucking work, but he went to bed every night knowing tomorrow would be a little better because of that hard work.
Course, things had been a little unsettled. Nate had come back without his kid (not to be a jackass to the guy who had a good chunk of their reserve food and water and was a hell of a fighter to boot, but Tool could've told him that would've been the outcome a while ago, saved him the trouble) and ever since he'd been plotting. Talking to traders, spending a bunch of the caps he'd earned while down in Diamond City, putting heads together with Preston and the other Minutemen. He'd even disappeared for a couple days, then popped back up with a big sack full of something or other.
Guess he'd had enough of that, because word had gone down yesterday for anyone who wanted to learn to be a soldier to attend this little meeting a bit after dawn. They'd crowded into Nate's house - all the Minutemen guys, obviously, but also a couple of the newer guys who'd trickled in looking for steady work and a safe place to sleep, one of the dirt-grubbers from Tenpines Bluff, and even fucking Marcy.
Not Jane, not Dave, and not Barney, though. Not that Tool could really blame any of 'em. They'd all realized the same shit he had - raiding might've been easier than grubbing in the dirt or working for a living, but it sure as hell hadn't been as good as what they'd had right here. Why go back to shooting people for a living?
Himself, well…he was a halfway decent hand with hammer and nail and saw, but he wasn't good, and he had a black thumb when it came to plants. Best he could hope for was playing scavver or something, but he was a damn good shot even with shit guns and he could hold his own in a fight. He'd been taking guard duty plenty of times once they'd trusted him enough to give him his gun back, this wouldn't be all that different, right?
Then Nate walked in, and Tool got the idea that, nah, this was gonna be different. Because he'd shown up in what was clearly a uniform - mottled blue fatigues, with a patch showing that Minuteman symbol, a rifle crossed with a lightning bolt. Shit, even the Gunners didn't do that, only ones he'd seen in anything similar had been those Brotherhood guys down in Cambridge.
Nate stood in the center of the room, all eyes on him, and straightened. The man's eyes…there was a fire in them Tool hadn't seen since he'd come back from Diamond City.
"Gentlemen. Ladies. Thank you all for coming," he began. "I'll do my best to keep this brief. Preston Garvey, serving in his capacity as the last Commonwealth Minuteman commander standing, has declared me the new General of the Minutemen."
Well, hell - when was the last time the boy scouts had had one of those? The 50s?
"In that capacity, I've decided that we need some reorganization. Hell, some organization, period. Hence the shiny new duds," he said with a wry grin, gesturing at the uniform. There were a couple chuckles. "We're a proper military from here on out. Or at least as much of one as you can have. So let me lay out how this is going to work. When I spread the word that I was looking for soldiers, I meant it. This isn't going to be a part-time gig from here on out. You want to farm and only pick up a gun to fend off raiders, or mix in some scavving for caps on the side - that's not going to happen.There'll be hellish work, not enough sleep, and more firefights than you can count. All of you know what kind of shit the Commonwealth can throw at you, and you'll be asked to face it with a gun and your wits." He stared at each of them in turn. "Take a deep breath, think it over a moment. Because you can walk out now - hell, you can walk out any moment between now and when you get your uniforms. After that, though, you're in it until I or one of the people I put in charge of you says otherwise. No deserting, no leaving everyone behind because you thought it'd be a vacation and an easy way to earn caps and found out we expected different. That understood?"
Sure as hell seemed to be to Tool. One of the newcomers looked queasy, though, and after a moment, he stood up and shuffled on out.
Nate nodded, mouth a hard line. "Right. Anyone else want to follow him?"
There was silence.
"Okay. First things first - you get paid once a month, a hundred and fifty caps each. Yes, that's low. That's because you'll be fed, equipped, and trained on the military's dime. You might be wondering how the hell we're gonna afford that - and it's a good question. Rick?"
"It have anything to do with those Cambridge dipshits who got themselves eaten by ghouls, General?" Rick asked.
Ohhhh.
"That it does. Tool, you mind furnishing everyone with an explanation, since I can see the gears churning?"
Oh. Uh. Well, shit. "A buncha raiders down in Cambridge were running a toll scheme. You know," he half-stammered as every eye turned on him. "Shake down caravans and travellers at gunpoint, they'll pay up rather than go around or risk shooting it out. Well, between them setting up and those Steel Brotherhood guys stomping around, they woke up a shit-ton of ferals, and I…well I guess I don't need to tell you what happened to 'em."
"Precisely. Fortunately, they hadn't managed to spend their 'earnings' on chems and booze just yet. I headed on down to Cambridge and spent a very nice day looting their hideaway blind. Suffice to say, we've got the budget without having to resort to taxing everyone else living here. So you'll not be asked to work for nothing. Keeping that in mind…we've got a long day ahead of us. Today, I start you on basic training."
Nate grinned. "You boys and girls are gonna be Commonwealth Militia. And I'm gonna make sure that title means something."
November 15th, 2287
Thank fuck he remembered basic training, or otherwise this'd have been a clusterfuck.
The first day had been enough for them to start to hate him - morning PT brought that out in anyone - and the second day had confirmed it. They sweated and strained while he yelled at them and bullied them into ranks, working their asses off. Nobody was spared and nobody got special treatment, not even the original Minutemen, who at least bore it a little better.
They bitched when they thought he wasn't paying attention, but that was fine. They were still doing it, no washouts, no injuries, and so after a couple days he'd cut afternoon PT short to get them together and ready for shooting.
"General, sir! Permission to speak, sir!" Tool yelled - another quick learner. He was giving the row of laser muskets laid out for them a wary eye. To be fair, it was deserved - Sturges had updated the design to use metal for the 'barrel', reinforce the capacitor housing, and mount a bayonet lug, but they still looked ramshackle as hell.
"Granted, cadet!"
"Why aren't we using proper laser rifles, sir? We have some, right?"
"Good question, cadet! Several reasons. First! How many people do we have here?"
"Uh…" Nate let the man count on his fingers. Wasn't like the wasteland had had many teachers. He was going to need to work on that, but basics first. "Nine, sir!"
"Excellent! How many laser rifles do we have sitting around, cadet?"
"Fewer than that, sir!"
"Right! And it's not like anyone is making more, are they?"
"Sir, no sir!"
"Outstanding! But there are people making these muskets! Anyone with half a wrecked rifle, some wood and scrap metal, and a hand crank generator can cobble one together, and that means we can make enough for any recruits we might have! Reason the second! Holt!"
"Sir!"
"What don't the laser muskets need that every other firearm does?"
"Ammunition, sir!"
"Correct! Bullets and energy cells, you've got to carry them with you and'll run out sooner or later! Not good when you're scraping by! But there's plenty of guns and plenty of ammo, you might be saying - pipe rifles are easy enough to come by, it's true. Reason the third! Hodges!"
"Sir?!" the Tenpines recruit reflex-yelled.
"Keeping that in mind, why'm I training you nancies on how to use these?"
"Sir! They're laser weapons, sir!"
"And, cadet? Finish that thought!"
"They shoot straight, sir, and you don't need to worry about a crossbreeze, sir!"
"Exactly! I don't expect marksmanship from you slackjawed apes, but even an ape can hit the broad side of a barn with these, and anyone not in combat or power armor is going to regret the day they were born! Metal, leather, those horseshit scrapyard freakshows the raiders love wearing, it'll punch right through! Garvey!"
"General, sir!"
"What're the disadvantages of these weapons?"
"We get one shot every few seconds at best, sir! And there's a lot of things that like to swarm us, sir!"
"Excellent! Which is why when this is done, I'll be walking you through close-quarters drill! Bayonets, sidearms, knives! In the meantime, cadets, you will be learning to make each shot count!"
November 16th, 2287
On the fourth day, he made them start running in full kit.
That meant laser musket with bayonet, full ration pack for a week, survival gear, 10mm pistol, ammunition for the same, plus some rocks and ballast just to fuck with them.
Plus their new uniforms, complete with armor - a scrap-metal cuirass that'd hold against most of the shitty underpowered guns the raiders had, boiled leather for the legs and arms to protect against shrapnel, blades, and wildlife, all over a big greatcoat meant to help them blend in to their surroundings. Plus an armored hat - he'd wanted it to be a simple helm but Garvey had managed to convince him that keeping the iconic half-brim was worth a little sacrifice and complexity in making them - with goggles and dust mask to boot.
The results were…actually encouraging. Marcy was keeping along only out of spite, of course, and some of the others were lagging almost as badly, but they were still keeping up with him, and the others kept them going and kept an eye on them - good news for teamwork.
He was pushing them harder than ever, but they were keeping up.
Once the week was up, he would split them off. Four on four, training small-unit tactics and communication. Thank fuck Sturges had managed to figure out how to reduce the yield on the muskets - they'd sting, but nothing more, with a simple modification, and his new troops wouldn't be trying to figure out how to use their training weapons at the same time as they were supposed to be learning how to handle themselves in a firefight.
It was quick, it was dirty, and it was the best option they had - they couldn't wait much longer.
Good. They'd need to.
Winter was coming soon, and they needed to deal with a couple of problem areas before that. In order to pull that off, he needed soldiers.
He just hoped he'd be able to get them up to snuff in time.
"He talked - though it took some persuading," Nate said as they walked along the riverbank, Dogmeat trotting a few paces behind. "Ten years old - and whatever that Doc in Goodneighbor found confirmed it. I missed ten years of his life, and he's back in the Institute. Which…" he shook his head. "He's not my kid. Whoever they have raising him - and I fucking hope it's not Kellogg who's been doing it for the past few years - I'm never going to be his father."
In the distance, a raven cawed. Nate picked up a rock and threw it in the bird's general direction. Preston let him - the man clearly hadn't slept last night, and had the look of someone barely hanging on by his fingernails.
"I could…what? Go hunt down Virgil, whoever the fuck that might be, and hope he knows how to get inside - if he's even survived the Glowing Sea? Bust down the Institute's gates, for a kid who won't know me? Become a goddamn kidnapper? Fuck that. Nora's avenged, Kellogg died screaming, and Shaun - if that's even the name he has there - has someone looking out for him. That's as good as I can hope for." He stalked on, hands in the pockets of the coat he'd picked up in Diamond City, breath steaming in the cold air. Preston followed half a step behind, river on one side, the stakes marking the boundaries of the slowly expanding wall on the other.
"No," Nate continued. "That part's done. Then there's the rest of my life ahead of me." He turned to Preston. "You wanted me to lead your bunch of militia when we last talked. And I've had time to think on it. You're still sure about it?"
Preston put his hands in his pockets, swept his eyes over the river. "Now? That depends. When I asked…you were going to find your kid, bring him back. Try to make a world for him that wasn't a mess. That's not a road that's open anymore. So what I want to know is…what would the Minutemen end up being, if you were in charge?"
Nate was silent for a moment, silhouetted against the tree line. "An army," he answered at last. "A better one than the one I was in. One that could protect everyone, keep the Commonwealth safe." He turned back towards Preston, eyes still and frozen as a winter pond. "One that has a chain of command. Oaths of service. The structure that can make them more than a gaggle of undertrained farmers."
One that keeps the Institute from ever doing something like this again went unsaid between the two of them.
Preston met Nate's cold, cold eyes, and held out a hand. "Good enough. Welcome aboard…General."
Nate took it. "Not much of an army."
"Maybe. But you've got a few ideas about changing that, don't you?"
Nate didn't quite smile - more bared his teeth. "That I do. Let's get to work, partner."
—
November 13th, 2287
Commonly accepted as the date of the founding of the Commonwealth Militia Force (CMF), more often referred to as Minutemen, identically to their predecessor organization.
Tool hadn't been sure about this, well…this whole thing. Sure, Jane had needed a doc, but they'd been raiders. How hard would it've been to just force one to treat her?
'Course, that would've been a really shit idea to try on these folks, so maybe Dave had had a point even back then. But still. He hadn't thought it'd be worth it.
But instead…well, hell. It was nice, alright? No chems, sure, but none of them had hit those all that hard to begin with. In exchange for that, and for enduring Marcy Long, Queen of Bitchiness, they got food, water, a roof over their heads that wasn't absolute dogshit, and work that actually, well…actually meant something.
Building shit. A kinda future, where they wouldn't be scraping by, with other people who had their backs, not because they were the scariest motherfuckers around, but because they gave a shit.
Hell, take the Abernathy's. A gang like Ack-Ack's might've stolen from 'em, but the Minutemen had played it safe and lent a hand, and now everyone in Sanctuary had a good deal on the food and some help in how to best grow their own, even if winter coming on would make it kinda a bitch.
Tool knew he wasn't the brightest, but not eating another MRE sounded mighty fine, and he hadn't even needed to hold anyone at gunpoint to do it.
So, yeah. He'd gone from Tool the raider to Tool the settler, gunhand, caravan guard, builder, whatever the hell Nate or Preston or Sturges needed at the moment. It was hard fucking work, but he went to bed every night knowing tomorrow would be a little better because of that hard work.
Course, things had been a little unsettled. Nate had come back without his kid (not to be a jackass to the guy who had a good chunk of their reserve food and water and was a hell of a fighter to boot, but Tool could've told him that would've been the outcome a while ago, saved him the trouble) and ever since he'd been plotting. Talking to traders, spending a bunch of the caps he'd earned while down in Diamond City, putting heads together with Preston and the other Minutemen. He'd even disappeared for a couple days, then popped back up with a big sack full of something or other.
