Chapter 30: Old Guns
Jon touched back down at the Castle, still annoyed at the cleanliest of himself and his fatigues. Joker had a new co-pilot he was training on the Job, and Jon simply rode in the back for the few minutes it took.
Piper was using his power armor to lift and remove bigger pieces of rubble from the current main entrance. His bad eye was a canvas his mind brushed and painted upon. He saw a fuck off big steel wall, with a ridiculously complex and needlessly large mechanism with which to open and close it. The door would never actually be used, the thing never actually running, but would use man doors like a normal keep. Jon wiped it away and simply repaired the wall. On the other side his minds eye shifted to the smaller breech in the nearly 800 foot long wall, and painted a reasonable service gate with which to embark and disembark vehicles, armor, and anything else of sufficient size.
The fort was meant to house a regiment of troops, or most of a battalion. He could probably squeeze more in with the use of technologies those that builders it never foresaw. So a full battalion. And it was a perfect training yard, being on fifteen acres of land. It would also serve as a naval HQ with the docks so close. Once he had a real Chief of Naval Operations. Ironsides was the real deal, but Jon couldn’t force the bot off his ship to administer a navy if he tried. He wouldn't try. Ironsides’ place was on the deck, and how could Jon remove such a daring Captain from his place like that? He would be incompetent if he did.
He walked up to the breech to Piper, “Lost in thought, blue?”
He nodded as he passed, “Yup.”
She snickered. He needed an air force HQ, which meant an airfield. Unfortunately the Brotherhood had the only one, and there were no other regional, or even hobbyist airstrips. He would need to make one. He would like jets, but vintage designs turning propellers on fusion cores was better than what most had, which was nothing. They had lost the p-47 Thunderbolt fighter bomber to time, but Jon’s reintroduction would form the basis of an air corps that would dominate any on Earth if need be. Maxson orders to produce things he had shared no doubt included that.
Ideally he would have everything in one place to centralize command and coordination, but he also couldn’t risk just having his entire command structure wiped out in one go. The prevalence of nuclear ordinance still around and very much in use, the unknowns involved with random super weapons laying around. How many unfired missiles. He needed to keep things dispersed.
He needed to formalize an alliance with Maxson, to prevent some kind of arms race that the Brotherhood was well on their way to winning. He gave his entire hand away from the word go, to create good faith and avoid a war he couldn’t win because of paranoia.
So far it was spit and grit keeping them together. He might as well make it NATO. They both were still in the North Atlantic, and he would certainly be headquartering it in the Commonwealth. He nodded as he found a use for the byzantine Greentech. If nothing else, it would confuse the enemy if the HQ of the most powerful military alliance ever seen on Earth ever fell under assault.
He circled back around, the vintage designs were so they could use dirt airfields, practically designed to do so. And they use far less resources than attempting even a basic jet. He also needed pilots trained how to fly first, and mechanics maintaining first, before ever even thinking about jumping them straight to jets. He would again be incompetent if he did that, and hobbled programs in their infancy because they were to complex for uneducated wastelanders. The Brotherhood could fly jets, the Commonwealth could currently not.
“You alright General?”
Jon had found himself in some corner of the fort, the North-East bastion inside the walls. Ronnie was standing there, looking like she had found just who she was looking for. Jon shook his head a bit to clear the fog.
He said, “Maybe? Was lost in thought, if you believe it important matters of state.”
She said, “I do. You got a lot to think about, and you took a real knock there to the noggin. Probably not the easiest thing, even for you.”
Jon nodded, “A little slower than I was. Not much, but still noticeable. Had to circle back around to complete a train of thought.”
She scoffed, “Welcome to the club pal. You try being my age, now I gotta keep up with a fucking super man. Can’t let any whippersnapper think he’s got me beat.”
Jon met her mirth when she gave him a love tap on the chest. He said, “You looked like you were looking for me.”
Ronnie nodded, “Yes sir. We just got rubble cleared from the tunnels entrance, in the old General’s quarters. Leads into the main armory, behind that gate that doesn’t open from the outside. It was fully stocked when it was closed up.
