The Commonwealth Wars
- Thread starter Ragnarok101
- Start date
Diplomacy and Expansion
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
January 3rd, 2288
The settlement of Tenpines Bluff is officially declared re-established, after a work crew of two dozen finishes construction of basic fortifications and living quarters. It will host a dozen permanent residents over the winter, five of them full-time CMF soldiers. By 2289, it will have expanded into a small village of fifty souls, counting outlying farmsteads.
January 4th, 2288
The Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, long abandoned, is occupied by CMF forces, and its feral ghoul infestation exterminated. Work begins on a defensive wall shortly after.
Sergeant Roy Mclane didn't ask for too much. Decent pay, good booze, easy targets. That was the kind of thing you hoped for as a Gunner. So, hey, the LT wanted them to sit on a highway and keep watch on the raiders in that bunker, or the ferals in the hippy-dippy co-op, they were gonna do that.
Which was why he sure as hell didn't like what he was seeing.
Their outpost had a good look at them, for certain - thirty or more, looked to be setting up stakes after clearing out the ghouls. Most of them looked like laborers and handymen, but they were turning the old cabins into a decently fortified camp, and doing it in record time despite the snowmelt on the ground. They'd brought a brahmin train and a half-dozen armed soldiers - those new Minutemen.
Good fighters. Knew their CQC well, they'd cleaned out the ferals without losing a man despite those dumbass laser muskets - someone had finally taught them bayonet work, looked like.
And he knew they could see his post - he'd seen them start scoping it out with binoculars after the cleanup had been finished.
Be a bit hard to miss, with the windmill and all.
They had standing orders regarding the Minutemen, though. Namely, to cause them as much trouble as possible. He'd thought that business at Quincy would've finished them off, but guess not, and HQ had never rescinded the order.
That didn't mean he was going to have his people start shooting right away, mind. The Minutemen had them three to one and even with the high ground he didn't like those odds. So he'd sent Jeffries for reinforcements - radio was useless the past few days, probably another rad-storm out of the south cutting off comms with HQ like usual.
He'd told Jeffries to make sure enough men came by to actually storm the place. The work crews had dug a ditch and piled the earth behind it as the start of a rampart, before using what they'd brought and what they had on hand to build a palisade. It was getting dark and they'd already finished the entire ditch plus a third of the actual walls. From what he could make out, it would probably be bulletproof thanks to the sheer mass of rammed earth behind the wood and scrap-metal facing, and the way he'd seen them piling it up to form a ramp behind meant they'd be able to fire over the palisade, even if the cover said palisade offered wouldn't stop most bullets. Considering everyone was armed…yeah, he wanted to have them outnumbered. The settlers might be armed with those shitty pipe guns anyone could turn out, but bullets were bullets, and they had a lot of hands. The Minutemen themselves would be even more of a challenge - laser muskets traded firing speed for pure punch-through power, and would go right through a combat armor breastplate.
Nah, he was staying put. Maybe some sniping tomorrow to keep their heads down, but otherwise they weren't gonna stick their necks out.
He stared through his binoculars at the campfires.
He knew the Commonwealth had people moving and traveling all over, especially in winter when farm work died down at last and people looked to settle new places…but he didn't like this one bit. Anyone who could throw that many guys at a construction project…he wasn't an expert, but they'd worked damn fast. Like they'd done this before.
Footsteps drew his attention, and he turned. Reinforcements here already? That'd been fas-
The binoculars thunked to the overpass tarmac as he dove for cover, going for the laser pistol he had. A volley of beams passed through where he'd been - he grunted as one clipped his shoulder, burning through the pauldron and coming within a hair of his arm, heat radiating up and down from the near miss.
Fucking hell - had they come up the overpass? Snuck up on them? Shit, had they caught Jeffries?
He heard Daniels yell something inarticulate before the muskets boomed again and the private's war cry turned into a choked gurgle. The turret was at the wrong angle, they had it to cover the lifts, fuck.
He hoisted the rifle over the lip of the scrap-metal and wood wall he was hiding behind, hosed fire blindly - he heard some of the fuckers yelp as they dove for cover.
Then a chunk of pipe with a fuse attached thunked onto the tarmac next to his hiding spot, and he had just enough time to curse before the makeshift grenade went off.
January 4th, 2288
Oberland Station, Graygarden, and several other local farmsteads and trading posts in the northern Commonwealth pledge their support to the CMF in exchange for being included in local patrol routes. These agreements will later be used as the basis for those governing CMF-aligned towns and settlements, and typically are simple tithing and taxation arrangements in exchange for the CMF's aid in both construction (initially consisting of defensive walls, but often extending towards housing and utilities in later years) and protection (via both periodic patrols and, if the size of the settlement warrants it, the garrisoning of local forces to help provide a 'fighting backbone' with more firepower than the settlement can supply itself).
While none of these settlements are particularly large or influential, their collective presence and obedience to Sanctuary marks a significant shift in local power.
Clutch gave the kid another once-over.
He looked a hell of a lot more confident than he deserved to, given that he was surrounded by her boys and didn't have a gun to hand - they'd taken that right after he'd walked up, bold as brass, and asked to talk to their boss.
They'd roughed him up for that, and he'd taken his lumps well enough for her to believe he was serious. The offer he'd extended, though, was an absolute joke.
"What the fuck's your name again?" she asked roughly.
"Sharp," the kid answered.
"Right. Sharp. Your boss is either stupid or crazy. Sending your ass here…" She shook her head. "The hell's he thinking? That we're gonna roll over on his say-so?"
"Pretty much, actually," the kid admitted, leaning forward as much as he could while cuffed to a chair. "Shit, I thought he was too - but there's a couple things that make it not so nuts, y'know?"
"Yeah, right. That being?"
The kid shrugged. "I used to run with Jared's crew, up in Corvega." He nodded at her reaction. "Yeah, yeah. You want the whole story?"
"I'm guessing the new Minutemen fucked you boys up," she said. They'd been causing her all manner of headaches. She owned this chunk of Boston, but it was hell to hit their caravans. They didn't run or give up like the regular mercs and they couldn't be bought like the Gunners. "But here you are, not dead. He turn you?"
The kid shrugged. "Not really. Got captured, instead of stringing me up he put me to work. Me and about a dozen others. We got fed, they got hands to do the digging and the building. They basically just herded us into a big shack at night, had this robot make sure we didn't break out, and put us to work in the daytime." He scoffed. "You know the type. Fuckin' bleeding hearts. Didn't want to shoot any of us if they didn't 'have to'."
"And you boys didn't break out?"
"The robot had a flamethrower, lady, the fuck you think we were gonna do? They had us moving all over - fucking sucked. But the General got a bright idea in his head, decided we could earn our parole all at once rather than working our asses off for another five months." The kid grinned. "He tells us, here's a gun, some bullets, and a bit of armor. Go talk to the local gangs and give 'em my offer."
"That offer being to give up raiding and either sign on to guard fucking farmers all day or, get this, become the farmers."
Sharp sighed. "Yeah. Real fucking winner of an offer, isn't it? Y'know, I'm pretty sure he sent us cuz if we get shot he doesn't have to care. He's a cold sonnuvabitch. But it worked for some of 'em. You hear what happened to Tower Tom?"
Clutch narrowed her eyes. "You've got the details, spill 'em. Don't have all day."
"Right, so - the fuckin' Minutemen start setting up a new farm or some shit, up near Red Tourrette's turf - you know, that old federal bunker still full've food. Red doesn't like that, but they'd set up on an overpass, anyone who started moving out would get a laser to the dome and everyone knew it. So she sits tight for a bit. Then, and here's the thing I only heard about, didn't see it - some boys under the General's second-in-command sneak into the bunker. Some back-way tunnel or some shit. Wake Red up at bayonet point, give her the same kinda offer I gave you. Turns out, she's got a sister who Tower Tom's holding hostage. She says she'll turn over her boys and whatever the fuck they want, so long as she gets her sister back. Couple of her boys object, she ventilates 'em, usual shit, you know? Rest get with the program real quick after Garvey - that's the second - runs it up the chain and the General gives the okay. So Tower Tom's not the brightest fuck, but he'd figure it out if Red's bunch attacked, so it's the Minutemen's job. Another fucking overpass right there next to his brewery, they've got all day and can see all the angles. They send a friend of mine in this time, made me watch just to make sure I got with the program. Well, Tom doesn't like being told to hand over everything, beats him pretty bad, tosses him out."
Sharp cackled. "He got the message real quick when the Minutemen started putting holes in his windows. Lost two or three of his boys, and when they caught one of his patrols…" He shivered. "Look. You know there's always some sick fucks in a crew willing to do horrible shit to whoever they can, and put the bodies up after so everyone knows they're not to be fucked with. But the General showed these boys how it's done. He made it last, and made sure that Tom and everyone else could hear the screaming. Next morning, three out of four of Tom's boys walked out with hands on their heads. Rest fought, but there weren't enough of them left to stand for long. They found Red's sister in one of the vats, gave her Tom's skull as a consolation prize. Left her to run the ration stockpile, and from what I heard, she's going along with it."
"This story have a fucking point?" Clutch asked.
"Yeah, yeah it does. See, Red? Her people? They're not too happy about having to play nice with the others, some fucked off to see if they could find other crews, some stuck around. But they're alive, they're left alone so long as they hand over some food and don't cause trouble for anyone else. A couple even gave up and signed on with the militia just so'd they get their kicks, didn't matter. General pulled their fangs but didn't kill them all or even insist they work for a living. Tower Tom? He's a fucking shelf decoration, everyone who stood with him's dead, and the ones who only backed down when they knew they were fucked, they're little better than slaves until he breaks their spirits enough he thinks they won't be a threat," Sharp explained. "I've seen the man. He gives one chance, after that, you've made an enemy of him and he's of the opinion hurting people like us isn't a crime." He stared up at her, eyes cold as ice. "I came here cuz you're not nutters. You're not like Bosco or the Judge, or those fire freaks over by the Ironworks. The General - the boss - whatever the fuck you wanna call him, he's got eyes on the whole Commonwealth, and the fucking hippy-dippy settlers love him for it. You either join the ranks and get with the program, or he'll run you over. So I'm fuckin' beggin' you - don't be stupid."