Guess he'd had enough of that, because word had gone down yesterday for anyone who wanted to learn to be a soldier to attend this little meeting a bit after dawn. They'd crowded into Nate's house - all the Minutemen guys, obviously, but also a couple of the newer guys who'd trickled in looking for steady work and a safe place to sleep, one of the dirt-grubbers from Tenpines Bluff, and even fucking Marcy.
Not Jane, not Dave, and not Barney, though. Not that Tool could really blame any of 'em. They'd all realized the same shit he had - raiding might've been easier than grubbing in the dirt or working for a living, but it sure as hell hadn't been as good as what they'd had right here. Why go back to shooting people for a living?
Himself, well…he was a halfway decent hand with hammer and nail and saw, but he wasn't good, and he had a black thumb when it came to plants. Best he could hope for was playing scavver or something, but he was a damn good shot even with shit guns and he could hold his own in a fight. He'd been taking guard duty plenty of times once they'd trusted him enough to give him his gun back, this wouldn't be all that different, right?
Then Nate walked in, and Tool got the idea that, nah, this was gonna be different. Because he'd shown up in what was clearly a uniform - mottled blue fatigues, with a patch showing that Minuteman symbol, a rifle crossed with a lightning bolt. Shit, even the Gunners didn't do that, only ones he'd seen in anything similar had been those Brotherhood guys down in Cambridge.
Nate stood in the center of the room, all eyes on him, and straightened. The man's eyes…there was a fire in them Tool hadn't seen since he'd come back from Diamond City.
"Gentlemen. Ladies. Thank you all for coming," he began. "I'll do my best to keep this brief. Preston Garvey, serving in his capacity as the last Commonwealth Minuteman commander standing, has declared me the new General of the Minutemen."
Well, hell - when was the last time the boy scouts had had one of those? The 50s?
"In that capacity, I've decided that we need some reorganization. Hell, some organization, period. Hence the shiny new duds," he said with a wry grin, gesturing at the uniform. There were a couple chuckles. "We're a proper military from here on out. Or at least as much of one as you can have. So let me lay out how this is going to work. When I spread the word that I was looking for soldiers, I meant it. This isn't going to be a part-time gig from here on out. You want to farm and only pick up a gun to fend off raiders, or mix in some scavving for caps on the side - that's not going to happen.There'll be hellish work, not enough sleep, and more firefights than you can count. All of you know what kind of shit the Commonwealth can throw at you, and you'll be asked to face it with a gun and your wits." He stared at each of them in turn. "Take a deep breath, think it over a moment. Because you can walk out now - hell, you can walk out any moment between now and when you get your uniforms. After that, though, you're in it until I or one of the people I put in charge of you says otherwise. No deserting, no leaving everyone behind because you thought it'd be a vacation and an easy way to earn caps and found out we expected different. That understood?"
Sure as hell seemed to be to Tool. One of the newcomers looked queasy, though, and after a moment, he stood up and shuffled on out.
Nate nodded, mouth a hard line. "Right. Anyone else want to follow him?"
There was silence.
"Okay. First things first - you get paid once a month, a hundred and fifty caps each. Yes, that's low. That's because you'll be fed, equipped, and trained on the military's dime. You might be wondering how the hell we're gonna afford that - and it's a good question. Rick?"
"It have anything to do with those Cambridge dipshits who got themselves eaten by ghouls, General?" Rick asked.
Ohhhh.
"That it does. Tool, you mind furnishing everyone with an explanation, since I can see the gears churning?"
Oh. Uh. Well, shit. "A buncha raiders down in Cambridge were running a toll scheme. You know," he half-stammered as every eye turned on him. "Shake down caravans and travellers at gunpoint, they'll pay up rather than go around or risk shooting it out. Well, between them setting up and those Steel Brotherhood guys stomping around, they woke up a shit-ton of ferals, and I…well I guess I don't need to tell you what happened to 'em."
"Precisely. Fortunately, they hadn't managed to spend their 'earnings' on chems and booze just yet. I headed on down to Cambridge and spent a very nice day looting their hideaway blind. Suffice to say, we've got the budget without having to resort to taxing everyone else living here. So you'll not be asked to work for nothing. Keeping that in mind…we've got a long day ahead of us. Today, I start you on basic training."
Nate grinned. "You boys and girls are gonna be Commonwealth Militia. And I'm gonna make sure that title means something."
November 15th, 2287
Thank fuck he remembered basic training, or otherwise this'd have been a clusterfuck.
The first day had been enough for them to start to hate him - morning PT brought that out in anyone - and the second day had confirmed it. They sweated and strained while he yelled at them and bullied them into ranks, working their asses off. Nobody was spared and nobody got special treatment, not even the original Minutemen, who at least bore it a little better.
They bitched when they thought he wasn't paying attention, but that was fine. They were still doing it, no washouts, no injuries, and so after a couple days he'd cut afternoon PT short to get them together and ready for shooting.
"General, sir! Permission to speak, sir!" Tool yelled - another quick learner. He was giving the row of laser muskets laid out for them a wary eye. To be fair, it was deserved - Sturges had updated the design to use metal for the 'barrel', reinforce the capacitor housing, and mount a bayonet lug, but they still looked ramshackle as hell.
"Granted, cadet!"
"Why aren't we using proper laser rifles, sir? We have some, right?"
"Good question, cadet! Several reasons. First! How many people do we have here?"
"Uh…" Nate let the man count on his fingers. Wasn't like the wasteland had had many teachers. He was going to need to work on that, but basics first. "Nine, sir!"
"Excellent! How many laser rifles do we have sitting around, cadet?"
"Fewer than that, sir!"
"Right! And it's not like anyone is making more, are they?"
"Sir, no sir!"
"Outstanding! But there are people making these muskets! Anyone with half a wrecked rifle, some wood and scrap metal, and a hand crank generator can cobble one together, and that means we can make enough for any recruits we might have! Reason the second! Holt!"
"Sir!"
"What don't the laser muskets need that every other firearm does?"
"Ammunition, sir!"
"Correct! Bullets and energy cells, you've got to carry them with you and'll run out sooner or later! Not good when you're scraping by! But there's plenty of guns and plenty of ammo, you might be saying - pipe rifles are easy enough to come by, it's true. Reason the third! Hodges!"
"Sir?!" the Tenpines recruit reflex-yelled.
"Keeping that in mind, why'm I training you nancies on how to use these?"
"Sir! They're laser weapons, sir!"
"And, cadet? Finish that thought!"
"They shoot straight, sir, and you don't need to worry about a crossbreeze, sir!"
"Exactly! I don't expect marksmanship from you slackjawed apes, but even an ape can hit the broad side of a barn with these, and anyone not in combat or power armor is going to regret the day they were born! Metal, leather, those horseshit scrapyard freakshows the raiders love wearing, it'll punch right through! Garvey!"
"General, sir!"
"What're the disadvantages of these weapons?"
"We get one shot every few seconds at best, sir! And there's a lot of things that like to swarm us, sir!"
"Excellent! Which is why when this is done, I'll be walking you through close-quarters drill! Bayonets, sidearms, knives! In the meantime, cadets, you will be learning to make each shot count!"
November 16th, 2287
On the fourth day, he made them start running in full kit.
That meant laser musket with bayonet, full ration pack for a week, survival gear, 10mm pistol, ammunition for the same, plus some rocks and ballast just to fuck with them.
Plus their new uniforms, complete with armor - a scrap-metal cuirass that'd hold against most of the shitty underpowered guns the raiders had, boiled leather for the legs and arms to protect against shrapnel, blades, and wildlife, all over a big greatcoat meant to help them blend in to their surroundings. Plus an armored hat - he'd wanted it to be a simple helm but Garvey had managed to convince him that keeping the iconic half-brim was worth a little sacrifice and complexity in making them - with goggles and dust mask to boot.
The results were…actually encouraging. Marcy was keeping along only out of spite, of course, and some of the others were lagging almost as badly, but they were still keeping up with him, and the others kept them going and kept an eye on them - good news for teamwork.
He was pushing them harder than ever, but they were keeping up.
Once the week was up, he would split them off. Four on four, training small-unit tactics and communication. Thank fuck Sturges had managed to figure out how to reduce the yield on the muskets - they'd sting, but nothing more, with a simple modification, and his new troops wouldn't be trying to figure out how to use their training weapons at the same time as they were supposed to be learning how to handle themselves in a firefight.
It was quick, it was dirty, and it was the best option they had - they couldn't wait much longer.
Good. They'd need to.
Winter was coming soon, and they needed to deal with a couple of problem areas before that. In order to pull that off, he needed soldiers.
He just hoped he'd be able to get them up to snuff in time.
Fallout 4, despite its issues, is, in my opinion, an underappreciated Fallout game, and I love you for doing a fanfic on it.
Wonder how Shaun'll take his pops just giving up searching for him?
- Pronouns
- They/Their
Huh.
Nate going Minuteman Warlord is a neat idea that I wish was more feasible in game.
Nate going Minuteman Warlord is a neat idea that I wish was more feasible in game.
Allies
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
November 28th, 2287
With the first batch of recruits 'barely adequately' trained (as noted in his personal journals), General Gray begins planning to reduce the biggest obstacle towards the new settlement's hopes of surviving the winter before the snowfall starts in earnest. In this, he receives help from a somewhat unexpected avenue…
In Haylen's opinion, Sanctuary was proof that the Commonwealth wasn't quite as much of a disaster zone as her own experiences had implied.
It hadn't been there a month and a half ago, and now it was a bustling little town. There was a wall going up that, while ramshackle, still looked sturdy enough, with guard posts clear to see along it, and a couple of automated turrets as well. Anyone trying to attack it would either have to ford the shallow river or cross the recently-repaired bridge, all while under fire - and then there was the gatehouse they were approaching. It'd been a gas station, but between the turrets on the roof and the position it had on the hilltop, anyone on it could see and shoot anything coming up towards the town.
Not that the two of them had that much to worry about. They weren't unarmed, but they obviously weren't raiders or mercenaries. Automated turrets would typically only care if someone started shooting at them before they fired back, and the local militia weren't that trigger-happy.
Hopefully.
So she tried to look harmless when a woman in a long coat and armor stepped out from the gas station, ramshackle laser weapon held loosely in her arms, while another soldier on the rooftop popped up to cover them.
"Afternoon," the first one said acerbically. "I'm guessing you bunch are the Brotherhood pair? That Paladin of yours radioed ahead, said you were coming."
"That's right," Keane replied stiffly. "I'm Knight Keane. This is Scribe Haylen. We have things to discuss with your…General."
The first Minuteman (Minutewoman?) looked them over for a moment, then nodded. "Hodges! You good to hold down the fort a few minutes?"
"Not a problem, Marce," the man on the rooftop said breezily. "You gonna send relief?"
"No, just drop these two on the General. Keep an eye out."
"Will do. Next salvager caravan's an hour out, so should be fine."
"Right. Come along, you two."
She saw Keane bite back something, and start following in the soldier's footsteps.
Once they crossed the bridge and got through the gate - which was currently open, probably because the walls hadn't been finished yet - she could get a better look at the rest of the place.
It was…impressive. They were clearing trees from the rest of the islet, and looked to be starting plowing before the winter, while almost every house had at least some kind of planting or winter garden going on. The village looked to be a mix of prewar and ramshackle post-War construction - she counted at least twenty people at work, either building up the wall, laboring over crops, or building new shacks - they also looked to be assembling a water purifier of some kind, next to a windmill. A couple of the houses were hooked up to rattletrap biodiesel generators - impressive enough in its own right, considering how hard it'd be to build those from scratch and make sure the wiring in the ancient buildings wasn't dangerous. She spotted a few more soldiers in the same uniform as their escort, either drilling or on guard duty. Organized, hard-working, clearly at least decently equipped. She wondered how much the matching uniforms and the armor had cost. The Brotherhood sourced theirs from modified military ones and had far more than they needed, but from what she could see, everything Sanctuary's protectors were wearing was locally made - and they didn't have a loom or a source of cloth here, so they'd have to have bought the stuff, probably from Bunker Hill's caravans or Diamond City's market.
She was a scribe - it was her job to notice things like that, to figure out where each piece of a soldier's weapons, clothes, and gear was supposed to come from, in addition to countless other duties that weren't easily described as 'killing things and taking technology'.
Their escort led them to one of the most intact houses, knocked on the door, and straightened into something halfway resembling attention as it opened. "Captain," she said tonelessly to the dark-skinned man who'd opened it. "That Brotherhood group is here."
"Thank you, Corporal," the man said easily, casting an eye their way. "We'll take things from here."
The Minutewoman saluted and trotted back down the road as the captain ushered them in.
Nathan Grey was bent over a table in the house's living room, examining a hand-drawn map and muttering to himself. He looked up at their approach. "Scribe Haylen. Knight Keane. What brings you to Sanctuary? I'd have thought you were too understrength to come all this way north," he asked, as the captain closed the door behind them.
"Orders from Paladin Danse - something that we could not discuss on an open channel," Keane said stiffly. "It's come to our attention that your group has come into possession of several suits of power armor. Is that correct?"
Nate tilted his head to the side slightly. "Is it going to be a problem if we did?"
"Not…currently. While the Brotherhood does seek to salvage and preserve technology, it is far better to have it in hands that aren't raiders. Power armor won't end the world again, after all, for all that it's a useful tool - and one you will find few more knowledgeable in than the Brotherhood."
Nate's stare didn't waver. Did the man ever blink? "You want something. Out with it."