Jon nodded with his lopsided grin, “General’s quarters? I think I’m making this a naval HQ, with the docks so close, but that’s more long term. It would be the Admiral's quarters actually. Feel free to use it while you command it for the foreseeable future.”
She swiped the offer away, “Bah, my place is in that armory when we get it open.”
Jon gave her a slight eye. She said, “Ah, an underhanded order.”
Jon smirked, “Yeah sorry. Army now, not militia. On a good day, the only one playing it fast and lose it me or Barr. You’ll need a real office, because the quartermaster works the armory. Of course, unless you can’t keep up with it.”
She squinted her eyes and shook a fist a couple times, “Why you little, come on! Back me up while we clear the place. I was about to go with a posse, but I heard your bird coming back and figured I’d wait. General McGhann is down there, and he would have set defenses up.”
Jon followed her back a bit to the quarters, and passed the ruined tables, smashed bed, shattered cabinets, and broken dreams of the Minutemen residing here. They passed a couple Minutemen working on the room as they were done with the passage to the tunnels. He waved their attention off, and simply replied with a nod, which they met.
Jon could smell immediately the difference in the tunnels. It was wet, damp, and ultimately sheltered since the war. The microbial ecosystem was closer to the pre-war with some contamination from occupation, that probably served to inoculate the fragile balance in the underground. It would be invaluable to reseeding real life on the surface, and not just mutated beasts getting by on nearly dead ground.
Jon said, “Have Curie collect samples from this place. It’s nearly untouched by wasteland.”
Ronnie said, “Smells like a damp dungeon to me.”
Jon said, “Ever been anywhere else that smelled and felt like it?”
“No, I guess. Even other holes I’ve been in aren't quite the same. Figured it was special cause it’s the Castle.”
“It is. It’s pre-war vintage. Holy fuck I even see some small bugs chewing on that fungus. Incredible. Yeah, have Curie study this place before we just take it over. It will help us with environmental restoration projects.”
She nodded, “If you say so General. I’ll get it done. Now mostly what I expect down here is mines, a turret here or there, and Sarge. Big fuck off sentry bot that used to guard this place. Got shut down for going haywire, awaiting maintenance. I wouldn't put it past McGhann to reactivate him as a last fuck you to whoever was attacking this place.”
Jon nodded, “Lead the way.”
She Tiptoed though the halls, and pointed out mines as she saw them. They fired off on motion, such as a heavily armed soldier running, or even walking past it. However, if you were light enough, low enough perhaps even under it’s sensors conic range, and move slow enough, you can sneak up and disarm them. Low and slow was how Ronnie Shaw liked it. She crept up and expertly fingered the detonators, and the two in the first room clicked off.
Jon coughed lightly, “Did you have to put so much goddamned sexual tension into that?”
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He never saw her smirk, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. General.”
“Don’t play coy with me, you’re a predator Colonel Shaw. Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Is it working?”
Jon coughed again and failed to hide a forming smile, “No, and I’m officially, verbally, reprimanding you for trying. Army.”
She silently tsked, “Yeah yeah, not old school militia.”
They continued on and passed a few more mines Ronnie disarmed without as much innuendo, in other words much quicker with less of her ass jutting out. They came past a turret, and she called it’s position from a mile await, lancing perfectly it’s processing core with her high powered M1. Jon thought the thing would explode every time she fired it, but she fired it with confidence enough that Jon didn’t question it.
Finally they came to just before the last room. There was not a peep from Sarge, yet. Ronnie whispered, “Alright, idjit. This is where he is. What’s the game plan. You got some super power up your ass, sir?”
Jon took the challenge with a stupid smile. His intelligence did drop from his head shot. He went from 17 to 12. His smart luck was now dumb as a box of rock luck, at least by his kind’s standards. An idiot savant by normal. He causally strolled past and waited for Sarge to awaken.
“G-General, what the fuck are you doing!” She hushed.
He looked to her, “Using the force.”
“What!?”
“INTRUDERS DETECTED. PROTOCOL BLACK ENGAGED.”
Jon waved his hand, “Override code. Gamma 2 Delta Tango Cinnamon.”