Try as she might, she couldn't find a single tell on the kid. He was telling the truth, and he was scared as hell.
And she could hear the others murmuring, because like a dumbass she'd let everyone see as they interrogated the little shit.
Tower Tom's crew just walked away, and they got to live. That was going to be the thought in everyone's mind. Fuck.
She folded her arms. "Uncuff the little shit, and give him his gun back," she snapped to one of her boys.
Sharp blinked as he was hoisted to his feet, and took his pistol carefully. "So. What'm I supposed to tell the crazy bastard?"
"Simple. He needs gun hands - we'll supply them. You say they've all got fancy army training or whatever the fuck, if a bunch of hickfuck farmers can push in the shit of everyone north of us with that, we'll be the best damn guns he's ever had. We'll keep his precious little sheep safe, and eat only the wolves." She let out a breath. "But he better hold up his end. Food, water, caps, guns, ammo. If we're gonna sell out, it's gotta be worth it."
January 8th, 2288
Institute Directorate Memorandum 387 is drafted. Institute operations in the northern Commonwealth are largely suspended shortly thereafter.
January 9th, 2288
Railroad HQ issues General Order 2288-03. Operatives 'Deacon' and 'Glory' are entrusted with a confidential mission.
January 10th, 2288
The Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel officially begins preparations for an operation codenamed CASE INDIA TEACHER.
The settlement of Tenpines Bluff is officially declared re-established, after a work crew of two dozen finishes construction of basic fortifications and living quarters. It will host a dozen permanent residents over the winter, five of them full-time CMF soldiers. By 2289, it will have expanded into a small village of fifty souls, counting outlying farmsteads.
January 4th, 2288
The Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, long abandoned, is occupied by CMF forces, and its feral ghoul infestation exterminated. Work begins on a defensive wall shortly after.
Sergeant Roy Mclane didn't ask for too much. Decent pay, good booze, easy targets. That was the kind of thing you hoped for as a Gunner. So, hey, the LT wanted them to sit on a highway and keep watch on the raiders in that bunker, or the ferals in the hippy-dippy co-op, they were gonna do that.
Which was why he sure as hell didn't like what he was seeing.
Their outpost had a good look at them, for certain - thirty or more, looked to be setting up stakes after clearing out the ghouls. Most of them looked like laborers and handymen, but they were turning the old cabins into a decently fortified camp, and doing it in record time despite the snowmelt on the ground. They'd brought a brahmin train and a half-dozen armed soldiers - those new Minutemen.
Good fighters. Knew their CQC well, they'd cleaned out the ferals without losing a man despite those dumbass laser muskets - someone had finally taught them bayonet work, looked like.
And he knew they could see his post - he'd seen them start scoping it out with binoculars after the cleanup had been finished.
Be a bit hard to miss, with the windmill and all.
They had standing orders regarding the Minutemen, though. Namely, to cause them as much trouble as possible. He'd thought that business at Quincy would've finished them off, but guess not, and HQ had never rescinded the order.
That didn't mean he was going to have his people start shooting right away, mind. The Minutemen had them three to one and even with the high ground he didn't like those odds. So he'd sent Jeffries for reinforcements - radio was useless the past few days, probably another rad-storm out of the south cutting off comms with HQ like usual.
He'd told Jeffries to make sure enough men came by to actually storm the place. The work crews had dug a ditch and piled the earth behind it as the start of a rampart, before using what they'd brought and what they had on hand to build a palisade. It was getting dark and they'd already finished the entire ditch plus a third of the actual walls. From what he could make out, it would probably be bulletproof thanks to the sheer mass of rammed earth behind the wood and scrap-metal facing, and the way he'd seen them piling it up to form a ramp behind meant they'd be able to fire over the palisade, even if the cover said palisade offered wouldn't stop most bullets. Considering everyone was armed…yeah, he wanted to have them outnumbered. The settlers might be armed with those shitty pipe guns anyone could turn out, but bullets were bullets, and they had a lot of hands. The Minutemen themselves would be even more of a challenge - laser muskets traded firing speed for pure punch-through power, and would go right through a combat armor breastplate.
Nah, he was staying put. Maybe some sniping tomorrow to keep their heads down, but otherwise they weren't gonna stick their necks out.
He stared through his binoculars at the campfires.
He knew the Commonwealth had people moving and traveling all over, especially in winter when farm work died down at last and people looked to settle new places…but he didn't like this one bit. Anyone who could throw that many guys at a construction project…he wasn't an expert, but they'd worked damn fast. Like they'd done this before.
Footsteps drew his attention, and he turned. Reinforcements here already? That'd been fas-
The binoculars thunked to the overpass tarmac as he dove for cover, going for the laser pistol he had. A volley of beams passed through where he'd been - he grunted as one clipped his shoulder, burning through the pauldron and coming within a hair of his arm, heat radiating up and down from the near miss.
Fucking hell - had they come up the overpass? Snuck up on them? Shit, had they caught Jeffries?
He heard Daniels yell something inarticulate before the muskets boomed again and the private's war cry turned into a choked gurgle. The turret was at the wrong angle, they had it to cover the lifts, fuck.
He hoisted the rifle over the lip of the scrap-metal and wood wall he was hiding behind, hosed fire blindly - he heard some of the fuckers yelp as they dove for cover.
Then a chunk of pipe with a fuse attached thunked onto the tarmac next to his hiding spot, and he had just enough time to curse before the makeshift grenade went off.
January 4th, 2288
Oberland Station, Graygarden, and several other local farmsteads and trading posts in the northern Commonwealth pledge their support to the CMF in exchange for being included in local patrol routes. These agreements will later be used as the basis for those governing CMF-aligned towns and settlements, and typically are simple tithing and taxation arrangements in exchange for the CMF's aid in both construction (initially consisting of defensive walls, but often extending towards housing and utilities in later years) and protection (via both periodic patrols and, if the size of the settlement warrants it, the garrisoning of local forces to help provide a 'fighting backbone' with more firepower than the settlement can supply itself).
While none of these settlements are particularly large or influential, their collective presence and obedience to Sanctuary marks a significant shift in local power.
Clutch gave the kid another once-over.
He looked a hell of a lot more confident than he deserved to, given that he was surrounded by her boys and didn't have a gun to hand - they'd taken that right after he'd walked up, bold as brass, and asked to talk to their boss.
They'd roughed him up for that, and he'd taken his lumps well enough for her to believe he was serious. The offer he'd extended, though, was an absolute joke.
"What the fuck's your name again?" she asked roughly.
"Sharp," the kid answered.
"Right. Sharp. Your boss is either stupid or crazy. Sending your ass here…" She shook her head. "The hell's he thinking? That we're gonna roll over on his say-so?"
"Pretty much, actually," the kid admitted, leaning forward as much as he could while cuffed to a chair. "Shit, I thought he was too - but there's a couple things that make it not so nuts, y'know?"
"Yeah, right. That being?"
The kid shrugged. "I used to run with Jared's crew, up in Corvega." He nodded at her reaction. "Yeah, yeah. You want the whole story?"
"I'm guessing the new Minutemen fucked you boys up," she said. They'd been causing her all manner of headaches. She owned this chunk of Boston, but it was hell to hit their caravans. They didn't run or give up like the regular mercs and they couldn't be bought like the Gunners. "But here you are, not dead. He turn you?"
The kid shrugged. "Not really. Got captured, instead of stringing me up he put me to work. Me and about a dozen others. We got fed, they got hands to do the digging and the building. They basically just herded us into a big shack at night, had this robot make sure we didn't break out, and put us to work in the daytime." He scoffed. "You know the type. Fuckin' bleeding hearts. Didn't want to shoot any of us if they didn't 'have to'."
"And you boys didn't break out?"
"The robot had a flamethrower, lady, the fuck you think we were gonna do? They had us moving all over - fucking sucked. But the General got a bright idea in his head, decided we could earn our parole all at once rather than working our asses off for another five months." The kid grinned. "He tells us, here's a gun, some bullets, and a bit of armor. Go talk to the local gangs and give 'em my offer."
"That offer being to give up raiding and either sign on to guard fucking farmers all day or, get this, become the farmers."
Sharp sighed. "Yeah. Real fucking winner of an offer, isn't it? Y'know, I'm pretty sure he sent us cuz if we get shot he doesn't have to care. He's a cold sonnuvabitch. But it worked for some of 'em. You hear what happened to Tower Tom?"
Clutch narrowed her eyes. "You've got the details, spill 'em. Don't have all day."
"Right, so - the fuckin' Minutemen start setting up a new farm or some shit, up near Red Tourrette's turf - you know, that old federal bunker still full've food. Red doesn't like that, but they'd set up on an overpass, anyone who started moving out would get a laser to the dome and everyone knew it. So she sits tight for a bit. Then, and here's the thing I only heard about, didn't see it - some boys under the General's second-in-command sneak into the bunker. Some back-way tunnel or some shit. Wake Red up at bayonet point, give her the same kinda offer I gave you. Turns out, she's got a sister who Tower Tom's holding hostage. She says she'll turn over her boys and whatever the fuck they want, so long as she gets her sister back. Couple of her boys object, she ventilates 'em, usual shit, you know? Rest get with the program real quick after Garvey - that's the second - runs it up the chain and the General gives the okay. So Tower Tom's not the brightest fuck, but he'd figure it out if Red's bunch attacked, so it's the Minutemen's job. Another fucking overpass right there next to his brewery, they've got all day and can see all the angles. They send a friend of mine in this time, made me watch just to make sure I got with the program. Well, Tom doesn't like being told to hand over everything, beats him pretty bad, tosses him out."