"Scribe Haylen and I are prepared to offer our services, both in getting what suits you have operational and in whatever other local issues need technological expertise, if we can, in return, have the help of your militia in clearing out a troublesome raider gang and letting us have access to some of the tech-"
He stopped as Nate began to laugh, and she saw his face go red. "Is there a problem?" he ground out.
"No, just…you mean the ones shacked up in the Corvega plant, don't you?" He gestured at the maps. "We're already planning on how to handle them - and in you walk, expecting to have to negotiate for that." He grinned. "Your help's welcome, Knight, but this'll be a CMF operation, not the Brotherhood's."
"I see," Keane said woodenly. "Should I take this to mean that you will not be allowing us access to the technology inside?"
"It's a car factory, Knight. If you want some of the salvage, we're willing to share, but if you tell me that it's a repository of dangerous technology I'll laugh in your face."
Yeah, she'd expected that. Knight Keane went even more red, and opened his mouth, and she stepped up, putting a hand on his elbow. "That should be good enough," she said simply. "We'd want to make sure that it's not sitting on a pile of fusion bombs - those engines can go off nastily and I doubt that all of them are completely safe - but we're more worried about the raiders than we are what's on the site. They…well, we tried to breach the factory once before. We lost two men in the process. They're not going to be easy targets."
Keane looked at her, closed his mouth, and visibly straightened. "As you say, Scribe Haylen," he murmured.
Nate looked between the two of them, nodded, and clapped his hands. "Lovely. Captain Garvey - remind me, what do we have to work with?"
"We've got two fully intact suits, General," the man who'd let them in announced - she fought the urge to jump, he'd been so silent she'd honestly forgotten he was there. "At least, that's what Sturges says. There's no holes in them, at least. Plus enough fusion cores to run them, and a third suit that could probably work if we patched it up with some scrap metal. All of them could use a tune-up, but Sturges has plenty of other projects."
"Right. Now then, Knight, Scribe - are either of you intending to join the siege?"
"No offense meant, General, but I think I would be better in combat than most of the forces available to you," Keane responded. She saw Captain Garvey's eyes narrow, but the man said nothing.
"That might be, so we'd welcome an extra gun," Nate said easily enough. "Scribe Haylen?"
"I'm capable enough, all field scribes are," she responded. "But I think your people are probably better suited."
Nate nodded. "Right. Well, take a look at this map here."
It was a pretty well-done map - someone had clearly used an existing civic map as the base, then added or removed buildings to match what the war and time had done to the place.
"I've been having two-man patrols do as much scouting as they can of the town," Nate began. "From what we can tell, we're looking at thirty or so raiders spread across the entire area - about five or so outposts in total. The majority of their strength is still in the old assembly plant - I'd call it twenty men - with about a dozen more scattered around their habitual guard spots." He indicated red Xs spread across the southern half of the map. "The guards primarily concentrate themselves at these two apartment blocks and a catwalk between two more that gives them overwatch on the main park in the northern half of town. It's a necessity, since the town has a serious feral ghoul infestation - though we've done our part to cull it."
"And the forces available to us?" Keane asked sharply.
"If we can get the third suit patched up in less than a week, and leave a bare-minimum garrison of the rawest recruits while taking everyone who's halfway competent, and assuming you both join in, three suits of T-45e power armor, twelve infantry. The raiders are poorly trained and primarily reliant on their fortification to make a stand, but that's still poor odds - which is what Captain Garvey and I were discussing before you came in."
"There's a difference between a head-to-head fight and a siege," the Captain observed. "And their outposts are isolated from each other."
"You're proposing we try to defeat them in detail," Keane said. "They're watching the south - we have learned that to our cost - but most of the town itself they don't care to garrison. There's nothing out here that could feasibly threaten them."
Nate's grin widened. "Now there is. Let's talk shop."
With the first batch of recruits 'barely adequately' trained (as noted in his personal journals), General Gray begins planning to reduce the biggest obstacle towards the new settlement's hopes of surviving the winter before the snowfall starts in earnest. In this, he receives help from a somewhat unexpected avenue…
In Haylen's opinion, Sanctuary was proof that the Commonwealth wasn't quite as much of a disaster zone as her own experiences had implied.
It hadn't been there a month and a half ago, and now it was a bustling little town. There was a wall going up that, while ramshackle, still looked sturdy enough, with guard posts clear to see along it, and a couple of automated turrets as well. Anyone trying to attack it would either have to ford the shallow river or cross the recently-repaired bridge, all while under fire - and then there was the gatehouse they were approaching. It'd been a gas station, but between the turrets on the roof and the position it had on the hilltop, anyone on it could see and shoot anything coming up towards the town.
Not that the two of them had that much to worry about. They weren't unarmed, but they obviously weren't raiders or mercenaries. Automated turrets would typically only care if someone started shooting at them before they fired back, and the local militia weren't that trigger-happy.
Hopefully.
So she tried to look harmless when a woman in a long coat and armor stepped out from the gas station, ramshackle laser weapon held loosely in her arms, while another soldier on the rooftop popped up to cover them.
"Afternoon," the first one said acerbically. "I'm guessing you bunch are the Brotherhood pair? That Paladin of yours radioed ahead, said you were coming."
"That's right," Keane replied stiffly. "I'm Knight Keane. This is Scribe Haylen. We have things to discuss with your…General."
The first Minuteman (Minutewoman?) looked them over for a moment, then nodded. "Hodges! You good to hold down the fort a few minutes?"
"Not a problem, Marce," the man on the rooftop said breezily. "You gonna send relief?"
"No, just drop these two on the General. Keep an eye out."
"Will do. Next salvager caravan's an hour out, so should be fine."
"Right. Come along, you two."
She saw Keane bite back something, and start following in the soldier's footsteps.
Once they crossed the bridge and got through the gate - which was currently open, probably because the walls hadn't been finished yet - she could get a better look at the rest of the place.
It was…impressive. They were clearing trees from the rest of the islet, and looked to be starting plowing before the winter, while almost every house had at least some kind of planting or winter garden going on. The village looked to be a mix of prewar and ramshackle post-War construction - she counted at least twenty people at work, either building up the wall, laboring over crops, or building new shacks - they also looked to be assembling a water purifier of some kind, next to a windmill. A couple of the houses were hooked up to rattletrap biodiesel generators - impressive enough in its own right, considering how hard it'd be to build those from scratch and make sure the wiring in the ancient buildings wasn't dangerous. She spotted a few more soldiers in the same uniform as their escort, either drilling or on guard duty. Organized, hard-working, clearly at least decently equipped. She wondered how much the matching uniforms and the armor had cost. The Brotherhood sourced theirs from modified military ones and had far more than they needed, but from what she could see, everything Sanctuary's protectors were wearing was locally made - and they didn't have a loom or a source of cloth here, so they'd have to have bought the stuff, probably from Bunker Hill's caravans or Diamond City's market.
She was a scribe - it was her job to notice things like that, to figure out where each piece of a soldier's weapons, clothes, and gear was supposed to come from, in addition to countless other duties that weren't easily described as 'killing things and taking technology'.
Their escort led them to one of the most intact houses, knocked on the door, and straightened into something halfway resembling attention as it opened. "Captain," she said tonelessly to the dark-skinned man who'd opened it. "That Brotherhood group is here."
"Thank you, Corporal," the man said easily, casting an eye their way. "We'll take things from here."
The Minutewoman saluted and trotted back down the road as the captain ushered them in.
Nathan Grey was bent over a table in the house's living room, examining a hand-drawn map and muttering to himself. He looked up at their approach. "Scribe Haylen. Knight Keane. What brings you to Sanctuary? I'd have thought you were too understrength to come all this way north," he asked, as the captain closed the door behind them.
"Orders from Paladin Danse - something that we could not discuss on an open channel," Keane said stiffly. "It's come to our attention that your group has come into possession of several suits of power armor. Is that correct?"
Nate tilted his head to the side slightly. "Is it going to be a problem if we did?"
"Not…currently. While the Brotherhood does seek to salvage and preserve technology, it is far better to have it in hands that aren't raiders. Power armor won't end the world again, after all, for all that it's a useful tool - and one you will find few more knowledgeable in than the Brotherhood."
Nate's stare didn't waver. Did the man ever blink? "You want something. Out with it."
"Scribe Haylen and I are prepared to offer our services, both in getting what suits you have operational and in whatever other local issues need technological expertise, if we can, in return, have the help of your militia in clearing out a troublesome raider gang and letting us have access to some of the tech-"
He stopped as Nate began to laugh, and she saw his face go red. "Is there a problem?" he ground out.
"No, just…you mean the ones shacked up in the Corvega plant, don't you?" He gestured at the maps. "We're already planning on how to handle them - and in you walk, expecting to have to negotiate for that." He grinned. "Your help's welcome, Knight, but this'll be a CMF operation, not the Brotherhood's."
"I see," Keane said woodenly. "Should I take this to mean that you will not be allowing us access to the technology inside?"
"It's a car factory, Knight. If you want some of the salvage, we're willing to share, but if you tell me that it's a repository of dangerous technology I'll laugh in your face."
Yeah, she'd expected that. Knight Keane went even more red, and opened his mouth, and she stepped up, putting a hand on his elbow. "That should be good enough," she said simply. "We'd want to make sure that it's not sitting on a pile of fusion bombs - those engines can go off nastily and I doubt that all of them are completely safe - but we're more worried about the raiders than we are what's on the site. They…well, we tried to breach the factory once before. We lost two men in the process. They're not going to be easy targets."
Keane looked at her, closed his mouth, and visibly straightened. "As you say, Scribe Haylen," he murmured.
Nate looked between the two of them, nodded, and clapped his hands. "Lovely. Captain Garvey - remind me, what do we have to work with?"
"We've got two fully intact suits, General," the man who'd let them in announced - she fought the urge to jump, he'd been so silent she'd honestly forgotten he was there. "At least, that's what Sturges says. There's no holes in them, at least. Plus enough fusion cores to run them, and a third suit that could probably work if we patched it up with some scrap metal. All of them could use a tune-up, but Sturges has plenty of other projects."
"Right. Now then, Knight, Scribe - are either of you intending to join the siege?"
"No offense meant, General, but I think I would be better in combat than most of the forces available to you," Keane responded. She saw Captain Garvey's eyes narrow, but the man said nothing.
"That might be, so we'd welcome an extra gun," Nate said easily enough. "Scribe Haylen?"
"I'm capable enough, all field scribes are," she responded. "But I think your people are probably better suited."
Nate nodded. "Right. Well, take a look at this map here."
It was a pretty well-done map - someone had clearly used an existing civic map as the base, then added or removed buildings to match what the war and time had done to the place.
"I've been having two-man patrols do as much scouting as they can of the town," Nate began. "From what we can tell, we're looking at thirty or so raiders spread across the entire area - about five or so outposts in total. The majority of their strength is still in the old assembly plant - I'd call it twenty men - with about a dozen more scattered around their habitual guard spots." He indicated red Xs spread across the southern half of the map. "The guards primarily concentrate themselves at these two apartment blocks and a catwalk between two more that gives them overwatch on the main park in the northern half of town. It's a necessity, since the town has a serious feral ghoul infestation - though we've done our part to cull it."
"And the forces available to us?" Keane asked sharply.
"If we can get the third suit patched up in less than a week, and leave a bare-minimum garrison of the rawest recruits while taking everyone who's halfway competent, and assuming you both join in, three suits of T-45e power armor, twelve infantry. The raiders are poorly trained and primarily reliant on their fortification to make a stand, but that's still poor odds - which is what Captain Garvey and I were discussing before you came in."
"There's a difference between a head-to-head fight and a siege," the Captain observed. "And their outposts are isolated from each other."
"You're proposing we try to defeat them in detail," Keane said. "They're watching the south - we have learned that to our cost - but most of the town itself they don't care to garrison. There's nothing out here that could feasibly threaten them."
Nate's grin widened. "Now there is. Let's talk shop."
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ZurigaSungama
Spherical, frictionless, and of uniform density
- Location
- Space
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Oooh, are we gonna get a good-old-fashioned Mook Horror Show?
Siege of Lexington, Part One
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
November 30th, 2287, 9:12pm
The Siege of Lexington begins.
The northern half of town was deserted, so Corporal Marcy Long and her squad crept through the dark streets without being seen or stopped, either by their prey or by the ferals.
Which was ridiculous, because the outpost they'd been told to clear was well-positioned - a pair of partially-collapsed houses with a makeshift bridge between their roofs, enough shelter to be useful and in the right spot to have good sightlines on the streets. But the raiders were arrogant pricks who hadn't bothered posting actual sentries - typical. Even more typical, they had a fire going, and seemed more occupied in ruining their night vision than actually keeping an eye out.
They'd known that, of course, which was why her squad was handling it - they had three now. First was Captain Garvey, Emma, and Josh - the Minutemen who'd already known how to fight - plus one of the scavvers who'd joined up. Second was Tool's squad, the ex-raider leading the better half of the fresh meat who'd turned up over the past couple weeks. Third was hers - the newest bunch, and though that might've been an insult she was still in charge of them and still needed to make sure they made it through safe. Hence the milk run.
The fire was blazing, a beacon in the dark, shadowed figures arrayed around it. Enough light to see by, enough light to know their targets by. Two of them, laughing, drinking.
And a third, tied down, screaming and struggling.
She bit back bile as a knife descended, and the screams reached a higher pitch. She was a soldier now. She was better than that.
She propped her musket against a piece of debris, began to wind it as Malt, her second, crouched down beside her and did the same. The other two members of her squad grabbed cover.