“OVERRIDE CODE ACCEPTED. ENGAGING SHUTDOWN MODE.”
Sarge went from about to fire on Jon, to entering his shutdown state, hunched over, with his weapons towards the floor, and their maintance accesses, accessible. He vented off what little heat he had built up. Jon strolled up again and gave him a couple pats.
“I got a guy for you, Sarge. We’ll get you fixed up.”
Ronnie came up shaking her head, “What the fuck was that!? The force!?”
Jon said, “You asked if I had a super power.”
“Oh bull. Where in the hell did you get that code?”
Jon said, “I made it up.”
Ronnie chuckled, then laughed, “Okay sir. If you say so. Fucking what?” She trailed off.
Jon smirked as he walked up to the terminal connected to the security gate. He booted the terminal, and was surprised to find it wasn't a rob co OS on the thing. He asked, “You remember the password? This a custom setup?”
She nodded, “Don't know if I remember, but yeah. One of our guys would have been an egghead before the war. Wanted to play with terminals, and set up the lock on this door with a custom program. So security is different, not hacked like a normal terminal.”
Jon got out of her way and she muttered as she tried passwords, “One if by land, no.”
“For the Commonwealth? No, damn. Been a long time.
“United...we...stand…” The gate lock disengaged, and Jon entered with weapons up in case there were hostiles.
There were none, and the only thing that greeted them was General McGhann’s skeleton, hung over a case of empty wine bottles, and still wearing proudly the official uniform of the General of the Minutemen. It was a blue colonial duster, with four stars on each collar, and a combat armor chest piece under the coat, but above the frill, and proudly on it was the sigil of the Minutemen. The bolt of lighting crossing a musket. He was also wearing the tricorn hat to complete the outfit.
Jon took his helmet off in respect as he logged into the terminal. Ronnie stood at attention, “Sorry it took so long, sir.”
Jon entered the personal logs, “Let’s see. Something attacked while he was in his office, only caught glimpses. Men dying by the dozens, stores exploding, shit going down, does the only thing he can personally do.”
“Get down here and give the Minutemen’s middle finger one last time. Make sure the main armory is locked tight.”
Jon breathed in, “He called himself a coward that ran while drinking himself to death. Only thing he could do at that point, no food or anything else to drink.”
“Oh bull McGhann. You couldn’t have done anything else. Shit was going down. Didn’t expect him to be a skeleton at this point with no scavers to get him though, plus the booze sucks the water out of yah.”
Jon said, “The bugs, and other microbes. Meal like that was probably gone in a frenzy. Bone is the only thing they can’t eat.”
Ronnie nodded, “Well, at least we got him like this. Not half decayed or something ugly. I’ll take care of him, and get the uniform cleaned up, if the new General of the new Minutemen wears it of course.”
Jon smiled, “At least once I expect, when I put my name on the constitution. The colonial duster is the formal dress uniform after all.”
She met it, “Glad we’re keeping some traditions at least.”
Jon said, “Lets move, Colonel.”
“Yes sir, this way.”
They went though the door over to the west bastion. There was a bit more tunnel, and it led up stairs back to the ground level. In front of them was the main gate leading to the outside. Ronnie slapped the button as Jon made way for the main armory. He used a bobby pin on the final lock to the door to avoid breaking it open. He was pleased with the sight that greeted him.
Work benches, parts on shelves, ammo crates up the walls, defensive turrets, artillery shells, weapons and ordinance. Ronnie came it to stand beside him, “Hell of a sight sir, good to see it.”
Jon said, “Indeed. Looks like at least two field guns ready to be put together too.”
She smiled wickedly, “Oh yeah sir. And those holotapes on the table with the papers?”
Jon said, “No.”
She said, “Oh yeah. Templates to make field guns and ammo with the shop. We didn’t scavenge all of what we had. That’s why Minutemen artillery died out.”
Jon said, “Because when you lost the Castle, you lost the ability to even make spare parts or shells, let alone full guns.”
She said, “Yup. Now we got it back. I already heard you have some guns but haven't really used them yet.”