Sharp cackled. "He got the message real quick when the Minutemen started putting holes in his windows. Lost two or three of his boys, and when they caught one of his patrols…" He shivered. "Look. You know there's always some sick fucks in a crew willing to do horrible shit to whoever they can, and put the bodies up after so everyone knows they're not to be fucked with. But the General showed these boys how it's done. He made it last, and made sure that Tom and everyone else could hear the screaming. Next morning, three out of four of Tom's boys walked out with hands on their heads. Rest fought, but there weren't enough of them left to stand for long. They found Red's sister in one of the vats, gave her Tom's skull as a consolation prize. Left her to run the ration stockpile, and from what I heard, she's going along with it."
"This story have a fucking point?" Clutch asked.
"Yeah, yeah it does. See, Red? Her people? They're not too happy about having to play nice with the others, some fucked off to see if they could find other crews, some stuck around. But they're alive, they're left alone so long as they hand over some food and don't cause trouble for anyone else. A couple even gave up and signed on with the militia just so'd they get their kicks, didn't matter. General pulled their fangs but didn't kill them all or even insist they work for a living. Tower Tom? He's a fucking shelf decoration, everyone who stood with him's dead, and the ones who only backed down when they knew they were fucked, they're little better than slaves until he breaks their spirits enough he thinks they won't be a threat," Sharp explained. "I've seen the man. He gives one chance, after that, you've made an enemy of him and he's of the opinion hurting people like us isn't a crime." He stared up at her, eyes cold as ice. "I came here cuz you're not nutters. You're not like Bosco or the Judge, or those fire freaks over by the Ironworks. The General - the boss - whatever the fuck you wanna call him, he's got eyes on the whole Commonwealth, and the fucking hippy-dippy settlers love him for it. You either join the ranks and get with the program, or he'll run you over. So I'm fuckin' beggin' you - don't be stupid."
Try as she might, she couldn't find a single tell on the kid. He was telling the truth, and he was scared as hell.
And she could hear the others murmuring, because like a dumbass she'd let everyone see as they interrogated the little shit.
Tower Tom's crew just walked away, and they got to live. That was going to be the thought in everyone's mind. Fuck.
She folded her arms. "Uncuff the little shit, and give him his gun back," she snapped to one of her boys.
Sharp blinked as he was hoisted to his feet, and took his pistol carefully. "So. What'm I supposed to tell the crazy bastard?"
"Simple. He needs gun hands - we'll supply them. You say they've all got fancy army training or whatever the fuck, if a bunch of hickfuck farmers can push in the shit of everyone north of us with that, we'll be the best damn guns he's ever had. We'll keep his precious little sheep safe, and eat only the wolves." She let out a breath. "But he better hold up his end. Food, water, caps, guns, ammo. If we're gonna sell out, it's gotta be worth it."
January 8th, 2288
Institute Directorate Memorandum 387 is drafted. Institute operations in the northern Commonwealth are largely suspended shortly thereafter.
January 9th, 2288
Railroad HQ issues General Order 2288-03. Operatives 'Deacon' and 'Glory' are entrusted with a confidential mission.
January 10th, 2288
The Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel officially begins preparations for an operation codenamed CASE INDIA TEACHER.
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
Fun fact: this is all because I wanted to write a Fallout-4-style version of the excellent Operation Sunburst animation by SODAZ, and found myself having to write all the backstory to make it happen.
So I would say 'canon' wraps up around 2290. There's a lot to cover after that.
Tolls
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
January 11th, 2288
Piper knew she was incorrigibly nosy - it was part of the job. Dig until you found the truth, no matter what.
Which was why she'd gotten a good look at McDonough storming out of Diamond City with a squad of security goons trailing in his wake, face like a thundercloud, and decided to follow. They didn't even notice her.
She got a pretty good idea of what had McDonough so steamed as they made their way down the main thoroughfare and past the barricades DC's finest had up.
Namely, the half-finished wall cutting off said thoroughfare, and the work crew of guys wearing blue bandanas who were gathering at the sight of said security goons. Those were the new fashion among the workers who built all the things the General had ideas for - made marking them out easy. Good people, willing to be quoted if you bought them a drink. Good in a bar fight, too - working construction made them tough and strong, and the ones who weren't farmer stock were former raiders and mercs who didn't fancy being shot at.
But even with that, and the fact they were all armed, none of them seemed willing to tangle with armored security right off the bat - but they weren't the only ones there. A four-man squad of Minutemen boiled out of the side buildings, weapons to hand, and the crowd of workers firmed up behind their steady line. She crouched behind a garbage can and started writing.
Their leader, wearing sergeant's stripes on his coat, took a step forwards, and the security squad stopped half a step behind McDonough. "You got a reason to be here, Mr. Mayor?" the sergeant drawled, all expression hidden behind goggles and dust mask.
"A reason - you're building a wall right on the main thoroughfare! Do I look like I need a reason to make you stop this, this monstrosity?"
"Tain't a wall."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"Gate."
"What?"
"You deaf, man? Gate. Will be when it's finished in a few more days, anyhow. Toll gate. Y'know, because we run the whole route past this place." The sergeant shrugged ostentatiously. "Like the General says, everyone contributes."
McDonough started sputtering. "T-this is Diamond City!"
"Last I checked, it wasn't. Your boys' jurisdiction ends a good bit further into the Fens, don't it?" The sergeant took another step forward, and this time McDonough took one back. "See, we're not DC. We don't work for ya. Only man I answer to's the General. So kindly fuck off, fat man."
Ooh. Wrong move. McDonough turned red, and swelled like a toad. "Men!" he barked. "Start dismantling this illegal obstruction, and arrest these -"
Every Minuteman present levelled their guns. "I'd advise thinking twice about that, Mayor," the sergeant said icily. "Shit, you fellas really want to try this?" he added, addressing the security squad.
"You're the ones pointing guns at the mayor," one of the goons said, raising his own weapon.
"Well, shit, you got us there. We can sit here all day in a standoff, or you can go home, howsabout-"
Thoom.
The deep reverberation of power-armored footsteps drew the eye - two suits toting laser rifles, painted up in CMF blue. But the one who drew the lion's share of the attention was Nathan Grey, blood-spattered and gazing upon the scene with a sense of bone-deep weariness. She almost missed the Super Mutant standing behind him, who looked concerned, if that was an expression a Super Mutant could have.
"I was gone for four hours," Grey said. "I pull Rex Goodman out of a fucking hive of Super Mutants, and what do I see when I come back? Fucking Mexican standoff shenanigans. Boys! Get back to work. Mayor and I need to have a talk."
"What the hell's that thing doing here?" one of the security squad asked.
"Strong not thing!" the mutant protested. "Strong Super Mutant!"
"He's with me," Grey answered. "Now. Mister McDonough. We've got to have a talk, don't we? Rick, Winters, stow the two-ton tuxedos and get back on watch."
"Yes, General," one of the power-armored boys said, stomping off with his buddy in tow.
She kept a weather eye on the situation as the CMF crew went back to work and their Minutemen guards lowered their weapons. The security boys seemed to take that as their cue to follow McDonough back as Grey and his new Super Mutant buddy took the mayor aside.
Somehow they still failed to see her - and she could hear the whole conversation.
"Grey, I must protest! Acting as caravan guards is one thing, but these are our roads, and the northern farms are a major part of our economy! You can't simply put a toll road here! You'll scare off caravans!"
"Mayor, I get where you're coming from - but it's got some advantages you might not be thinking of. I was hoping to bring it up with you personally this morning, but had to handle a situation at Trinity Tower." The General sighed. "You should know how it is - someone always needs a firm hand on the wheel to handle things."
"I - well -"
"See, I know DC's stretched thin, these days - actually, that you, Weathers?"
"Yeah, General," one of the guards responded, shouldering his rifle.
"How's the leg?"
"Still twinges like hell when it rains, but I'll live. You and yours cleaned out the Super Mutants trying to eat us real quick. No offense meant, big guy."
"If they died, they were puny!" Strong said. "Good!"
"Y'see? Your boys got plenty to do. Keep law and order in the biggest town the Commonwealth's got, and patrolling outside these walls with all manner of nasties. Now, I know you've got an aversion to my people working inside your walls, but I wanna do what I can - so I figured, better to take a load off security's backs, get that outpost up and running, and start covering the streets. Most of our boys are up north doing guard duty somewhere or other, but a full squad of twelve, with some power armor to back 'em up, that's a pretty good force to hold some of the nastier critters of the four and two-legged varieties off. They'll split up and run their patrols, too."
The General grinned. "Now, I do apologize - these boys weren't supposed to get started right away. But you know how they are - taught them a little too well about how idle hands ain't welcome, now they're always up to some manner of something or other. But the fact is, keeping those boys supplied and paid isn't easy - same with your fellas, I bet."
McDonough smoothed down the front of his shirt. "Well, yes. Maintaining a proper security force is quite expensive. But these tolls…"
"See, that's what I wanted to bring to you. They're cheap - five caps a head, eight apiece for wagons or brahmin. Way I figure it, twenty percent of the daily take goes to the Great Green Jewel - since you'll be drawing the traffic, even if we're why the roads are safe and easy to walk on. Hell, how many barricades d'you have to pass on the way in? Clear those out, put them on the side streets, we've got the north roads handled if DC's finest can cover our backs."