"On the right," her second whispered.
She nodded. She tracked her target, lining him up in the simple metal sights. "Fire."
One pull of the trigger for each of them - her shot took the raider in the neck, ripped her head off, while Malt's caught the other in the gut. The raider toppled over, fell slowly over the side of the roof. Shouts rose from the rest of the ruined house.
"Fix bayonets," she snapped to her squad, doing the same. "Perkins, Hodges, up front. Breach and clear!"
She locked the bayonet into place as she rose from her crouch and her squadmates took the front, cranking the musket back up to charge as she went. There was shouting as the other two rounded the bend, a brief spray of gunfire, and the thoom of laser muskets discharging.
"Clear!" came Hodges' voice. A moment later, the two popped up on the roof, illuminated by the firelight. "Medic!" the Minuteman called as he set to getting the poor bastard the raiders had been cutting on free.
Marcy gestured Malt forward - the big man wasn't as good as Josh was at patching someone up, but he'd learned enough to do field medicine.
She shouldered her musket and grabbed for the portable radio as she jogged to catch up. One outpost down, nobody had gotten hurt, and they'd even managed to save someone. Clean as could be - time to tell the General and get ready for the next step.
The raiders had fucked with the rest of the Commonwealth for long enough - had ruined enough lives. Them, and people like them - well, she wasn't gonna stand for it anymore. She'd been put in charge of this four-man squad because the General and Garvey alike knew she could handle it, and she was going to prove they were just as good as the veteran Minutemen. Not helpless little nobodies, dragged hither and yon across the Wasteland, unable to-
She shook herself, driving that spiral out of her head, and keyed the radio. Sturges work, just like her weapon and those of her squad. "Long here. Phase one complete. No casualties, picked up a stretcher case the raiders were working on."
"Acknowledged, Long. Hold position until the other teams finish up," the General responded.
"Roger."
She ducked around the half-collapsed house, joining the rest of the squad - Perkins and Hodges were already piling up the bodies near the wreck of an auto-turret. "Talk to me, Malt," she said as she got a good look at the kid the raiders had been working over. Christ, he couldn't have been much older than Kyle…
"Knocked him out with some Med-X, most of this is superficial, patched it up easy," her second reported. "He'll be out for a while, probably better if he wakes up somewhere safe."
"We're holding position for the moment. Douse that fire, secure him, and make sure we've got clear lines of fire. Perkins, Hodges, anything of note?"
"About fifty caps between 'em, some Jet, and a good bit of ammo. What do you think the General wants with these guns, anyway?"
"He says that if we ever start having a problem with recruits outstripping supply we can hand 'em off to people we want on guard duty and the like," Marcy answered. "That, and worst comes to worst some trader'll buy em if they're cleaned up a bit."
"Eh, guess he knows what he's doing. Let's see what else they've got stashed around here."
—-
November 30th, 2287, 9:21pm
Corporal Tool made his way up the stairs with care, moving slowly and silently and disarming traps as they went.
As he worked, he could hear the guys upstairs talking.
"The way that last one looked at me…fuck, man, what're we doing? Thought this gig was supposed to be about shaking these idjits down, not having to kill 'em."
"What, you gonna cry for 'em or something? They didn't have the balls to fight back, so fuck 'em. Stop being a pussy about it."
"Nah, just…I'm tired of this. Fuck it. I hear there's some people making a go of it up north, maybe they'll need guards…or I could go back to Diamond City. Fucking Jared's losing his shit anyway, we didn't need to shoot anyone, just tell 'em to hand over the caps."
"Yeah, yeah, be a little bitch. God, why'd you even join up if you're gonna be such a buzzkill about it?"
"Wanted to keep an eye on a friend, y'know? You have those, right?"
"Shut the fuck up," the other one said with a laugh. "But yeah, nah, I get it. What happened?"
"He went with Gristle, never came back."
"Ah, shit. Well, that's life, isn't it?"
Tool finished cutting the last tripwire, then turned to his second - reliable dude by the name of Ben, fresh meat, maybe, but still quick to learn.
Quick enough that they'd drilled some hand signals for shit like this.
Capture, he signed, before drawing his bayonet - a knife by any other name, seven inches of darkened steel
Ben nodded, did the same, and followed him up the last flight of stairs, past another couple of bodies. Poor bastards - the raiders must've either caught them here or driven them down today, they hadn't had time to start rotting yet.
The next room up was easy to scope out - one man checking over another corpse, the other leaned against a wall, not paying attention to the stairs. Tool pointed Ben at Mr No Ears, and crept forwards. Behind him, the other two members of his squad fixed bayonets.
"It's not life," the one looting the body said. "So I'm fucking done with this, soon as -"
Ben moved, and Tool did the same - his second grabbed the leaner while Tool lunged for the other. He turned before Tool was halfway there, going for his gun as his partner's shocked yelp echoed in the tiny apartment, but didn't get it out of its holster before Tool slammed him back into the wall and pressed the edge of his blade against his throat.
"Shit, man, take whatever you want," the raider babbled, holding up his hands. "Easy, easy, nobody needs to-"
Tool covered his mouth with his hand, risking a glance back over his shoulder to see Ben pinning his target down with a knee on his back, already cuffing the bastard. Easily done when the other two Minutemen had charged muskets pointed in the man's face.
"Now, friend," he said conversationally. "This can go one of two ways. Either you keep your mouth shut and don't move when I pull this knife away, and you end up cuffed and gunless…or you decide to be a problem, and I cut your throat. Nod if you understand."
The raider nodded slowly.
"Good. Don't move a muscle."
Tool pulled the knife away carefully. The raider kept still, hands still raised. Tool checked him over, found a pistol and knife, tossed both onto the couch for the moment, and nodded. "Kneel down, hands on your head," he snapped. "Cuffs are going on."
"Shit, shit, okay," the raider muttered, casting anxious glances at his trapped partner as he did what he was told. "Fucking hell, who are you guys?"
Tool cuffed the man easily enough. "Commonwealth Militia Force," he said calmly. "Minutemen, if you want to use the old name." He keyed the radio hanging from a strap on his armor. "Tool here. Phase One complete. No losses, two prisoners."
"Acknowledged, Tool. Walk 'em back to the jump-off point so we can have a chat, then link up with the others for Phase Two. Other teams are finishing up."
"Roger, General."
He unshouldered his musket and locked the bayonet into place. "Right," he told his prisoner. "We're going on a walk. Nobody is gonna die at the end of it unless you or your friend here decides to start shouting. Savvy?"
"Fuck you!" the other raider shouted. "I'm gonna -"
Anything else he might have said was cut off as Ben punched him hard enough to bounce his head off the floor.
"I just told the General we had two prisoners, Ben," Tool chided. "Better hope you didn't make a liar of me."
"He's still breathing, corp," Ben replied. "Figure that's good enough."
"Haul him up, then, and let's get moving. Pulanski, you take point, Simmers, the rear. You boys get to be snug and cozy in the middle." He gestured with his gun. "Up, now."
The raider rose slowly, cuffed hands in front of him. "What's gonna happen to us?" he asked carefully, as the whole group began to make their way back downstairs.
"Depends on you."
"Heh. Right. And you'll just let me go at the end once your boss talks with me, right?"
Tool raised an eyebrow. Not that he was surprised. "Again, that depends on you," he stressed. "You wanted out - heard you talking. Well, we've got a way out, if you want it."
"Bullshit. Nobody offers that."
"I was one of y'all, what, a month ago?" Tool answered. "Pay your dues, keep your nose clean, and don't start fights, and people have a way of not giving a shit about your past."
The raider didn't say anything more - hell, he kept quiet all the way back to where they'd entered the town - a gas station that was currently serving as HQ. There Garvey and the rest were waiting - including Rick, wearing one of their suits of power armor - the patched-up one had gone to him, after some debate with that Steel Brotherhood fella. Tool gave the man a wave, and after a second the man waved back. Nobody looked hurt, which was good - the suits and the Captain's squad had had the hardest task, dealing with the raiders forted up on the walkway, who had one of those Fat Man launchers and a suit of PA of their own.
"Any trouble?" he asked.
Rick shrugged. "Stupid bastards were caught napping. First volley headshot the dickhead with the launcher and PA and cleared the turrets, rest was mop-up."
"Good shit."
"Looks like you're doing pretty well."
Tool grinned. "Let's hope." He prodded his own prisoner forward as they made their way into the gas station, where the General was waiting.
"Got two for you, just like I said, General," he said as he gave a salute to the boss.
The black-haired man nodded, completely at ease in his combat armor, and looked them over as the prisoners were sat in front of him. Well, one was still unconscious, so only the guy feeling sad about his life was being sat down - the other was more potato-sack tossed onto the tarmac.
Eh, he couldn't blame Ben for it. Guy had rough feelings about raiders. Not as bad as Marcy, but still pretty bad.
"So, here's how it's gonna go," Nate said cheerily. "What's your name?"
"...Redline."
"Really?" he glanced at Tool. "Is every raider like this?"
Tool shrugged. "What, you think my parents named me that?"
"You know that 'Tool' means an asshole, right?"
"Yeah, but I shot the guy who came up with it, so…fair."
"Right. Redline, then, unless you want to come up with a better name. Here's how it'll shake out. I want as much as you can remember about your gang here - guard rotations, where everyone shacks up, and what ways in and out there are of your little fort. I'll start by asking nicely - if you or your friend try to be a pain in the ass about it, well, I can start laying the hurt on you until you start talking." Nate grinned, teeth gleaming white in the dark. "You understand?"
Redline nodded hard enough to nearly give himself whiplash, and started talking.
The Siege of Lexington begins.
The northern half of town was deserted, so Corporal Marcy Long and her squad crept through the dark streets without being seen or stopped, either by their prey or by the ferals.
Which was ridiculous, because the outpost they'd been told to clear was well-positioned - a pair of partially-collapsed houses with a makeshift bridge between their roofs, enough shelter to be useful and in the right spot to have good sightlines on the streets. But the raiders were arrogant pricks who hadn't bothered posting actual sentries - typical. Even more typical, they had a fire going, and seemed more occupied in ruining their night vision than actually keeping an eye out.
They'd known that, of course, which was why her squad was handling it - they had three now. First was Captain Garvey, Emma, and Josh - the Minutemen who'd already known how to fight - plus one of the scavvers who'd joined up. Second was Tool's squad, the ex-raider leading the better half of the fresh meat who'd turned up over the past couple weeks. Third was hers - the newest bunch, and though that might've been an insult she was still in charge of them and still needed to make sure they made it through safe. Hence the milk run.
The fire was blazing, a beacon in the dark, shadowed figures arrayed around it. Enough light to see by, enough light to know their targets by. Two of them, laughing, drinking.
And a third, tied down, screaming and struggling.
She bit back bile as a knife descended, and the screams reached a higher pitch. She was a soldier now. She was better than that.
She propped her musket against a piece of debris, began to wind it as Malt, her second, crouched down beside her and did the same. The other two members of her squad grabbed cover.
"On the right," her second whispered.
She nodded. She tracked her target, lining him up in the simple metal sights. "Fire."
One pull of the trigger for each of them - her shot took the raider in the neck, ripped her head off, while Malt's caught the other in the gut. The raider toppled over, fell slowly over the side of the roof. Shouts rose from the rest of the ruined house.
"Fix bayonets," she snapped to her squad, doing the same. "Perkins, Hodges, up front. Breach and clear!"
She locked the bayonet into place as she rose from her crouch and her squadmates took the front, cranking the musket back up to charge as she went. There was shouting as the other two rounded the bend, a brief spray of gunfire, and the thoom of laser muskets discharging.
"Clear!" came Hodges' voice. A moment later, the two popped up on the roof, illuminated by the firelight. "Medic!" the Minuteman called as he set to getting the poor bastard the raiders had been cutting on free.
Marcy gestured Malt forward - the big man wasn't as good as Josh was at patching someone up, but he'd learned enough to do field medicine.
She shouldered her musket and grabbed for the portable radio as she jogged to catch up. One outpost down, nobody had gotten hurt, and they'd even managed to save someone. Clean as could be - time to tell the General and get ready for the next step.
The raiders had fucked with the rest of the Commonwealth for long enough - had ruined enough lives. Them, and people like them - well, she wasn't gonna stand for it anymore. She'd been put in charge of this four-man squad because the General and Garvey alike knew she could handle it, and she was going to prove they were just as good as the veteran Minutemen. Not helpless little nobodies, dragged hither and yon across the Wasteland, unable to-
She shook herself, driving that spiral out of her head, and keyed the radio. Sturges work, just like her weapon and those of her squad. "Long here. Phase one complete. No casualties, picked up a stretcher case the raiders were working on."
"Acknowledged, Long. Hold position until the other teams finish up," the General responded.
"Roger."
She ducked around the half-collapsed house, joining the rest of the squad - Perkins and Hodges were already piling up the bodies near the wreck of an auto-turret. "Talk to me, Malt," she said as she got a good look at the kid the raiders had been working over. Christ, he couldn't have been much older than Kyle…
"Knocked him out with some Med-X, most of this is superficial, patched it up easy," her second reported. "He'll be out for a while, probably better if he wakes up somewhere safe."
"We're holding position for the moment. Douse that fire, secure him, and make sure we've got clear lines of fire. Perkins, Hodges, anything of note?"
"About fifty caps between 'em, some Jet, and a good bit of ammo. What do you think the General wants with these guns, anyway?"