Jon nodded. That was true, and he needed to get his artillery corps up and running. This was a training yard. Preston walked in, back in power armor, and an idea walked in with him. But he wouldn’t like it.
Preston said, “General, Colonel. Good work you two. Legend says we could make our own field guns. That true?”
Jon said, “That’s what we were just talking about. Walk with me Preston. Shaw, I’ll let you do what you got to do.”
She snapped to attention, “Yes sir.”
Jon led Preston back out and up the broken side of the wall to the battlements. He looked out over the early evening Commonwealth sky. Preston stood beside him as they looked to the south, and saw the lights of Quincy flickering in the distance.
He said, “I already got scouts going that way. Confirm what happened to UP, get eyes on, and see what’s up the Cats and Warwick.”
Jon said, “And he’s were I give an order you don’t like.”
Preston said, “I’ll let you say it this time, sir.”
Jon said, “If the scouts confirm that there are no civilian targets, that the town is full of Gunners, level the place with artillery non stop, as fast as we can make shells and keep them firing.”
Preston shifted, “You sure sir?”
Jon said, “Welcome to war. Artillery is the king of the battlefield, it’s queen air power. Only when you pound a target like that flat do you put your troops in the mud. A ground operation without that kind of support would lead to unacceptable casualties against a position that hardened, and closer to their main base of operations.”
“But we’re destroying the town.”
“They already did that. We can rebuild it brick by brick, we can not put back the people lost, the people that made the town. It’s not a town anymore. It’s a military base and thus a target. The Cat’s and Warwick are under siege if they’re holding on at all. It may be possible they are, as at least one Cat was former Brotherhood and they’re both on extremely defensive ground. It would be nothing to ferry food and other supplies back and forth across the bay.”
Preston said somewhat hollowly, “They’ll need the support. Anything we can do for them.”
Jon nodded, “Like I said, confirm the targets before giving the order. But if we can’t have Quincy now, they can have it never. If they are using human shields, we’ll reevaluate.”
Preston accepted the burden of command, “Yes sir. I want to hire out MacCready again. Put one in Clint’s head before we do bomb the place. Make sure he escapes nothing.”
Jon puffed out, “Oh I like that one. The bastard isn’t worth our own bullets or time, let alone a fair trial.”
Preston said, “He gets popped from a mile away by a random merc we hired and siced on him, like he siced the Gunners on us. Some justice right there.”
Jon said, “Damn straight. Do what you think is best. They will at least never have a peaceful moment of rest while we occupy the Castle. Quincy will haunt the survivors for the rest of their days.”
Preston hardened his expression and said, “Yes sir. I’ll get to it. It will take a bit of prep. See you around, General.”
Jon smirked, “Yeah you too, Garvey. Keep up the good work.”
Garvey walked back down, and Jon could hear the work crews coming to a stop for the night. They already had ASAM’s ready to start rebuilding, and could bunk down inside the good walls until the work was started again in the morning. Jon stared at Quincy for a few moments more. It felt a little to easy. Like the Gunners were following a crazy AI’s directives. Wes seized opportunities where they presented themselves, tired to at least, and it got much of his force captured or destroyed.
The deserting commander didn’t help either. If Wes was calling his own shots, they would have taken over the commonwealth while much of it was ripe for the taking, communications be damned. They would have attacked the Minutemen before they did. But if a crazy AI without eyes on the ground were sending orders based on some centuries spanning plan, then it would make sense to him. It worked up untill it didn’t. He mentally shrugged. We wouldn't complain about enemy incompetence.
He turned to go find his Piper, just getting out her the armor and collecting around the makeshift mess in the courtyard. Dogmeat was still with her, and Cait was trying to hang around Ronnie, to Jon’s smirk. She would be a good role model for someone like Cait. He decided he would bunk here and join the work detail for however long it took Maxson to make ready for an infiltration. For some reason, Jon bet caps it would involved using a holotape bound virus to scan their network, and they would be arrogant enough to leave an unsecured terminal right next to their main entrance and exit. Never even considering the possibility that they could have their signal hijacked and co-opted.
Jon would know when he knew, he knew.