The Super Mutant grunted. "Should just eat fat human, tell other humans they yours now."
"Now, Strong," the General said, as if the big lunk hadn't proposed cannibalism as a coup tactic, "that isn't something we've gotta resort to. Besides, whole goal of this is - with your permission, Mayor - to get some cooperation going. Diamond City gets safer roads and more caravans coming in on the regular from the north, we get a good bit of all the caps we need to keep my boys and girls happy and fed, everyone walks away a winner. Maybe even bring some of DC's finest on the patrol routes, have them manning the walls - share the load."
McDonough folded his arms. "And if I don't give my permission for this, this extortion?"
"Well, toll road's gonna be built at the end of the day." Nate's smile was all teeth as he leaned in a little closer. "See, that's the thing. I'm offering you a cut of the proceeds as courtesy, Mister Mayor, and I want to talk to your boys about fortifying and expanding because it'll make things easier for everyone. End of the day…where we're building it's not DC's to handle." He patted McDonough's shoulder. "I figure you're a smart man. But it's your call whether you want to be a help, or just sit up there all high and mighty and let the rest of your people take the brunt of the Commonwealth 'cause of nothing more than wounded pride. So have a good day, Mister Mayor. I've got work to do, and I'm sure you do too."
Anything else the fat man might've said was lost in sputtering as the General turned and left. He stopped not ten feet from his hiding spot, Super Mutant companion standing with him, and lit a cigarette as the troop of DC's finest (and worst) trekked back to the city gates.
"Enjoy the show, Miss Wright?" he asked, not even looking at her.
Well, shit. Nothing for it but to snark right on back.
"Eh, petered off a bit. Little too deus ex machina for me," she said as she rose from her hiding place. "You do all that just to give me a good article?"
"And to put the idea in those poor cops heads that we might not be the thugs the mayor's no doubt painting us as," the General admitted. "Who knows? Next election's what, end of the year? Might have a new Mayor afterwards."
"Still say you just crush his skull," the Super Mutant grumbled.
"And then we'd be out any help from Diamond City at all, big guy. Humans get angry when you do that."
"Bah. Stupid humans."
"Yeah, but sometimes you gotta talk in a way they understand." He thumped the Super Mutant's back. "C'mon. Gotta show you around and see if we can put something on you so someone doesn't try to shoot you. Then I can get around to showing you the whole 'milk of human kindness' thing."
Piper blinked. "The…what?"
"Strong learn from Mack Beth," the mutant grunted. "Milk of human kindness. Why so many of you, and you build things. Thought was real milk - General say is for meta instead."
"Metaphor, Strong."
"That's what Strong said!"
"So, yeah. Gonna show him what we're doing."
"So, big fella," Piper asked. "What's the plan after you learn all about the milk of human kindness?"
Strong smiled, displaying tombstone teeth. "Take back to other mutants. Strong going to be in charge. All mutants follow Strong, because milk make Strong best. And then, mutants and humans build together."
Huh. "Strong, you mind going and doing what the General said? I need to talk to him alone for a bit."
"Yeah, sure, go on ahead. Find Rick and tell him I sent you, alright?"
"Strong go."
She waited until the green behemoth vanished back into the city block the Minutemen were fortifying before turning back to Nate. "What the fuck."
"Trust me, I know."
"He's a super mutant. How?!"
Nate shrugged. "Rex got most of his attention, to be fair. Didn't take very long to turn him around to a better way of thinking after that. I think the only reason nobody's done it before is the bigger and meaner ones just kill anyone who thinks they don't need to murder humans on sight."
"See, this is why I wrote that article. Everyone falls for you and your…bullshit charisma field!"
Nate cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Shut up, you know what I mean. Hardened raiders give up and turn their lives around and farmers become soldiers. And now Super Mutants? There's got to be a limit at some point."
The man had the audacity to shrug. "Probably. But I'll keep pushing until I find it. I've got a good thing going, after all."
"That good thing include charging a toll for walking down the street?"
"Seeing as how most of what was walking down it was raiders and mutants, yeah, I think it does. Someone takes care of the place, they get the right to say who gets to use it and under what conditions."
"Usually, that's the government's job. Care to make a statement about that?"
"Oh, on the record?"
She smiled at him. "Always."
"Well…let me be honest - government's going to be whoever keeps the peace, holds their territory, and sets their laws. That's us, at least up in the north. So, yeah, call us the government if you want, Miss Wright. Someone's got to do it, and we haven't done too bad a job thus far. That takes me playing wannabe warlord, charging people some caps for travelling the roads my people secure, playing hardball with the mayor? I'll do it. Done far worse for less cause."
She gave him a long, searching look. "Y'know, I think I liked you a bit more when you were just some Vault dweller looking for his kid."
"Yeah. So did I."
January 13th, 2288
The Massachusetts Avenue Toll Road goes into operation despite protests from Mayor McDonough. It, and the adjoining fortified camp built inside the building complex surrounding 'Hangman's Alley', quickly becomes a hotspot for caravans heading north or returning from there, due to its guaranteed security and permanent garrison.
DC Security patrols are quietly reshuffled to focus on other areas of the urban jungle. In response, twenty percent of the tolls collected are paid to Diamond City's Head of Security, Carl Shaw.
Piper knew she was incorrigibly nosy - it was part of the job. Dig until you found the truth, no matter what.
Which was why she'd gotten a good look at McDonough storming out of Diamond City with a squad of security goons trailing in his wake, face like a thundercloud, and decided to follow. They didn't even notice her.
She got a pretty good idea of what had McDonough so steamed as they made their way down the main thoroughfare and past the barricades DC's finest had up.
Namely, the half-finished wall cutting off said thoroughfare, and the work crew of guys wearing blue bandanas who were gathering at the sight of said security goons. Those were the new fashion among the workers who built all the things the General had ideas for - made marking them out easy. Good people, willing to be quoted if you bought them a drink. Good in a bar fight, too - working construction made them tough and strong, and the ones who weren't farmer stock were former raiders and mercs who didn't fancy being shot at.
But even with that, and the fact they were all armed, none of them seemed willing to tangle with armored security right off the bat - but they weren't the only ones there. A four-man squad of Minutemen boiled out of the side buildings, weapons to hand, and the crowd of workers firmed up behind their steady line. She crouched behind a garbage can and started writing.
Their leader, wearing sergeant's stripes on his coat, took a step forwards, and the security squad stopped half a step behind McDonough. "You got a reason to be here, Mr. Mayor?" the sergeant drawled, all expression hidden behind goggles and dust mask.
"A reason - you're building a wall right on the main thoroughfare! Do I look like I need a reason to make you stop this, this monstrosity?"
"Tain't a wall."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"Gate."
"What?"
"You deaf, man? Gate. Will be when it's finished in a few more days, anyhow. Toll gate. Y'know, because we run the whole route past this place." The sergeant shrugged ostentatiously. "Like the General says, everyone contributes."
McDonough started sputtering. "T-this is Diamond City!"
"Last I checked, it wasn't. Your boys' jurisdiction ends a good bit further into the Fens, don't it?" The sergeant took another step forward, and this time McDonough took one back. "See, we're not DC. We don't work for ya. Only man I answer to's the General. So kindly fuck off, fat man."
Ooh. Wrong move. McDonough turned red, and swelled like a toad. "Men!" he barked. "Start dismantling this illegal obstruction, and arrest these -"
Every Minuteman present levelled their guns. "I'd advise thinking twice about that, Mayor," the sergeant said icily. "Shit, you fellas really want to try this?" he added, addressing the security squad.
"You're the ones pointing guns at the mayor," one of the goons said, raising his own weapon.
"Well, shit, you got us there. We can sit here all day in a standoff, or you can go home, howsabout-"
Thoom.
The deep reverberation of power-armored footsteps drew the eye - two suits toting laser rifles, painted up in CMF blue. But the one who drew the lion's share of the attention was Nathan Grey, blood-spattered and gazing upon the scene with a sense of bone-deep weariness. She almost missed the Super Mutant standing behind him, who looked concerned, if that was an expression a Super Mutant could have.
"I was gone for four hours," Grey said. "I pull Rex Goodman out of a fucking hive of Super Mutants, and what do I see when I come back? Fucking Mexican standoff shenanigans. Boys! Get back to work. Mayor and I need to have a talk."
"What the hell's that thing doing here?" one of the security squad asked.
"Strong not thing!" the mutant protested. "Strong Super Mutant!"
"He's with me," Grey answered. "Now. Mister McDonough. We've got to have a talk, don't we? Rick, Winters, stow the two-ton tuxedos and get back on watch."
"Yes, General," one of the power-armored boys said, stomping off with his buddy in tow.
She kept a weather eye on the situation as the CMF crew went back to work and their Minutemen guards lowered their weapons. The security boys seemed to take that as their cue to follow McDonough back as Grey and his new Super Mutant buddy took the mayor aside.
Somehow they still failed to see her - and she could hear the whole conversation.
"Grey, I must protest! Acting as caravan guards is one thing, but these are our roads, and the northern farms are a major part of our economy! You can't simply put a toll road here! You'll scare off caravans!"
"Mayor, I get where you're coming from - but it's got some advantages you might not be thinking of. I was hoping to bring it up with you personally this morning, but had to handle a situation at Trinity Tower." The General sighed. "You should know how it is - someone always needs a firm hand on the wheel to handle things."
"I - well -"
"See, I know DC's stretched thin, these days - actually, that you, Weathers?"
"Yeah, General," one of the guards responded, shouldering his rifle.
"How's the leg?"
"Still twinges like hell when it rains, but I'll live. You and yours cleaned out the Super Mutants trying to eat us real quick. No offense meant, big guy."