"He says that if we ever start having a problem with recruits outstripping supply we can hand 'em off to people we want on guard duty and the like," Marcy answered. "That, and worst comes to worst some trader'll buy em if they're cleaned up a bit."
"Eh, guess he knows what he's doing. Let's see what else they've got stashed around here."
—-
November 30th, 2287, 9:21pm
Corporal Tool made his way up the stairs with care, moving slowly and silently and disarming traps as they went.
As he worked, he could hear the guys upstairs talking.
"The way that last one looked at me…fuck, man, what're we doing? Thought this gig was supposed to be about shaking these idjits down, not having to kill 'em."
"What, you gonna cry for 'em or something? They didn't have the balls to fight back, so fuck 'em. Stop being a pussy about it."
"Nah, just…I'm tired of this. Fuck it. I hear there's some people making a go of it up north, maybe they'll need guards…or I could go back to Diamond City. Fucking Jared's losing his shit anyway, we didn't need to shoot anyone, just tell 'em to hand over the caps."
"Yeah, yeah, be a little bitch. God, why'd you even join up if you're gonna be such a buzzkill about it?"
"Wanted to keep an eye on a friend, y'know? You have those, right?"
"Shut the fuck up," the other one said with a laugh. "But yeah, nah, I get it. What happened?"
"He went with Gristle, never came back."
"Ah, shit. Well, that's life, isn't it?"
Tool finished cutting the last tripwire, then turned to his second - reliable dude by the name of Ben, fresh meat, maybe, but still quick to learn.
Quick enough that they'd drilled some hand signals for shit like this.
Capture, he signed, before drawing his bayonet - a knife by any other name, seven inches of darkened steel
Ben nodded, did the same, and followed him up the last flight of stairs, past another couple of bodies. Poor bastards - the raiders must've either caught them here or driven them down today, they hadn't had time to start rotting yet.
The next room up was easy to scope out - one man checking over another corpse, the other leaned against a wall, not paying attention to the stairs. Tool pointed Ben at Mr No Ears, and crept forwards. Behind him, the other two members of his squad fixed bayonets.
"It's not life," the one looting the body said. "So I'm fucking done with this, soon as -"
Ben moved, and Tool did the same - his second grabbed the leaner while Tool lunged for the other. He turned before Tool was halfway there, going for his gun as his partner's shocked yelp echoed in the tiny apartment, but didn't get it out of its holster before Tool slammed him back into the wall and pressed the edge of his blade against his throat.
"Shit, man, take whatever you want," the raider babbled, holding up his hands. "Easy, easy, nobody needs to-"
Tool covered his mouth with his hand, risking a glance back over his shoulder to see Ben pinning his target down with a knee on his back, already cuffing the bastard. Easily done when the other two Minutemen had charged muskets pointed in the man's face.
"Now, friend," he said conversationally. "This can go one of two ways. Either you keep your mouth shut and don't move when I pull this knife away, and you end up cuffed and gunless…or you decide to be a problem, and I cut your throat. Nod if you understand."
The raider nodded slowly.
"Good. Don't move a muscle."
Tool pulled the knife away carefully. The raider kept still, hands still raised. Tool checked him over, found a pistol and knife, tossed both onto the couch for the moment, and nodded. "Kneel down, hands on your head," he snapped. "Cuffs are going on."
"Shit, shit, okay," the raider muttered, casting anxious glances at his trapped partner as he did what he was told. "Fucking hell, who are you guys?"
Tool cuffed the man easily enough. "Commonwealth Militia Force," he said calmly. "Minutemen, if you want to use the old name." He keyed the radio hanging from a strap on his armor. "Tool here. Phase One complete. No losses, two prisoners."
"Acknowledged, Tool. Walk 'em back to the jump-off point so we can have a chat, then link up with the others for Phase Two. Other teams are finishing up."
"Roger, General."
He unshouldered his musket and locked the bayonet into place. "Right," he told his prisoner. "We're going on a walk. Nobody is gonna die at the end of it unless you or your friend here decides to start shouting. Savvy?"
"Fuck you!" the other raider shouted. "I'm gonna -"
Anything else he might have said was cut off as Ben punched him hard enough to bounce his head off the floor.
"I just told the General we had two prisoners, Ben," Tool chided. "Better hope you didn't make a liar of me."
"He's still breathing, corp," Ben replied. "Figure that's good enough."
"Haul him up, then, and let's get moving. Pulanski, you take point, Simmers, the rear. You boys get to be snug and cozy in the middle." He gestured with his gun. "Up, now."
The raider rose slowly, cuffed hands in front of him. "What's gonna happen to us?" he asked carefully, as the whole group began to make their way back downstairs.
"Depends on you."
"Heh. Right. And you'll just let me go at the end once your boss talks with me, right?"
Tool raised an eyebrow. Not that he was surprised. "Again, that depends on you," he stressed. "You wanted out - heard you talking. Well, we've got a way out, if you want it."
"Bullshit. Nobody offers that."
"I was one of y'all, what, a month ago?" Tool answered. "Pay your dues, keep your nose clean, and don't start fights, and people have a way of not giving a shit about your past."
The raider didn't say anything more - hell, he kept quiet all the way back to where they'd entered the town - a gas station that was currently serving as HQ. There Garvey and the rest were waiting - including Rick, wearing one of their suits of power armor - the patched-up one had gone to him, after some debate with that Steel Brotherhood fella. Tool gave the man a wave, and after a second the man waved back. Nobody looked hurt, which was good - the suits and the Captain's squad had had the hardest task, dealing with the raiders forted up on the walkway, who had one of those Fat Man launchers and a suit of PA of their own.
"Any trouble?" he asked.
Rick shrugged. "Stupid bastards were caught napping. First volley headshot the dickhead with the launcher and PA and cleared the turrets, rest was mop-up."
"Good shit."
"Looks like you're doing pretty well."
Tool grinned. "Let's hope." He prodded his own prisoner forward as they made their way into the gas station, where the General was waiting.
"Got two for you, just like I said, General," he said as he gave a salute to the boss.
The black-haired man nodded, completely at ease in his combat armor, and looked them over as the prisoners were sat in front of him. Well, one was still unconscious, so only the guy feeling sad about his life was being sat down - the other was more potato-sack tossed onto the tarmac.
Eh, he couldn't blame Ben for it. Guy had rough feelings about raiders. Not as bad as Marcy, but still pretty bad.
"So, here's how it's gonna go," Nate said cheerily. "What's your name?"
"...Redline."
"Really?" he glanced at Tool. "Is every raider like this?"
Tool shrugged. "What, you think my parents named me that?"
"You know that 'Tool' means an asshole, right?"
"Yeah, but I shot the guy who came up with it, so…fair."
"Right. Redline, then, unless you want to come up with a better name. Here's how it'll shake out. I want as much as you can remember about your gang here - guard rotations, where everyone shacks up, and what ways in and out there are of your little fort. I'll start by asking nicely - if you or your friend try to be a pain in the ass about it, well, I can start laying the hurt on you until you start talking." Nate grinned, teeth gleaming white in the dark. "You understand?"
Redline nodded hard enough to nearly give himself whiplash, and started talking.
- Pronouns
- They/Their
I wonder if this is how they learn about the underground tunnel system, which would majorly help their efforts due to such close quarters fighting being exactly the sort of Ideal Situation for PA. On top of allowing them to bypass a majority of the existing defenses on both the roof and ground floor.
Siege of Lexington, Part Two
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
December 1st, 2287, 7:23am
Suffice to say, Jared was not having a good fucking day.
He'd gone to bed expecting things to be normal - maybe losing a couple of people who were too piss-drunk stupid to watch out for ferals, maybe gaining a couple more dumbasses who wanted free chems and a life of taking what they wanted, but overall another night without more trouble than some ferals crawling in.
Instead, he'd gotten a panicked Lonnie running in yelling about how the sentries were dead and that they'd been left with a corpse with a note pinned to it outside the main door, and how after they'd dragged it in anyone else who put a toe outside was getting it shot off by lasers from hidden snipers.
Of all the fucking things to wake up to…
He gave the note another read. Some of the words he had to guess at, but he could get the gist.
Jared, or whoever is still alive and in charge,
Hello. This is a message from your friends in the Commonwealth Militia Force - you might know us as Minutemen. We apologize for the means by which it was delivered, but several of your men proved to be very against surrendering, and we felt this would be the most effective way of getting our point across.
Your sentries are dead, your outposts are overrun, and there's not enough ghouls left in town to keep us from keeping you penned in there.
You have three options: surrender, sit there and starve, or die when we get bored and storm the place.
If you want to take door number one, have your people leave in single file, unarmed, with their hands in the air, from any exit they feel like. They should proceed towards the Red Rocket station. They will be shot if they attempt to flee, and will be watched constantly, but otherwise they will not be treated unreasonably.
If you take the other two options, simply do nothing. You'd be fewer mouths to feed if you did, so thanks in advance if you decide to take that option.
Regards,
General Nathan Grey
Commonwealth Militia Force, Commanding
November 30th, 2287
Strip away the fancy bullshit and it was basically a demand to hand himself over to have his throat slit.
Fuck that.
And fuck him for not putting more people on night guard. He'd had them watching the south for more ferals out of Cambridge or caravans to go after, and these bastards must've come in from the north. Fuckers had avoided the ferals somehow, and nobody inside the plant had noticed the ones outside getting taken out - thick walls in this place, and right now that was a pain in his ass.
"Boss?" Lonnie asked. "We have a plan for this, right?"
Jared planted his fists on his desk. "How many of our boys do we have in the plant?" he asked.
"If nobody else has gotten domed, should be twenty-three." Fuck. Not enough, not if these fuckers had the men to watch every entrance. His own fault, really - he'd let too many numbskulls run off with Gristle chasing old Mama Murphy, and not stepped up recruitment to make up for it.
"Good. Get them together, run a tally on our food and water. I want to know what options we've got. Guards on all the entrances, especially the pipes. If dumbass ferals can get in through there, I bet they can too, and if they've got snipers on every door, they sure as hell do there."
"We're not going out to kick their asses?"
Jared shook his head. "Not until we've got a better idea of what we're dealing with. There's gotta be some way to get eyes on these fucks. Lock the place down, make sure they can't crawl in like the ferals sometimes do, and we can outlast them if we've got the food and water for it."
Lonnie nodded, slowly. "And if we don't?"
"Shut the fuck up and find out before you ask that question," Jared snarled.
"Sure, boss." The woman, mercifully, did as she was told.
They had to have the supplies - they'd been raiding caravans for months, and while plenty had gotten away even more had been forced to pay up in food and water and caps, or just slaughtered if the boys had been antsy or high on Psycho that day. They had to have enough to outlast these fucking Minutemen (seriously? The dipshits who'd died at Quincy? This fucking 'Nathan' was pretending to be their General?) and he bet the ferals would be far more stirred up than the fancy-writing prick was willing to admit.
He'd wait, and see, and he'd outplay this fuck, even with fewer cards than he'd like. Winter was coming soon, after all.
December 3rd, 2287, 7:02am
Well, Nate had to admit, he'd expected them to run out guns blazing right after getting his note.
Nothing like that had happened, though - instead, the raiders seemed content to hunker down in their fort, bar a few who'd stuck their heads out, and promptly lost them.
There'd been only a couple abortive attempts to sally, both of which had fallen back after losing a man or two, but had forced his people to reveal their firing spots - which was why he had a list of locations for each and had rotated them through every time they'd taken a shot. Paranoid, maybe, but it might tip the scales if the raiders did try to push.
Thankfully, the lack of them running out to get shot meant he'd been able to pull some of his people back. He had himself, Knight Keane, and Rick to act as a reserve, and while he kept two of the squads rotating across watch posts, the third was clearing out the town and making sure everything stayed happy back in Sanctuary - which one varied day to day, he wanted his people to all get their hands dirty.
With some prisoners to corral - three sentries plus the two Tool had managed to grab - and ferals to clean out, while maintaining a siege, it was busy times. They'd found plenty of supplies and scrap scattered across the area, plus enough caps to make payday for the month with a good chunk left over in some of the raider's stashes, which was helpful. They'd also managed to convince the prisoners to help them clear out the minefields and other perimeter defenses, and gotten a nice stash of land mines and some functioning turrets for their trouble.
Those prisoners were a bit of a problem, conceptually, but less of one than they might've been. Codsworth was enough to keep them honest after they'd been escorted back to Sanctuary and locked up…albeit after one guy had had his pants set on fire. They were watched by their robotic minder 24/7, and put to hard labor for now, getting locked up at night in one of the larger shacks. Eventually, he'd have to figure out how to deal with them, turn them into useful people. Hell, Tool had been a raider, and he suspected about a quarter of the people who'd trickled in since Sanctuary had gotten running had similarly shady pasts, but that'd been different - they were people who'd wanted to do something better with their lives. Prisoners, not so much.
He'd have to figure it out. There were a lot of raiders in the Commonwealth, and he needed to at least try something that wasn't mass executions.
He'd do it if he had to, obviously - he'd resorted to it in Canada more times than he could count - but it might spark a feud with Garvey, idealist that he was. The man was hard as could be in a firefight, but unarmed prisoners were a different story.
Anyway, chickens, eggs, he knew the old chestnut. Best to focus on finishing this fight before dealing with the trouble caused by its aftermath.
Winter was coming - later than usual, according to Garvey, but they had a snowstorm due in a few days. He needed to wrap this up before it hit.
The only question was, well, how.