"If they died, they were puny!" Strong said. "Good!"
"Y'see? Your boys got plenty to do. Keep law and order in the biggest town the Commonwealth's got, and patrolling outside these walls with all manner of nasties. Now, I know you've got an aversion to my people working inside your walls, but I wanna do what I can - so I figured, better to take a load off security's backs, get that outpost up and running, and start covering the streets. Most of our boys are up north doing guard duty somewhere or other, but a full squad of twelve, with some power armor to back 'em up, that's a pretty good force to hold some of the nastier critters of the four and two-legged varieties off. They'll split up and run their patrols, too."
The General grinned. "Now, I do apologize - these boys weren't supposed to get started right away. But you know how they are - taught them a little too well about how idle hands ain't welcome, now they're always up to some manner of something or other. But the fact is, keeping those boys supplied and paid isn't easy - same with your fellas, I bet."
McDonough smoothed down the front of his shirt. "Well, yes. Maintaining a proper security force is quite expensive. But these tolls…"
"See, that's what I wanted to bring to you. They're cheap - five caps a head, eight apiece for wagons or brahmin. Way I figure it, twenty percent of the daily take goes to the Great Green Jewel - since you'll be drawing the traffic, even if we're why the roads are safe and easy to walk on. Hell, how many barricades d'you have to pass on the way in? Clear those out, put them on the side streets, we've got the north roads handled if DC's finest can cover our backs."
The Super Mutant grunted. "Should just eat fat human, tell other humans they yours now."
"Now, Strong," the General said, as if the big lunk hadn't proposed cannibalism as a coup tactic, "that isn't something we've gotta resort to. Besides, whole goal of this is - with your permission, Mayor - to get some cooperation going. Diamond City gets safer roads and more caravans coming in on the regular from the north, we get a good bit of all the caps we need to keep my boys and girls happy and fed, everyone walks away a winner. Maybe even bring some of DC's finest on the patrol routes, have them manning the walls - share the load."
McDonough folded his arms. "And if I don't give my permission for this, this extortion?"
"Well, toll road's gonna be built at the end of the day." Nate's smile was all teeth as he leaned in a little closer. "See, that's the thing. I'm offering you a cut of the proceeds as courtesy, Mister Mayor, and I want to talk to your boys about fortifying and expanding because it'll make things easier for everyone. End of the day…where we're building it's not DC's to handle." He patted McDonough's shoulder. "I figure you're a smart man. But it's your call whether you want to be a help, or just sit up there all high and mighty and let the rest of your people take the brunt of the Commonwealth 'cause of nothing more than wounded pride. So have a good day, Mister Mayor. I've got work to do, and I'm sure you do too."
Anything else the fat man might've said was lost in sputtering as the General turned and left. He stopped not ten feet from his hiding spot, Super Mutant companion standing with him, and lit a cigarette as the troop of DC's finest (and worst) trekked back to the city gates.
"Enjoy the show, Miss Wright?" he asked, not even looking at her.
Well, shit. Nothing for it but to snark right on back.
"Eh, petered off a bit. Little too deus ex machina for me," she said as she rose from her hiding place. "You do all that just to give me a good article?"
"And to put the idea in those poor cops heads that we might not be the thugs the mayor's no doubt painting us as," the General admitted. "Who knows? Next election's what, end of the year? Might have a new Mayor afterwards."
"Still say you just crush his skull," the Super Mutant grumbled.
"And then we'd be out any help from Diamond City at all, big guy. Humans get angry when you do that."
"Bah. Stupid humans."
"Yeah, but sometimes you gotta talk in a way they understand." He thumped the Super Mutant's back. "C'mon. Gotta show you around and see if we can put something on you so someone doesn't try to shoot you. Then I can get around to showing you the whole 'milk of human kindness' thing."
Piper blinked. "The…what?"
"Strong learn from Mack Beth," the mutant grunted. "Milk of human kindness. Why so many of you, and you build things. Thought was real milk - General say is for meta instead."
"Metaphor, Strong."
"That's what Strong said!"
"So, yeah. Gonna show him what we're doing."
"So, big fella," Piper asked. "What's the plan after you learn all about the milk of human kindness?"
Strong smiled, displaying tombstone teeth. "Take back to other mutants. Strong going to be in charge. All mutants follow Strong, because milk make Strong best. And then, mutants and humans build together."
Huh. "Strong, you mind going and doing what the General said? I need to talk to him alone for a bit."
"Yeah, sure, go on ahead. Find Rick and tell him I sent you, alright?"
"Strong go."
She waited until the green behemoth vanished back into the city block the Minutemen were fortifying before turning back to Nate. "What the fuck."
"Trust me, I know."
"He's a super mutant. How?!"
Nate shrugged. "Rex got most of his attention, to be fair. Didn't take very long to turn him around to a better way of thinking after that. I think the only reason nobody's done it before is the bigger and meaner ones just kill anyone who thinks they don't need to murder humans on sight."
"See, this is why I wrote that article. Everyone falls for you and your…bullshit charisma field!"
Nate cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Shut up, you know what I mean. Hardened raiders give up and turn their lives around and farmers become soldiers. And now Super Mutants? There's got to be a limit at some point."
The man had the audacity to shrug. "Probably. But I'll keep pushing until I find it. I've got a good thing going, after all."
"That good thing include charging a toll for walking down the street?"
"Seeing as how most of what was walking down it was raiders and mutants, yeah, I think it does. Someone takes care of the place, they get the right to say who gets to use it and under what conditions."
"Usually, that's the government's job. Care to make a statement about that?"
"Oh, on the record?"
She smiled at him. "Always."
"Well…let me be honest - government's going to be whoever keeps the peace, holds their territory, and sets their laws. That's us, at least up in the north. So, yeah, call us the government if you want, Miss Wright. Someone's got to do it, and we haven't done too bad a job thus far. That takes me playing wannabe warlord, charging people some caps for travelling the roads my people secure, playing hardball with the mayor? I'll do it. Done far worse for less cause."
She gave him a long, searching look. "Y'know, I think I liked you a bit more when you were just some Vault dweller looking for his kid."
"Yeah. So did I."
January 13th, 2288
The Massachusetts Avenue Toll Road goes into operation despite protests from Mayor McDonough. It, and the adjoining fortified camp built inside the building complex surrounding 'Hangman's Alley', quickly becomes a hotspot for caravans heading north or returning from there, due to its guaranteed security and permanent garrison.
DC Security patrols are quietly reshuffled to focus on other areas of the urban jungle. In response, twenty percent of the tolls collected are paid to Diamond City's Head of Security, Carl Shaw.
- Pronouns
- They/Their
Probably a bit after they learn that their Mayor has been replaced by the Institute
More seriously, while DC's Mayor is a bit of an ass, he isn't really that big of a problem, especially with the earlier statements about how the Institute was pulling operations in the general region.
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
Given the mention of the election coming up, it's possible a coup won't be needed when the people might just vote him into power instead. Get a George Washington kinda deal going.
Hey are you going to mention the whole the mayor is a synth and what about good neighbor it's been a while since I've played the games but isn't it pretty close to Dimond city?
Making Contact
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
January 15th, 2288
Nathan Grey was a pain in the ass to make contact with.
Discretely, at any rate. The man was almost always guarded, or working on something, day and night.
So Deacon had had to work a little more cleverly than the usual 'dress up and walk in'. Especially with Glory as his backup.
Bringing a brahmin would've been a pain in the ass, but a walking trader with a pack full of goodies and a closemouthed merc as security, that was normal enough. It helped that Sanctuary was a boom town - new people walking in was almost expected.
It'd settle down in spring - the only reason Grey was able to send people out to labor like he was was because none of them were needed farming. Add that into the steady trickle of folks burned out or forced out by raiders and other uglies down south, and Sanctuary looked like, well, a sanctuary. Enough of one that you'd ignore the former raiders and mercs who were making up more and more of its guardian's ranks.
At least Grey had a firm hand on them. A very firm hand. He seemed to be of the opinion that running them into the ground training was the best way to break those types to bridle, and for the few that still thought being soldiers entitled them to take liberties…he hadn't seen anything, but people talked. What he'd heard was that the last soldier to lay hands on a 'civvie' had been shut in the barracks and served gruel for a week, and that only because he'd not actually managed to throw a punch before his squadmates had pulled him off.
Others might've been more surprised that it was so easy to bully the hard cases into line. Deacon wasn't.
Raiders were just people at the end of the day. Almost all of them fell into it because they thought it was the best of bad options, or they fell in with the wrong crowd. Take away the chems, give them an outlet and a crowd of more stable folks, make them loyal to a cause, and the only thing separating them from a farmer or scavver was the nightmares they'd no doubt have over their pasts.
But even with all of that, Sanctuary was still difficult as all hell to corner the man in. He left it, sure, but always with an entourage. This town was the only place he was ever alone in, but he couldn't exactly pull the man aside. So he'd reduced himself to breaking in at night - street lights were blaring, so in through a back window it was. He found one with shutters that'd been left unlocked - sloppy, that - and beckoned Glory over.
Quiet as mice, they slipped into the man's house.
The streetlights outside cast just enough light to see by. It was almost obsessively neat - if you overlooked the tiles replaced by fresh new ceramics, the shutters on the windows, and the weird nature of the fruits and veggies piled in a bowl on the kitchen counter, you'd almost think it was pre-War. Books filled the shelves, a neat little hand-written chart next to them - was the man trying to run a library? The table was currently playing host to a small pile of hand-drawn maps and what looked like honest-to-goodness spreadsheets.
He nodded to Glory, and they began heading for the master bedroom -
Or rather, they would have, if the cocking of a gun's hammer and the sound of a Stealth Boy deactivating hadn't prompted both of them to freeze.
"You took a while," Nathan Grey said calmly from where he sat in an overstuffed armchair, a long-barreled .44 aimed squarely at Deacon. "Now then. Are we gonna conduct ourselves like civilized folks?"
Deacon slowly raised his hands, and glanced at Glory - who started doing the same. "We just want to talk."
"Coulda knocked on my door if you wanted to do that."
"Not when we don't know who might be an Institute spy or not."
Grey leaned forward in his chair, street-light casting harsh shadows across his face. After a moment, the gun's barrel dipped. "Shut that window, then tell me who sent you."
"Glory."
"On it," the heavy said, shutting the window and closing the shutters over it.
"We're from the Railroad," Deacon admitted. "Not our usual style - we prefer people come to us - but our boss decided what you've been pulling off over the past couple of months means we needed to have a conversation, and make an offer."
The General arched an eyebrow. "That being?"
"How much do you know about the Railroad?"
"Not much. Rumors, ninety percent of which is bullshit. Heard everything from you being, pardon my French, toaster-fucking degenerates -"
Glory made a choked sound at that.
"- to being the last best hope of fighting the Institute."
"Well, the toaster-fucking only happens on every other Friday," Deacon answered. "So I guess we're closer to the other end. Unfortunately, 'best we've got' isn't doing too well these days. Lost a lot of good people and a lot of bases recently. Our real goal, though, is getting synths out of the Institute."
The General blinked. "You might want to explain that. Last I heard, synths are either those tin-can contraptions or so near to human you can't tell the difference - and the second one's the one they use for screwing over everyone else."
"Only a few," Glory stated flatly. "The Institute doesn't like getting its hands dirty. They're scientists, every one of them thinks they're too good to do hard work. So they made us."
Grey rose from his chair, staring at Glory intently. After a moment, he nodded, and holstered the gun. "Alright. Clones?"
"Close enough."
"Dammit, I owe Sturges a beer."
Sturges? Wasn't he…huh. Small world.
"In short, they're people, ergo the Institute are slavers," Deacon interjected. "Plenty of people in the Commonwealth might not look twice at that these days, but…"
"But you think I'd feel different. And since I'm not someone who's grown up on stories of synth spies behind every bush, you'd think it'd be easier to talk to me, and see if I'd…what. Work with you?"
"What we need is a few favors. Two from the General of the Minutemen - the other from Nathan Grey, the last dude who took a dive through the brains of the Institute's best killer."
"You're very well-informed," Grey said flatly.
"We kinda have to be."
"Alright. Lay them out."
"First one's simple. We try to get synths out of the Commonwealth if at all possible. Unfortunately, that's not always the case. Fortunately, your guys seem to be setting up boom towns in the middle of winter - it's really easy for new people to show up without too much trouble. That's favor one - letting us drop our cargo in your new projects. They're well-defended enough the Institute will think twice about going after them directly, and the risk's low. Favor two - we always need new safehouses. Might be a group of 'prospective settlers' will ask the Minutemen's help in clearing out a place to set up in. We'd like you to make it a priority if you can."
"Alright. Not too much trouble," Grey said slowly. "Which makes me mighty concerned about what's behind door number three."
"...we need you, plus or minus a couple of people you can trust, to make a trip out to the Glowing Sea, and find Brian Virgil."
"Goddammit."
Nathan Grey was a pain in the ass to make contact with.
Discretely, at any rate. The man was almost always guarded, or working on something, day and night.
So Deacon had had to work a little more cleverly than the usual 'dress up and walk in'. Especially with Glory as his backup.
Bringing a brahmin would've been a pain in the ass, but a walking trader with a pack full of goodies and a closemouthed merc as security, that was normal enough. It helped that Sanctuary was a boom town - new people walking in was almost expected.
It'd settle down in spring - the only reason Grey was able to send people out to labor like he was was because none of them were needed farming. Add that into the steady trickle of folks burned out or forced out by raiders and other uglies down south, and Sanctuary looked like, well, a sanctuary. Enough of one that you'd ignore the former raiders and mercs who were making up more and more of its guardian's ranks.
At least Grey had a firm hand on them. A very firm hand. He seemed to be of the opinion that running them into the ground training was the best way to break those types to bridle, and for the few that still thought being soldiers entitled them to take liberties…he hadn't seen anything, but people talked. What he'd heard was that the last soldier to lay hands on a 'civvie' had been shut in the barracks and served gruel for a week, and that only because he'd not actually managed to throw a punch before his squadmates had pulled him off.
Others might've been more surprised that it was so easy to bully the hard cases into line. Deacon wasn't.
Raiders were just people at the end of the day. Almost all of them fell into it because they thought it was the best of bad options, or they fell in with the wrong crowd. Take away the chems, give them an outlet and a crowd of more stable folks, make them loyal to a cause, and the only thing separating them from a farmer or scavver was the nightmares they'd no doubt have over their pasts.
But even with all of that, Sanctuary was still difficult as all hell to corner the man in. He left it, sure, but always with an entourage. This town was the only place he was ever alone in, but he couldn't exactly pull the man aside. So he'd reduced himself to breaking in at night - street lights were blaring, so in through a back window it was. He found one with shutters that'd been left unlocked - sloppy, that - and beckoned Glory over.
Quiet as mice, they slipped into the man's house.
The streetlights outside cast just enough light to see by. It was almost obsessively neat - if you overlooked the tiles replaced by fresh new ceramics, the shutters on the windows, and the weird nature of the fruits and veggies piled in a bowl on the kitchen counter, you'd almost think it was pre-War. Books filled the shelves, a neat little hand-written chart next to them - was the man trying to run a library? The table was currently playing host to a small pile of hand-drawn maps and what looked like honest-to-goodness spreadsheets.
He nodded to Glory, and they began heading for the master bedroom -
Or rather, they would have, if the cocking of a gun's hammer and the sound of a Stealth Boy deactivating hadn't prompted both of them to freeze.
"You took a while," Nathan Grey said calmly from where he sat in an overstuffed armchair, a long-barreled .44 aimed squarely at Deacon. "Now then. Are we gonna conduct ourselves like civilized folks?"
Deacon slowly raised his hands, and glanced at Glory - who started doing the same. "We just want to talk."
"Coulda knocked on my door if you wanted to do that."
"Not when we don't know who might be an Institute spy or not."
Grey leaned forward in his chair, street-light casting harsh shadows across his face. After a moment, the gun's barrel dipped. "Shut that window, then tell me who sent you."
"Glory."
"On it," the heavy said, shutting the window and closing the shutters over it.
"We're from the Railroad," Deacon admitted. "Not our usual style - we prefer people come to us - but our boss decided what you've been pulling off over the past couple of months means we needed to have a conversation, and make an offer."
The General arched an eyebrow. "That being?"
"How much do you know about the Railroad?"
"Not much. Rumors, ninety percent of which is bullshit. Heard everything from you being, pardon my French, toaster-fucking degenerates -"
Glory made a choked sound at that.
"- to being the last best hope of fighting the Institute."
"Well, the toaster-fucking only happens on every other Friday," Deacon answered. "So I guess we're closer to the other end. Unfortunately, 'best we've got' isn't doing too well these days. Lost a lot of good people and a lot of bases recently. Our real goal, though, is getting synths out of the Institute."
The General blinked. "You might want to explain that. Last I heard, synths are either those tin-can contraptions or so near to human you can't tell the difference - and the second one's the one they use for screwing over everyone else."
"Only a few," Glory stated flatly. "The Institute doesn't like getting its hands dirty. They're scientists, every one of them thinks they're too good to do hard work. So they made us."
Grey rose from his chair, staring at Glory intently. After a moment, he nodded, and holstered the gun. "Alright. Clones?"
"Close enough."
"Dammit, I owe Sturges a beer."
Sturges? Wasn't he…huh. Small world.
"In short, they're people, ergo the Institute are slavers," Deacon interjected. "Plenty of people in the Commonwealth might not look twice at that these days, but…"
"But you think I'd feel different. And since I'm not someone who's grown up on stories of synth spies behind every bush, you'd think it'd be easier to talk to me, and see if I'd…what. Work with you?"
"What we need is a few favors. Two from the General of the Minutemen - the other from Nathan Grey, the last dude who took a dive through the brains of the Institute's best killer."
"You're very well-informed," Grey said flatly.
"We kinda have to be."
"Alright. Lay them out."
"First one's simple. We try to get synths out of the Commonwealth if at all possible. Unfortunately, that's not always the case. Fortunately, your guys seem to be setting up boom towns in the middle of winter - it's really easy for new people to show up without too much trouble. That's favor one - letting us drop our cargo in your new projects. They're well-defended enough the Institute will think twice about going after them directly, and the risk's low. Favor two - we always need new safehouses. Might be a group of 'prospective settlers' will ask the Minutemen's help in clearing out a place to set up in. We'd like you to make it a priority if you can."
"Alright. Not too much trouble," Grey said slowly. "Which makes me mighty concerned about what's behind door number three."
"...we need you, plus or minus a couple of people you can trust, to make a trip out to the Glowing Sea, and find Brian Virgil."
"Goddammit."
- Location
- Wall Gazing
So Deacon has laid out what they want, now he needs to lay out what is on offer in exchange.
The first two pretty straight forward, as Nate points out. Getting more settlers in the form of synths is fine by him, inevitably the limitation of civilization is the number of workers, so all around a net benefit. The second is business as usual hiring the Militia to do a normal job that they then do.
Its the third that's the sticking point. Going into a radioactive hellscape is unwise at the best of times so there needs to be some incentive. Part of that will be knowledge of the institute from Virgil, but to make it a priority Nate probably wants something more.