They had a plan to breach, obviously, but he still needed to think on it. The information they had pointed at twenty still inside the plant, and he didn't want seven to one odds to be what he was facing. Especially since they'd be on high alert.
The only way this was going to be easy was if they obligingly ran out to die, which seemed vanishingly unlikely. The raiders didn't seem to be that stupid.
Before he could settle on a decision, his radio squawked - and he began to hear gunfire from the front of the plant.
Well, well, well.
The raiders were that stupid.
December 3rd, 2287, 7:05am
"Fuckin' move!" Jared barked, driving everyone onward.
Three fucking days sitting around driving each other nuts had gotten them all riled up, and a mix of Psycho, Buffout, Med-X, and Jet had done the rest - they weren't chickenshit motherfuckers anymore, they were charging out and had ignored the three who'd gotten killed by laser fire! Fucking finally! He could see the greatcoat-wearing assholes run - none of them had gotten hit yet, but that just meant they had to get closer, and his boys were baying for blood now, chasing them back through the streets.
The plan was real simple - bust out, punch through whatever these assholes had to guard one entrance, fan out and kill them all. Needed to be simple, these fuckers had been on the edge of mutiny before he'd told them they were gonna go out and kick ass, they weren't going to stop until they had a bit to blow off steam, and that -
Something clicked under Jared's foot.
He blinked.
When had he ended up on his back? Where was that ringing noise coming from? Why couldn't he feel anything?
He heard gunfire. More explosions. His boys, dying - and the sound of heavy weapons fire.
December 3rd, 2287
The Siege of Lexington comes to an end as the last raiders, under the command of Lonnie Fir, surrender to the CMF. General Nathan Grey's writings credit Sergeant Richard Holt with the idea to redeploy the mines taken from the raider perimeter defenses to cover the main doors, which killed a quarter of the plant's defenders during their last, desperate sally, as well as Corporal Long for keeping her section together and leading them through said minefield without losing anyone.
The Minutemen would return home with a significant train of prisoners and war booty, as well as a better working relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel. The Siege of Lexington would be the proof that the Minutemen could handle themselves as a coherent organization rather than a hodgepodge of local militias - that training, discipline, and solid tactics could overcome the threats the Commonwealth faced.
The winter months would not see the small army idle - smaller task forces over the winter would depart Sanctuary numerous times, cleaning out smaller raider gangs or dangerous feral ghoul infestations, and helping secure the primitive, brahmin-based logistics that were the Commonwealth's mainstay at the time. While the winter of 2287 was far less harsh than that of the previous year, it was still a northern winter, and the CMF's forces, even growing, were stretched to the bone covering the caravan routes and security needs of the northern Commonwealth.
General Grey's memoirs and journals are a useful light into these early days - very few had the necessary knowledge or time to write, at least not with any degree of proficiency, and while that would begin to change with time, few records are as well-preserved as his, for obvious reasons…
Suffice to say, Jared was not having a good fucking day.
He'd gone to bed expecting things to be normal - maybe losing a couple of people who were too piss-drunk stupid to watch out for ferals, maybe gaining a couple more dumbasses who wanted free chems and a life of taking what they wanted, but overall another night without more trouble than some ferals crawling in.
Instead, he'd gotten a panicked Lonnie running in yelling about how the sentries were dead and that they'd been left with a corpse with a note pinned to it outside the main door, and how after they'd dragged it in anyone else who put a toe outside was getting it shot off by lasers from hidden snipers.
Of all the fucking things to wake up to…
He gave the note another read. Some of the words he had to guess at, but he could get the gist.
Jared, or whoever is still alive and in charge,
Hello. This is a message from your friends in the Commonwealth Militia Force - you might know us as Minutemen. We apologize for the means by which it was delivered, but several of your men proved to be very against surrendering, and we felt this would be the most effective way of getting our point across.
Your sentries are dead, your outposts are overrun, and there's not enough ghouls left in town to keep us from keeping you penned in there.
You have three options: surrender, sit there and starve, or die when we get bored and storm the place.
If you want to take door number one, have your people leave in single file, unarmed, with their hands in the air, from any exit they feel like. They should proceed towards the Red Rocket station. They will be shot if they attempt to flee, and will be watched constantly, but otherwise they will not be treated unreasonably.
If you take the other two options, simply do nothing. You'd be fewer mouths to feed if you did, so thanks in advance if you decide to take that option.
Regards,
General Nathan Grey
Commonwealth Militia Force, Commanding
November 30th, 2287
Strip away the fancy bullshit and it was basically a demand to hand himself over to have his throat slit.
Fuck that.
And fuck him for not putting more people on night guard. He'd had them watching the south for more ferals out of Cambridge or caravans to go after, and these bastards must've come in from the north. Fuckers had avoided the ferals somehow, and nobody inside the plant had noticed the ones outside getting taken out - thick walls in this place, and right now that was a pain in his ass.
"Boss?" Lonnie asked. "We have a plan for this, right?"
Jared planted his fists on his desk. "How many of our boys do we have in the plant?" he asked.
"If nobody else has gotten domed, should be twenty-three." Fuck. Not enough, not if these fuckers had the men to watch every entrance. His own fault, really - he'd let too many numbskulls run off with Gristle chasing old Mama Murphy, and not stepped up recruitment to make up for it.
"Good. Get them together, run a tally on our food and water. I want to know what options we've got. Guards on all the entrances, especially the pipes. If dumbass ferals can get in through there, I bet they can too, and if they've got snipers on every door, they sure as hell do there."
"We're not going out to kick their asses?"
Jared shook his head. "Not until we've got a better idea of what we're dealing with. There's gotta be some way to get eyes on these fucks. Lock the place down, make sure they can't crawl in like the ferals sometimes do, and we can outlast them if we've got the food and water for it."
Lonnie nodded, slowly. "And if we don't?"
"Shut the fuck up and find out before you ask that question," Jared snarled.
"Sure, boss." The woman, mercifully, did as she was told.
They had to have the supplies - they'd been raiding caravans for months, and while plenty had gotten away even more had been forced to pay up in food and water and caps, or just slaughtered if the boys had been antsy or high on Psycho that day. They had to have enough to outlast these fucking Minutemen (seriously? The dipshits who'd died at Quincy? This fucking 'Nathan' was pretending to be their General?) and he bet the ferals would be far more stirred up than the fancy-writing prick was willing to admit.
He'd wait, and see, and he'd outplay this fuck, even with fewer cards than he'd like. Winter was coming soon, after all.
December 3rd, 2287, 7:02am
Well, Nate had to admit, he'd expected them to run out guns blazing right after getting his note.
Nothing like that had happened, though - instead, the raiders seemed content to hunker down in their fort, bar a few who'd stuck their heads out, and promptly lost them.
There'd been only a couple abortive attempts to sally, both of which had fallen back after losing a man or two, but had forced his people to reveal their firing spots - which was why he had a list of locations for each and had rotated them through every time they'd taken a shot. Paranoid, maybe, but it might tip the scales if the raiders did try to push.
Thankfully, the lack of them running out to get shot meant he'd been able to pull some of his people back. He had himself, Knight Keane, and Rick to act as a reserve, and while he kept two of the squads rotating across watch posts, the third was clearing out the town and making sure everything stayed happy back in Sanctuary - which one varied day to day, he wanted his people to all get their hands dirty.
With some prisoners to corral - three sentries plus the two Tool had managed to grab - and ferals to clean out, while maintaining a siege, it was busy times. They'd found plenty of supplies and scrap scattered across the area, plus enough caps to make payday for the month with a good chunk left over in some of the raider's stashes, which was helpful. They'd also managed to convince the prisoners to help them clear out the minefields and other perimeter defenses, and gotten a nice stash of land mines and some functioning turrets for their trouble.
Those prisoners were a bit of a problem, conceptually, but less of one than they might've been. Codsworth was enough to keep them honest after they'd been escorted back to Sanctuary and locked up…albeit after one guy had had his pants set on fire. They were watched by their robotic minder 24/7, and put to hard labor for now, getting locked up at night in one of the larger shacks. Eventually, he'd have to figure out how to deal with them, turn them into useful people. Hell, Tool had been a raider, and he suspected about a quarter of the people who'd trickled in since Sanctuary had gotten running had similarly shady pasts, but that'd been different - they were people who'd wanted to do something better with their lives. Prisoners, not so much.
He'd have to figure it out. There were a lot of raiders in the Commonwealth, and he needed to at least try something that wasn't mass executions.
He'd do it if he had to, obviously - he'd resorted to it in Canada more times than he could count - but it might spark a feud with Garvey, idealist that he was. The man was hard as could be in a firefight, but unarmed prisoners were a different story.
Anyway, chickens, eggs, he knew the old chestnut. Best to focus on finishing this fight before dealing with the trouble caused by its aftermath.
Winter was coming - later than usual, according to Garvey, but they had a snowstorm due in a few days. He needed to wrap this up before it hit.
The only question was, well, how.
They had a plan to breach, obviously, but he still needed to think on it. The information they had pointed at twenty still inside the plant, and he didn't want seven to one odds to be what he was facing. Especially since they'd be on high alert.
The only way this was going to be easy was if they obligingly ran out to die, which seemed vanishingly unlikely. The raiders didn't seem to be that stupid.
Before he could settle on a decision, his radio squawked - and he began to hear gunfire from the front of the plant.
Well, well, well.
The raiders were that stupid.
December 3rd, 2287, 7:05am
"Fuckin' move!" Jared barked, driving everyone onward.
Three fucking days sitting around driving each other nuts had gotten them all riled up, and a mix of Psycho, Buffout, Med-X, and Jet had done the rest - they weren't chickenshit motherfuckers anymore, they were charging out and had ignored the three who'd gotten killed by laser fire! Fucking finally! He could see the greatcoat-wearing assholes run - none of them had gotten hit yet, but that just meant they had to get closer, and his boys were baying for blood now, chasing them back through the streets.
The plan was real simple - bust out, punch through whatever these assholes had to guard one entrance, fan out and kill them all. Needed to be simple, these fuckers had been on the edge of mutiny before he'd told them they were gonna go out and kick ass, they weren't going to stop until they had a bit to blow off steam, and that -
Something clicked under Jared's foot.
He blinked.
When had he ended up on his back? Where was that ringing noise coming from? Why couldn't he feel anything?
He heard gunfire. More explosions. His boys, dying - and the sound of heavy weapons fire.
December 3rd, 2287
The Siege of Lexington comes to an end as the last raiders, under the command of Lonnie Fir, surrender to the CMF. General Nathan Grey's writings credit Sergeant Richard Holt with the idea to redeploy the mines taken from the raider perimeter defenses to cover the main doors, which killed a quarter of the plant's defenders during their last, desperate sally, as well as Corporal Long for keeping her section together and leading them through said minefield without losing anyone.
The Minutemen would return home with a significant train of prisoners and war booty, as well as a better working relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel. The Siege of Lexington would be the proof that the Minutemen could handle themselves as a coherent organization rather than a hodgepodge of local militias - that training, discipline, and solid tactics could overcome the threats the Commonwealth faced.
The winter months would not see the small army idle - smaller task forces over the winter would depart Sanctuary numerous times, cleaning out smaller raider gangs or dangerous feral ghoul infestations, and helping secure the primitive, brahmin-based logistics that were the Commonwealth's mainstay at the time. While the winter of 2287 was far less harsh than that of the previous year, it was still a northern winter, and the CMF's forces, even growing, were stretched to the bone covering the caravan routes and security needs of the northern Commonwealth.
General Grey's memoirs and journals are a useful light into these early days - very few had the necessary knowledge or time to write, at least not with any degree of proficiency, and while that would begin to change with time, few records are as well-preserved as his, for obvious reasons…
@Ragnarok101 Will you include the RobCo Robot Factory in this story?
EDIT: Or anything from the DLCs?
EDIT: Or anything from the DLCs?
Last edited:
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
I am assuming the DLCs are canon. Beyond that, I won't reveal how things shake out.
Winter Interlude 1
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
The following is a selection of journal entries from the personal writings of General Nathan Grey of the Minutemen.
December 5th, 2287
Back in Sanctuary, finally sorted out the prisoners. Eleven all told - only six raiders made it through the night from them trying to sally, plus the five we grabbed before.
We were very lucky they were so goddamn stupid. Guess that's what happens when a bunch of chem-addicts used to bullying their way through run into people who can halfway claim to know what they're doing. If they'd had proper organization and fire discipline they'd have run right over us until the PA rolled in, instead they slammeddick-first headfirst into the minefield we'd redeployed and got cut up without killing a single one of us.
Still. Even with most of them dead, the ones who surrendered were an issue. Had to talk it over with Garvey and a couple of the others.
Finally decided on something simple. Winter's on its way, snow starting to fall. We lined them up, told them they had two options - either they'd get to be bunking together and behaving themselves, fed, clothed, and taken care of in exchange for working their asses off until we figured they were worth trusting to not be watched and guarded all the time…or, if they didn't like that, we'd turn them loose.
Into the snow. Without a gun, supplies, or more than the clothes on their backs.
None of them took the second option.
Not exactly what the old world would've done, but we don't have the people to spare keeping idle prisoners and shooting them out of hand was a bit too far.
Course, they put a toe out of line, and they will be shot. Second chances - no thirds.
Rehabilitation…well, we'll revisit this after winter. See which ones calm down when they're off the chems and which ones we can't trust. Some of them seem more in it the same way I've seen kids running with gangs or soldiers going off the reservation - just sinking into it because there isn't an alternative. Others are hardened killers…
Well. Maybe I could put those to use. If I could keep them on a leash.
A project for later, maybe.
December 8th, 2287
Another group came in today, bringing supplies and trying to get out of the open before the worst storms showed up - they ran into one of our salvage crews, who brought them in. Eight all told - well, maybe nine, depends on if you count a robot or not.
That brings us to about fifty-five people in Sanctuary. Lot more than I thought - apparently plenty of folks wander around this time of year, either looking for farm-hand labor or just a safe place to rest during scavving trips. With a place that's got plenty of opportunities and is safe as hell (safer than usual now that the wall's almost done), they're all coming here.
They'd be hell on our supplies, if not for the fact we've been hunting through just about everything, and that food caravans are happy to trade nonperishables for a discount on security. McDonough's still being acunt right pain about entering Diamond City or lending an official hand there, for some reason, but just the escorting is enough to tide over our coffers and our rations, even if you discount the stuff our scavvers are trading.
Real mixed bag of a bunch, too, these guys. A few ghouls - including, of all the damn things, thatfucking Vault-Tec rep. Of all the people to survive the war, it's a sales rep? He's actually damn good at it, too - Jun's got him haggling with the traders and it's helped plenty in wrangling caps out of them for what we've been salvaging. Apparently he heard about me and trekked his ass all the way across the Commonwealth to see if the rumors were true. Not bad for an unarmed ghoul. The other two were almost as interesting - a married couple, pre-War civic engineers, and they've been working with Sturges. If the weather holds and we dig enough pipework out of the old sewers in Concord…might be we're not gonna be needing latrines in a few months.
Then there's the kids - one came in with her father, older farmhand type by the name of Clinton. She's a bright little ray of sunshine. Another rolled in with something a hell of a lot heavier - a sentry bot. The thing's named Gus and it's been a hell of a balm on my mind knowing we've got something that hefty helping with the defenses. She's some kind of wunderkind, almost as clever as Sturges and she knows it.
Shit, we're gonna need a school.
Weirdest one of the new arrivals has to be Mac. Not that he's certifiable, but the man was intending to run a 'bar' that was just a counter out in the middle of nowhere. Apparently the caravan ran into him and convinced him we'd be better customers for a long-term business. Now he's running an actual bar for us. He says if we manage to get more electricity running he'll start refrigerating everything, for now he's just dunking the bottles in a big ice bucket outside to keep them cold. Good enough, I suppose. Been ages since I had a cold beer.
Note: went back over and scratched out the objectionable bits. Posterity.
December 11th, 2287
Sent Tool's squad down south to clean up a bit of a problem down south - apparently the Greygarden robot farm is still up and running and wanted some help cleaning up their water supply.
Water treatment plant was filled with Super Mutants, and also Mirelurks. They cleared them out without much worse than a couple bites - proving the point about wearing armor to some of the new meat - and we've got some more produce. More than the Abernathy's could provide, anyhow - they had a bumper crop and robots don't eat.
I'd kill for some schematics on those Mr. Handy drones, though. Or the ability to make more. Apparently there's a robotics store near Cambridge. Maybe have our people look there - robots make for good farming equipment.
December 17th, 2287
Took a long walk out with Marcy's squad. Had a bit of a talk in-between hunting down another raider gang out by Tenpines - Hodges will be posted up there with some of our people who're amenable come spring, by the by, since now that the raiders are gone it's a good defensible spot to grow crops and there's only so much space in Sanctuary. That superplane crash is also rich pickings - something to think over for later.
The talk, though - she and Jun needed to sort their shit out. He's come together a lot better than I'd have thought, and so's she, but they were sparking every time they came together. Needed to be dealt with sooner or later, and I wasn't gonna lose either one of my better squad leads or one of the canniest hagglers on my roster to relationship bullshit.
I'm now regretting setting her straight. I can hear them through the walls. Kill me now.
December 20th, 2287
Garvey took a mixed crew down to the Abernathy's to lend a hand with fixing up the farmhouse. Came back today with good news on that front - namely a whole fucking truck full of leftovers from the shipping warehouse near them, pulled by brahmin. Most of the stuff went to the farmhouse but what didn't is still mighty useful.
Considering having some of our prisoners do their time as farmhands there. Blake could use the extra hands come spring, bring some more of it under cultivation.
Making plans for spring. Heh. Should be focused more on the here and now.
December 21st, 2287
Danse needs a hand for a run out to ArcJet - grabbing some equipment so he can call home, sounds like.
Going to leave Garvey in charge, grab Tool's squad, and book it down there. Should be home in time for Christmas.
December 5th, 2287
Back in Sanctuary, finally sorted out the prisoners. Eleven all told - only six raiders made it through the night from them trying to sally, plus the five we grabbed before.
We were very lucky they were so goddamn stupid. Guess that's what happens when a bunch of chem-addicts used to bullying their way through run into people who can halfway claim to know what they're doing. If they'd had proper organization and fire discipline they'd have run right over us until the PA rolled in, instead they slammed
Still. Even with most of them dead, the ones who surrendered were an issue. Had to talk it over with Garvey and a couple of the others.
Finally decided on something simple. Winter's on its way, snow starting to fall. We lined them up, told them they had two options - either they'd get to be bunking together and behaving themselves, fed, clothed, and taken care of in exchange for working their asses off until we figured they were worth trusting to not be watched and guarded all the time…or, if they didn't like that, we'd turn them loose.
Into the snow. Without a gun, supplies, or more than the clothes on their backs.
None of them took the second option.
Not exactly what the old world would've done, but we don't have the people to spare keeping idle prisoners and shooting them out of hand was a bit too far.
Course, they put a toe out of line, and they will be shot. Second chances - no thirds.
Rehabilitation…well, we'll revisit this after winter. See which ones calm down when they're off the chems and which ones we can't trust. Some of them seem more in it the same way I've seen kids running with gangs or soldiers going off the reservation - just sinking into it because there isn't an alternative. Others are hardened killers…
Well. Maybe I could put those to use. If I could keep them on a leash.
A project for later, maybe.
December 8th, 2287
Another group came in today, bringing supplies and trying to get out of the open before the worst storms showed up - they ran into one of our salvage crews, who brought them in. Eight all told - well, maybe nine, depends on if you count a robot or not.
That brings us to about fifty-five people in Sanctuary. Lot more than I thought - apparently plenty of folks wander around this time of year, either looking for farm-hand labor or just a safe place to rest during scavving trips. With a place that's got plenty of opportunities and is safe as hell (safer than usual now that the wall's almost done), they're all coming here.
They'd be hell on our supplies, if not for the fact we've been hunting through just about everything, and that food caravans are happy to trade nonperishables for a discount on security. McDonough's still being a
Real mixed bag of a bunch, too, these guys. A few ghouls - including, of all the damn things, that
Then there's the kids - one came in with her father, older farmhand type by the name of Clinton. She's a bright little ray of sunshine. Another rolled in with something a hell of a lot heavier - a sentry bot. The thing's named Gus and it's been a hell of a balm on my mind knowing we've got something that hefty helping with the defenses. She's some kind of wunderkind, almost as clever as Sturges and she knows it.
Weirdest one of the new arrivals has to be Mac. Not that he's certifiable, but the man was intending to run a 'bar' that was just a counter out in the middle of nowhere. Apparently the caravan ran into him and convinced him we'd be better customers for a long-term business. Now he's running an actual bar for us. He says if we manage to get more electricity running he'll start refrigerating everything, for now he's just dunking the bottles in a big ice bucket outside to keep them cold. Good enough, I suppose. Been ages since I had a cold beer.
Note: went back over and scratched out the objectionable bits. Posterity.
December 11th, 2287
Sent Tool's squad down south to clean up a bit of a problem down south - apparently the Greygarden robot farm is still up and running and wanted some help cleaning up their water supply.
Water treatment plant was filled with Super Mutants, and also Mirelurks. They cleared them out without much worse than a couple bites - proving the point about wearing armor to some of the new meat - and we've got some more produce. More than the Abernathy's could provide, anyhow - they had a bumper crop and robots don't eat.
I'd kill for some schematics on those Mr. Handy drones, though. Or the ability to make more. Apparently there's a robotics store near Cambridge. Maybe have our people look there - robots make for good farming equipment.
December 17th, 2287
Took a long walk out with Marcy's squad. Had a bit of a talk in-between hunting down another raider gang out by Tenpines - Hodges will be posted up there with some of our people who're amenable come spring, by the by, since now that the raiders are gone it's a good defensible spot to grow crops and there's only so much space in Sanctuary. That superplane crash is also rich pickings - something to think over for later.
The talk, though - she and Jun needed to sort their shit out. He's come together a lot better than I'd have thought, and so's she, but they were sparking every time they came together. Needed to be dealt with sooner or later, and I wasn't gonna lose either one of my better squad leads or one of the canniest hagglers on my roster to relationship bullshit.
I'm now regretting setting her straight. I can hear them through the walls. Kill me now.
December 20th, 2287
Garvey took a mixed crew down to the Abernathy's to lend a hand with fixing up the farmhouse. Came back today with good news on that front - namely a whole fucking truck full of leftovers from the shipping warehouse near them, pulled by brahmin. Most of the stuff went to the farmhouse but what didn't is still mighty useful.
Considering having some of our prisoners do their time as farmhands there. Blake could use the extra hands come spring, bring some more of it under cultivation.
Making plans for spring. Heh. Should be focused more on the here and now.
December 21st, 2287
Danse needs a hand for a run out to ArcJet - grabbing some equipment so he can call home, sounds like.
Going to leave Garvey in charge, grab Tool's squad, and book it down there. Should be home in time for Christmas.
Good Chapter!
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Winter Interlude 2
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
December 23rd, 2287
Few things to confirm:
Anyhow, Danse has his doodad and while he can't receive he can now transmit ridiculous distances. He says that the Brotherhood will almost certainly send reinforcements in the spring - it took months for them to reach the Commonwealth via the roads.
Got him talking about how they got here. Apparently they actually went by foot for most of it - the roads are too shredded and they prefer sending recon on foot. Crazy bastards. They had a pack brahmin for some of it, but still. Either way, they got hit by raiders shortly after reaching the southern edge of the Commonwealth and lost said brahmin, plus Keane's shredded PA.
Complete blind luck they survived this long, in my opinion.
Honestly, complete blind luck we've done as well as we have, too.
Luck that Codsworth didn't have a screw loose and kept Sanctuary safe.
Luck that I had all these supplies stockpiled.
Luck we didn't get nuked right off the map.
Luck that there were tools and materials to salvage.
Luck that the raiders we've fought are small fry too stupid to fight effectively.
Luck, luck, luck.
I don't feel very lucky. Takes only a trip back to the graveyard to remind me of that.
Note: better headstone.
Too much luck involved. Need to be better than that.
December 25th, 2287
For the first day of Christmas, Sturges fixed the power.
Mostly a big ol' set of lead-acid batteries getting charged by the windmill, and some biodiesel generators, but they finally finished vetting everything - apparently he and the ghouls finished up while I was off getting shot at, and spent the time testing.
The streetlights needed replacing and everything in all the houses needed at least some overhauling, and we don't have enough juice to run things at full tilt in every house all day, and most of the shacks built up still don't have power since it'd be a massive fire hazard, but it's a start.
Had a Christmas dinner by electric light, and there's enough juice to leave this big pine tree we decked out all lit up.
Nick and Piper even came by - she wanted to track down some rumors and interview yours truly, he wanted to see how I was holding up. Good people, even if I don't much like how close Piper's newspaper swings towards libel. McDonough deserves it, mind.
Going to show them around tomorrow.
Garvey Preston managed to find me a bottle of high-end scotch. Knew enough not to ask where, but shared a round regardless.
He's a good man.
No, seriously. Lesser men would hate me. This one was humble enough to offer up his own position. To support me without flinching. He's never backed down, always kept his head even in the worst of times. He's -
[Historian's note: the next page in the journal has been ripped out]
December 27th, 2287
Piper was kind enough to show me her article before she headed off to publish it. Wrote up a copy, including it here.
The Commonwealth Minutemen. Once, they kept the peace - the people of the Commonwealth coming together to protect it and everyone else. As settlements fell off the map, as their castle was wrecked, as their ranks dwindled, they fell apart. Individual colonels broke off with their own groups - some are Raiders, now, while far more went back to their homes and their families. The last group was present at the Quincy Massacre, where Gunner mercenaries overwhelmed them.
Recently, rumors have arisen regarding a resurgence of the movement. In the north, far from Boston, a new settlement has been founded, under the auspices of the last Minutemen standing.
Naturally, such rumors needed to be confirmed, so I set out with Diamond City's own Nick Valentine to make sure of it.
The journey north, in the midst of winter, was less arduous than it might have been - caravans often crisscross the area, trading and bartering between widely separated farmsteads, and no different here. In fact, the traders we travelled with informed us that the caravan routes have never been safer, due to the recent drop in Raider gang presence. Indeed, we saw little trace of those criminals during our journey.
A great deal began to make sense when we finally reached Concord, our last stop before 'Sanctuary'. We encountered a work crew of four slowly dismantling one of the many wrecked buildings with surprising ease that spoke of long experience. The foreman, when approached, explained that they'd learned this from 'the General', and applied that practice swiftly over the last two months. Many other buildings were missing entirely from the town, giving truth to his claims.