The first two pretty straight forward, as Nate points out. Getting more settlers in the form of synths is fine by him, inevitably the limitation of civilization is the number of workers, so all around a net benefit. The second is business as usual hiring the Militia to do a normal job that they then do.
Its the third that's the sticking point. Going into a radioactive hellscape is unwise at the best of times so there needs to be some incentive. Part of that will be knowledge of the institute from Virgil, but to make it a priority Nate probably wants something more.
Like those pretty Guass Rifles Railroad has.
I wonder what all of this means for Nuka Cola Land, Far Harbor and Automatron DLCs....
Far Harbor with the lost brother of Nick and Synth sanctuary, Nuka Cola Land that is a Raider Island and Automatron that would give them a robotic army.
I wonder what all of this means for Nuka Cola Land, Far Harbor and Automatron DLCs....
Far Harbor with the lost brother of Nick and Synth sanctuary, Nuka Cola Land that is a Raider Island and Automatron that would give them a robotic army.
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@Ragnarok101 If you have Nate going to the Glowing Sea do you plan on him finding that military bunker full of synths underneath a cabin or is that just going to be ignored till a later point?
Possible conditions. 1) give the minutemen a way to detect synths. If the institute catches on they WILL infilitrate the settlements eventually. Prolly doing so now aa is.
2) every synth from the railroad has better be assured any and all potential command codes are disabled. They dont need an incident like what happened in diamond city that one time.
3) the commanding officer in the various settlements are to be informed of who the "special guests" are.
2) every synth from the railroad has better be assured any and all potential command codes are disabled. They dont need an incident like what happened in diamond city that one time.
3) the commanding officer in the various settlements are to be informed of who the "special guests" are.
Allies, Reflected
New
Ragnarok101
Occasionally decent writer
- Location
- North Carolina
January 16th, 2288
Sturges hadn't had a workshop since Quincy. Too much time spent running.
But, since coming to Sanctuary, he'd been able to settle down a bit. Get things properly going.
So now he had two - or three, depending on how you counted. Mostly because he was officially part of the CMF, and had the blue overalls to prove it. Someone needed to keep everyone in guns and armor, and make sure the whole circus was supplied and building things right, and he'd ended up riding herd on the people who could do that. Which meant he wore a lot of hats and needed a lot of specialist setups.
Workshop one was the military one - that one was busy as a bee, and was right next to the armory that'd been built to store all the CMF's toys. Thick walls of salvaged brick and a floor made out of metal plates over a crushed-rock foundation, it hid what was practically an assembly line for the stuff the new Minutemen needed - he had a blacksmith, two gunsmiths, and a gaggle of apprentices, all of them working flat out. He barely needed to do more than supervise, these days - they knew their work and kept at it. It was also where they fixed up what they needed for the suits of power armor they'd been able to find - T-45s by and large, though there was a 51 and a few parts from a 60 laying around, plus a couple bare frames. Astounding what you could find if you knew how to hack open a RobCo terminal, really.
Workshop two was a little different - bit less gun, bit more butter, so to speak. That was where he ended up hacking together all the bits and bobs that kept Sanctuary as a town afloat. Pieces of old generators, power regulators, hacked-together constructions, rolls and rolls of copper wiring - it was his favored haunting ground, him and the ghoul couple who'd been so damn instrumental in getting things running. The big thing in it at the moment was the fusion generator they'd hauled out of Sanctuary - it was old as dirt and needed a complete overhaul, but once it was done it'd power the whole town with ease.
The third was just a walled-off driveway he'd turned into his house's little hobby shop, if he was being honest, and it was where he met the General, who'd pulled him aside for a private talk.
"You're completely nuts."
"Yeah, but it's our only shot. I know you can't spare the proper suits, but…"
"Yeah. Alright. Good news, that you ain't gotta worry about. Got enough tools and equipment to hack together a lead-lined setup that should be armored enough to handle the nasties in there. Raiders can do it, so can I - and I wager my work's a sight better. You got a reason to be running into the worst hellhole on earth?"
"Not one I can tell you."
"It have anything to do with that row you and Preston had?"
The General's expression turned mulish. "Can you get the suits ready or not?"
"Yeah, I can, but you know folks are gonna ask questions."
"That's simple enough - it'll be just me, Winters, and Eddie. Tell them we're doing a survey of the Sea, making sure it's not getting any bigger, maybe evac'ing a couple of the smaller settlements need it. Gone for a week, two tops."
"Just 'nother long patrol, huh? Alright. I'll get 'em rigged up, ask for some help. Probably gonna take about a week - least we've got the materials on hand."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. You can thank me after you pull whatever you've gotta pull outta that hellhole. I'll set you up with a portable decon setup - my advice, take a pause at the edge and bury whatever you've gotta come back for so's you can grab it on the way back, else it'll be too much of a pain in the ass to decon."
"I'll keep that in mind. Anything I can do to return the favor?"
Sturges waved him off. "Ain't nothin'. You've done fine by me, more than fine - I'm more than willin' to lend a hand to whatever secret-squirrel shit you're up to. Leaving Preston in charge while you're gone?"
"That's the plan. Besides, we've got some big snow-storms coming up. Everything's going to get a lot quieter."
January 23rd, 2288
The sound of gunfire, smashing bottles, and general mayhem drifted in from outside, but the pack of them sitting around the table ignored it. You expected that kinda thing when you were a raider - none of the bullets were aimed at each other, and the chems and booze were flowing, so it was more 'block party' than 'riot' at the moment.
Of course, that could change in half a second, given the people around the table.
Cleaver decided to get on with it, and tossed her offering on the table.
The severed head thumped wetly on the scrap plywood, eyes still open and staring. Those present weren't shocked - they'd all seen worse - but their eyes sharpened.
"Bosco was a nut," Cleaver said flatly. "A tough and mean bastard, by all accounts, but when one of Torque's mutts bit him, he got sick, and then crazy. I'm running the show now - and all the shit I've had to deal with recently is why I called you all up."
Slag chuckled - the bastard was still in his power armor, and hadn't bothered sitting down, instead leaning against one of the support columns of the old metro station. "I suppose it's too much to hope you'll be submitting to the ways of the Forged."
"Or signing a contract," Judge Zeller interjected, eyes wide and staring at nothing at all.
"She wouldn't have called all of us if that was the case," Wire added. "Or, hell, leaned on Chancer for it."
"Cleave and I go back," the boss of Andrew Station answered. "No leaning required, though she's paying for the booze and the chems."
"You've taken a risk," Scutter added, the scariest fucker in Hyde Park barely speaking above a whisper. "But your people have pulled back from my turf, so it seems to be in good faith. Respect."
Cleaver nodded. "You fellas are correct enough. What Bosco ran, I run. Took some skull-cracking to do it, but the same people who answered to him answer to me." And with that, most of South Boston was her turf - Gaff, Demo, Griswold, Slab, all of their gangs and their turf. Sparta had been a latecomer, since she'd run with Tower Tom, but with him dead, she'd joined up too. None of them were at this meeting - if she said jump, they knew better than to even ask how high. "But we've got a problem, and my ears are closer to the ground than yours, so maybe you haven't heard about it. The Minutemen are back."
That sparked something more than Bosco's head had done - Slag just looked confused, but Zeller leaned back in his chair, and Wire frowned, propping his chin on his hands. Scutter drummed his fingers on the table. "From what I hear," he began carefully, "they're still in the north, cleaning things up. Not close enough to mess with us or our turf. DC, sure, but we've never been able to mess with them much."
"They're not Minutemen, they're glorified mercs," Wire added.
"Maybe, but they're organized, they've got numbers, and the way I hear it, a good chunk of them are hard fighters." Cleaver laughed bitterly. "Turns out, you can go from raider back to militiaman just as easy as the other way 'round. And that's the goddamn problem." She started counting off on her fingers. "Tower Tom, Jared, Boomer, the Hangman's Alley gang, Mathis's boys, they all died off. What's left of them, they're in chains mostly, being used as near to slave labor. Helping fort up everything. But Red Tourette, Clutch's boys, Walter's gang - they all turned coats. That's, what, twenty, thirty gun hands all together? Not much on their own - but the new General's turned them into soldier boys just like he did with the farmers, and a bunch of old guys who fucked off after the last one died have been turning up, from what I heard. They might be split up doing patrols and guarding shitpot settlements and farms, but they've got plenty of guns and the training to use them. Every one of my underlings tells me the same - not even any point in trying to hit their caravans unless you've got them three to one, and even then you should expect to lose more than it's worth. Everything coming and going to DC from the north has guards. They might not push any further south - but east? Where most of you are? It's all farms and empty towns - the kinda shit they love."
She planted her fists on the table. "They'll come for you. Winter might pass, but when it does, they'll have everything buttoned up too tight to attack, and there'll be too goddamn many of them to finish off. You want to keep pushing around those chickenshit farmers - hell, you want to eat - that can't be allowed to happen."
Slag folded his arms, grinding metal on metal. "I know little of your Commonwealth," he stated. "But the people here are good recruits with hard metal in them. More than I thought at first. And I have heard enough of what these 'Commonwealth Militia' are doing. Fortification is their expertise. The longer we allow them to do so, the stronger they grow. So what do you propose?"
"Between the six of us, and everyone who follows our leads, I figure we can call up a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred hands. Don't care how many settlers they arm and put on those walls, they won't have half that many when it comes down to it. They're spread too thin over too much turf. Going through the city's a bad idea - they've got a nasty fort on the main thoroughfare - but there's open ground still in the east, through Malden. Places they haven't set up in yet. We march straight for this 'Sanctuary' of theirs, punch through their walls, kill them all. Make a fucking example. After that, it's mostly two-bit outposts - we can wrap them up easy. And none of us have to starve in the next few months because every farm got a wall and turrets around it courtesy of these hicks in dusters."