The Minutemen, dear readers, have not had a general for nearly six years, ever since General Becker died and the remaining Colonels could not come to a consensus as to who should replace him. The fact a new one seemed to have been elected was surprising, more so considering that there were no Colonels left since Quincy.
Sanctuary, for a new settlement, is doing quite well for itself from all accounts. Security is paramount for everyone in this day and age - and much like Diamond City's own great green protector, Sanctuary has strong walls, ones that appear to have been built by someone who knows what they're doing. And they are guarded by Minutemen, just as the rumors say.
But these aren't the Minutemen of yore. Those Minutemen were the common people of the Commonwealth, coming together out of free association. While brave, they often suffered a lack of equipment or support from the rest of the Commonwealth. They were, in old world terms, a militia - the people under arms, with all that entails.
These Minutemen are a military. They have uniforms, ranks, and are well-equipped. And considering their general, it should be no surprise why. For the new General is none other than Nathan Grey, the pre-War soldier and Vault dweller, the 'Man Out of Time'.
"It's simple - you need people organized to get anything done. The Minutemen had the right idea for what they wanted to do, they just didn't have the tools to make their people soldiers," the man explains as he takes us on a tour of the settlement. It's a hive of activity - new buildings are being erected within the walls, and winter grain already sown.
I asked what he meant by tools. He grinned. "The Minutemen started, what, a hundred years after the war? People forget things easily. How to lead, how to form a military - stuff gets lost just thanks to time. So everyone started off just sending whoever they had on hand to fight. It works so long as everyone gets along and feels like helping each other. So long as times are good enough that they have the hands to spare. But when the going gets rough…well, it starts to fall apart. Everyone goes home because they don't think they'll get the help they need from the others. Bunker Hill versus Diamond City versus University Point, everyone's pissy at the others and it can't hold. Because the people they send to fight…well, I won't say they were bad at it. But they weren't soldiers. There wasn't anything beyond the ideal to hold them together." He shrugs. "Those can work for the high-minded, but people will look out for their own, first. I did a stint as a drill instructor before I went back to the front - boot camp was always about breaking down the old ideas any recruit had about who 'their own' was, replacing it with the army. That's what I mean by tools - the ways you take a good fighter and make them part of something more."
He gestures at one of the cleared fields, where a four-man squad of Minutemen is drilling with handmade grenades - the periodic cracks as the underpowered explosives go off is something that takes some getting used to. "I've got ex-raiders, vagabonds, scavvers, farmers, and anything else to worry about. And I've got to get them pulling in the same direction. That takes discipline, and more of it the more people show up. They've all got to be fed, watered, supplied, and paid."
The Minutemen of old weren't paid, but it is hardly surprising that these new ones are. Part of making professionals is ensuring they have a wage for their work, and one Diamond City readers should understand, given our own security forces. Others may draw comparisons to the Gunners or other, less savory mercenary causes, especially since the Minutemen - more properly, now, the Commonwealth Militia Force, according to their charter, a copy of which should be distributed with this article - charge caravan runners for guard duty and collect payment when work crews protected by them help others with construction and rebuilding.
Despite that, one cannot argue with results. The north of the Commonwealth has always been sparsely populated, and more so now in recent years, but these new Minutemen have brought more order and industry to it than has been seen in decades.
It remains up to the readers whether the return of their banner is worth losing the ideals along the way.
Not a fan of her angle, but she's free to print what she likes.
January 1st, 2288
New year, new problems.
Well, some good things as well.
Namely, Piper's article. Had nearly two dozen people trickle in over the past couple days, far more than usual. Biggest surprise was six yahoos with half-brim hats and a mixed batch of guns who used to be Minutemen and wanted to join up again. Told them they'd have to go through boot like the rest, which they took in stride. With the recruits who've come in over the past month, we have a full platoon, or near enough. Keep this up and Preston's rank will actually be more than ceremonial.
Apparently advertising that not only is this new place real and safe but that it's got real security and organization lit a fire under people's hind ends. We're going to have to bunk a good chunk of them in Concord if this keeps up. Good thing Sturges has the construction teams running full tilt and building extra barracks or we'd already be full up.
Even so, we need to move people elsewhere soon, put some eggs outside the one basket. Preston wants to take a group to check out an old co-op to the south that could serve pretty well, and with the extra hands…yeah, guess Hodges is getting his wish early. They can live off the land and scavenge for a couple months, and we need to spread out.
I'll be organizing the work parties tomorrow. Pack animals, fodder, building materials and radios.
That includes the chain gang. They've behaved themselves, mostly - 'chain gang' isn't even true, they're just watched, not shackled. A couple of bad cases of withdrawal that had to be managed, but take them off the chems and they're nearly decent.
There's a couple of gangs to the south that pose a threat to caravans to and from Diamond City. Had a few of the smaller stakeholders ask we deal with them.
A good test case?
Few things to confirm:
- Synths are a metric pain in the keister, even if they're only a little better than raiders when it comes to aim and don't wear armor
- If Ben had been half an inch taller or a tiny bit slower he'd be dead, rather than just hairless and half-blind right now
- Institute laser weapons are meant more to incapacitate than to kill, which is handy when you need to shoot your way through thirty of them and only have one idiot in power armor to use as mobile cover
- Grenades? Grenades. Pipe bombs aren't difficult to make. Would have made this all so much easier. Got to train everyone on that
Anyhow, Danse has his doodad and while he can't receive he can now transmit ridiculous distances. He says that the Brotherhood will almost certainly send reinforcements in the spring - it took months for them to reach the Commonwealth via the roads.
Got him talking about how they got here. Apparently they actually went by foot for most of it - the roads are too shredded and they prefer sending recon on foot. Crazy bastards. They had a pack brahmin for some of it, but still. Either way, they got hit by raiders shortly after reaching the southern edge of the Commonwealth and lost said brahmin, plus Keane's shredded PA.
Complete blind luck they survived this long, in my opinion.
Honestly, complete blind luck we've done as well as we have, too.
Luck that Codsworth didn't have a screw loose and kept Sanctuary safe.
Luck that I had all these supplies stockpiled.
Luck we didn't get nuked right off the map.
Luck that there were tools and materials to salvage.
Luck that the raiders we've fought are small fry too stupid to fight effectively.
Luck, luck, luck.
I don't feel very lucky. Takes only a trip back to the graveyard to remind me of that.
Note: better headstone.
Too much luck involved. Need to be better than that.
December 25th, 2287
For the first day of Christmas, Sturges fixed the power.
Mostly a big ol' set of lead-acid batteries getting charged by the windmill, and some biodiesel generators, but they finally finished vetting everything - apparently he and the ghouls finished up while I was off getting shot at, and spent the time testing.
The streetlights needed replacing and everything in all the houses needed at least some overhauling, and we don't have enough juice to run things at full tilt in every house all day, and most of the shacks built up still don't have power since it'd be a massive fire hazard, but it's a start.
Had a Christmas dinner by electric light, and there's enough juice to leave this big pine tree we decked out all lit up.
Nick and Piper even came by - she wanted to track down some rumors and interview yours truly, he wanted to see how I was holding up. Good people, even if I don't much like how close Piper's newspaper swings towards libel. McDonough deserves it, mind.
Going to show them around tomorrow.
He's a good man.
No, seriously. Lesser men would hate me. This one was humble enough to offer up his own position. To support me without flinching. He's never backed down, always kept his head even in the worst of times. He's -
[Historian's note: the next page in the journal has been ripped out]
December 27th, 2287
Piper was kind enough to show me her article before she headed off to publish it. Wrote up a copy, including it here.
—-
Something Old, Something New
The Commonwealth Minutemen. Once, they kept the peace - the people of the Commonwealth coming together to protect it and everyone else. As settlements fell off the map, as their castle was wrecked, as their ranks dwindled, they fell apart. Individual colonels broke off with their own groups - some are Raiders, now, while far more went back to their homes and their families. The last group was present at the Quincy Massacre, where Gunner mercenaries overwhelmed them.
Recently, rumors have arisen regarding a resurgence of the movement. In the north, far from Boston, a new settlement has been founded, under the auspices of the last Minutemen standing.
Naturally, such rumors needed to be confirmed, so I set out with Diamond City's own Nick Valentine to make sure of it.
The journey north, in the midst of winter, was less arduous than it might have been - caravans often crisscross the area, trading and bartering between widely separated farmsteads, and no different here. In fact, the traders we travelled with informed us that the caravan routes have never been safer, due to the recent drop in Raider gang presence. Indeed, we saw little trace of those criminals during our journey.
A great deal began to make sense when we finally reached Concord, our last stop before 'Sanctuary'. We encountered a work crew of four slowly dismantling one of the many wrecked buildings with surprising ease that spoke of long experience. The foreman, when approached, explained that they'd learned this from 'the General', and applied that practice swiftly over the last two months. Many other buildings were missing entirely from the town, giving truth to his claims.
The Minutemen, dear readers, have not had a general for nearly six years, ever since General Becker died and the remaining Colonels could not come to a consensus as to who should replace him. The fact a new one seemed to have been elected was surprising, more so considering that there were no Colonels left since Quincy.
Sanctuary, for a new settlement, is doing quite well for itself from all accounts. Security is paramount for everyone in this day and age - and much like Diamond City's own great green protector, Sanctuary has strong walls, ones that appear to have been built by someone who knows what they're doing. And they are guarded by Minutemen, just as the rumors say.
But these aren't the Minutemen of yore. Those Minutemen were the common people of the Commonwealth, coming together out of free association. While brave, they often suffered a lack of equipment or support from the rest of the Commonwealth. They were, in old world terms, a militia - the people under arms, with all that entails.
These Minutemen are a military. They have uniforms, ranks, and are well-equipped. And considering their general, it should be no surprise why. For the new General is none other than Nathan Grey, the pre-War soldier and Vault dweller, the 'Man Out of Time'.
"It's simple - you need people organized to get anything done. The Minutemen had the right idea for what they wanted to do, they just didn't have the tools to make their people soldiers," the man explains as he takes us on a tour of the settlement. It's a hive of activity - new buildings are being erected within the walls, and winter grain already sown.
I asked what he meant by tools. He grinned. "The Minutemen started, what, a hundred years after the war? People forget things easily. How to lead, how to form a military - stuff gets lost just thanks to time. So everyone started off just sending whoever they had on hand to fight. It works so long as everyone gets along and feels like helping each other. So long as times are good enough that they have the hands to spare. But when the going gets rough…well, it starts to fall apart. Everyone goes home because they don't think they'll get the help they need from the others. Bunker Hill versus Diamond City versus University Point, everyone's pissy at the others and it can't hold. Because the people they send to fight…well, I won't say they were bad at it. But they weren't soldiers. There wasn't anything beyond the ideal to hold them together." He shrugs. "Those can work for the high-minded, but people will look out for their own, first. I did a stint as a drill instructor before I went back to the front - boot camp was always about breaking down the old ideas any recruit had about who 'their own' was, replacing it with the army. That's what I mean by tools - the ways you take a good fighter and make them part of something more."
He gestures at one of the cleared fields, where a four-man squad of Minutemen is drilling with handmade grenades - the periodic cracks as the underpowered explosives go off is something that takes some getting used to. "I've got ex-raiders, vagabonds, scavvers, farmers, and anything else to worry about. And I've got to get them pulling in the same direction. That takes discipline, and more of it the more people show up. They've all got to be fed, watered, supplied, and paid."
The Minutemen of old weren't paid, but it is hardly surprising that these new ones are. Part of making professionals is ensuring they have a wage for their work, and one Diamond City readers should understand, given our own security forces. Others may draw comparisons to the Gunners or other, less savory mercenary causes, especially since the Minutemen - more properly, now, the Commonwealth Militia Force, according to their charter, a copy of which should be distributed with this article - charge caravan runners for guard duty and collect payment when work crews protected by them help others with construction and rebuilding.
Despite that, one cannot argue with results. The north of the Commonwealth has always been sparsely populated, and more so now in recent years, but these new Minutemen have brought more order and industry to it than has been seen in decades.
It remains up to the readers whether the return of their banner is worth losing the ideals along the way.
—-
Not a fan of her angle, but she's free to print what she likes.
January 1st, 2288
New year, new problems.
Well, some good things as well.
Namely, Piper's article. Had nearly two dozen people trickle in over the past couple days, far more than usual. Biggest surprise was six yahoos with half-brim hats and a mixed batch of guns who used to be Minutemen and wanted to join up again. Told them they'd have to go through boot like the rest, which they took in stride. With the recruits who've come in over the past month, we have a full platoon, or near enough. Keep this up and Preston's rank will actually be more than ceremonial.
Apparently advertising that not only is this new place real and safe but that it's got real security and organization lit a fire under people's hind ends. We're going to have to bunk a good chunk of them in Concord if this keeps up. Good thing Sturges has the construction teams running full tilt and building extra barracks or we'd already be full up.
Even so, we need to move people elsewhere soon, put some eggs outside the one basket. Preston wants to take a group to check out an old co-op to the south that could serve pretty well, and with the extra hands…yeah, guess Hodges is getting his wish early. They can live off the land and scavenge for a couple months, and we need to spread out.
I'll be organizing the work parties tomorrow. Pack animals, fodder, building materials and radios.
That includes the chain gang. They've behaved themselves, mostly - 'chain gang' isn't even true, they're just watched, not shackled. A couple of bad cases of withdrawal that had to be managed, but take them off the chems and they're nearly decent.
There's a couple of gangs to the south that pose a threat to caravans to and from Diamond City. Had a few of the smaller stakeholders ask we deal with them.
A good test case?