Judge Zeller stood. "You make an interesting proposition," the crazy bastard said, staring right through her. "The Judge's jury will join you on the march north."
Chancer shrugged. "I was already in. These fuckers decide to get their fancy fort back, my people are right in the way."
"The Forged will join your cause. I will need a few days to call back some work crews, but we will bring heavy weapons," Slag rumbled.
"We're in," Scutter said. "There must be an example made to people who would…disrupt…our way of life."
Wire sighed. "Then I'm coming with as well. They'll fight like cornered rats, no doubt, but my people starve if those caravans get any ideas about not paying us to sit tight, so fuck it."
"Good. I brought maps. Let's lay out how this is gonna work - it'll be at least two days march to get there, so we need to make sure nobody fucks it up."
Sturges hadn't had a workshop since Quincy. Too much time spent running.
But, since coming to Sanctuary, he'd been able to settle down a bit. Get things properly going.
So now he had two - or three, depending on how you counted. Mostly because he was officially part of the CMF, and had the blue overalls to prove it. Someone needed to keep everyone in guns and armor, and make sure the whole circus was supplied and building things right, and he'd ended up riding herd on the people who could do that. Which meant he wore a lot of hats and needed a lot of specialist setups.
Workshop one was the military one - that one was busy as a bee, and was right next to the armory that'd been built to store all the CMF's toys. Thick walls of salvaged brick and a floor made out of metal plates over a crushed-rock foundation, it hid what was practically an assembly line for the stuff the new Minutemen needed - he had a blacksmith, two gunsmiths, and a gaggle of apprentices, all of them working flat out. He barely needed to do more than supervise, these days - they knew their work and kept at it. It was also where they fixed up what they needed for the suits of power armor they'd been able to find - T-45s by and large, though there was a 51 and a few parts from a 60 laying around, plus a couple bare frames. Astounding what you could find if you knew how to hack open a RobCo terminal, really.
Workshop two was a little different - bit less gun, bit more butter, so to speak. That was where he ended up hacking together all the bits and bobs that kept Sanctuary as a town afloat. Pieces of old generators, power regulators, hacked-together constructions, rolls and rolls of copper wiring - it was his favored haunting ground, him and the ghoul couple who'd been so damn instrumental in getting things running. The big thing in it at the moment was the fusion generator they'd hauled out of Sanctuary - it was old as dirt and needed a complete overhaul, but once it was done it'd power the whole town with ease.
The third was just a walled-off driveway he'd turned into his house's little hobby shop, if he was being honest, and it was where he met the General, who'd pulled him aside for a private talk.
"You're completely nuts."
"Yeah, but it's our only shot. I know you can't spare the proper suits, but…"
"Yeah. Alright. Good news, that you ain't gotta worry about. Got enough tools and equipment to hack together a lead-lined setup that should be armored enough to handle the nasties in there. Raiders can do it, so can I - and I wager my work's a sight better. You got a reason to be running into the worst hellhole on earth?"
"Not one I can tell you."
"It have anything to do with that row you and Preston had?"
The General's expression turned mulish. "Can you get the suits ready or not?"
"Yeah, I can, but you know folks are gonna ask questions."
"That's simple enough - it'll be just me, Winters, and Eddie. Tell them we're doing a survey of the Sea, making sure it's not getting any bigger, maybe evac'ing a couple of the smaller settlements need it. Gone for a week, two tops."
"Just 'nother long patrol, huh? Alright. I'll get 'em rigged up, ask for some help. Probably gonna take about a week - least we've got the materials on hand."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. You can thank me after you pull whatever you've gotta pull outta that hellhole. I'll set you up with a portable decon setup - my advice, take a pause at the edge and bury whatever you've gotta come back for so's you can grab it on the way back, else it'll be too much of a pain in the ass to decon."
"I'll keep that in mind. Anything I can do to return the favor?"
Sturges waved him off. "Ain't nothin'. You've done fine by me, more than fine - I'm more than willin' to lend a hand to whatever secret-squirrel shit you're up to. Leaving Preston in charge while you're gone?"
"That's the plan. Besides, we've got some big snow-storms coming up. Everything's going to get a lot quieter."
January 23rd, 2288
The sound of gunfire, smashing bottles, and general mayhem drifted in from outside, but the pack of them sitting around the table ignored it. You expected that kinda thing when you were a raider - none of the bullets were aimed at each other, and the chems and booze were flowing, so it was more 'block party' than 'riot' at the moment.
Of course, that could change in half a second, given the people around the table.
Cleaver decided to get on with it, and tossed her offering on the table.
The severed head thumped wetly on the scrap plywood, eyes still open and staring. Those present weren't shocked - they'd all seen worse - but their eyes sharpened.
"Bosco was a nut," Cleaver said flatly. "A tough and mean bastard, by all accounts, but when one of Torque's mutts bit him, he got sick, and then crazy. I'm running the show now - and all the shit I've had to deal with recently is why I called you all up."
Slag chuckled - the bastard was still in his power armor, and hadn't bothered sitting down, instead leaning against one of the support columns of the old metro station. "I suppose it's too much to hope you'll be submitting to the ways of the Forged."
"Or signing a contract," Judge Zeller interjected, eyes wide and staring at nothing at all.
"She wouldn't have called all of us if that was the case," Wire added. "Or, hell, leaned on Chancer for it."
"Cleave and I go back," the boss of Andrew Station answered. "No leaning required, though she's paying for the booze and the chems."
"You've taken a risk," Scutter added, the scariest fucker in Hyde Park barely speaking above a whisper. "But your people have pulled back from my turf, so it seems to be in good faith. Respect."
Cleaver nodded. "You fellas are correct enough. What Bosco ran, I run. Took some skull-cracking to do it, but the same people who answered to him answer to me." And with that, most of South Boston was her turf - Gaff, Demo, Griswold, Slab, all of their gangs and their turf. Sparta had been a latecomer, since she'd run with Tower Tom, but with him dead, she'd joined up too. None of them were at this meeting - if she said jump, they knew better than to even ask how high. "But we've got a problem, and my ears are closer to the ground than yours, so maybe you haven't heard about it. The Minutemen are back."
That sparked something more than Bosco's head had done - Slag just looked confused, but Zeller leaned back in his chair, and Wire frowned, propping his chin on his hands. Scutter drummed his fingers on the table. "From what I hear," he began carefully, "they're still in the north, cleaning things up. Not close enough to mess with us or our turf. DC, sure, but we've never been able to mess with them much."
"They're not Minutemen, they're glorified mercs," Wire added.
"Maybe, but they're organized, they've got numbers, and the way I hear it, a good chunk of them are hard fighters." Cleaver laughed bitterly. "Turns out, you can go from raider back to militiaman just as easy as the other way 'round. And that's the goddamn problem." She started counting off on her fingers. "Tower Tom, Jared, Boomer, the Hangman's Alley gang, Mathis's boys, they all died off. What's left of them, they're in chains mostly, being used as near to slave labor. Helping fort up everything. But Red Tourette, Clutch's boys, Walter's gang - they all turned coats. That's, what, twenty, thirty gun hands all together? Not much on their own - but the new General's turned them into soldier boys just like he did with the farmers, and a bunch of old guys who fucked off after the last one died have been turning up, from what I heard. They might be split up doing patrols and guarding shitpot settlements and farms, but they've got plenty of guns and the training to use them. Every one of my underlings tells me the same - not even any point in trying to hit their caravans unless you've got them three to one, and even then you should expect to lose more than it's worth. Everything coming and going to DC from the north has guards. They might not push any further south - but east? Where most of you are? It's all farms and empty towns - the kinda shit they love."
She planted her fists on the table. "They'll come for you. Winter might pass, but when it does, they'll have everything buttoned up too tight to attack, and there'll be too goddamn many of them to finish off. You want to keep pushing around those chickenshit farmers - hell, you want to eat - that can't be allowed to happen."
Slag folded his arms, grinding metal on metal. "I know little of your Commonwealth," he stated. "But the people here are good recruits with hard metal in them. More than I thought at first. And I have heard enough of what these 'Commonwealth Militia' are doing. Fortification is their expertise. The longer we allow them to do so, the stronger they grow. So what do you propose?"
"Between the six of us, and everyone who follows our leads, I figure we can call up a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred hands. Don't care how many settlers they arm and put on those walls, they won't have half that many when it comes down to it. They're spread too thin over too much turf. Going through the city's a bad idea - they've got a nasty fort on the main thoroughfare - but there's open ground still in the east, through Malden. Places they haven't set up in yet. We march straight for this 'Sanctuary' of theirs, punch through their walls, kill them all. Make a fucking example. After that, it's mostly two-bit outposts - we can wrap them up easy. And none of us have to starve in the next few months because every farm got a wall and turrets around it courtesy of these hicks in dusters."
Judge Zeller stood. "You make an interesting proposition," the crazy bastard said, staring right through her. "The Judge's jury will join you on the march north."
Chancer shrugged. "I was already in. These fuckers decide to get their fancy fort back, my people are right in the way."
"The Forged will join your cause. I will need a few days to call back some work crews, but we will bring heavy weapons," Slag rumbled.
"We're in," Scutter said. "There must be an example made to people who would…disrupt…our way of life."
Wire sighed. "Then I'm coming with as well. They'll fight like cornered rats, no doubt, but my people starve if those caravans get any ideas about not paying us to sit tight, so fuck it."
"Good. I brought maps. Let's lay out how this is gonna work - it'll be at least two days march to get there, so we need to make sure nobody fucks it up."