Chapter 4: Consolidation
Blake Abernathy was walking though his tato rows just as the sun set on his humble Commonwealth farm. He liked to walk his fields daily around this time. It was a guaranteed moment everyday he could have to himself, and he would be a fool if he didn’t walk his property and check things over on a regular basis. Even if everyday for years nothing was wrong, it never went that long, there would be one day a problem doesn’t get spotted because he didn’t see it, and it becomes a catastrophe. Like not seeing his oldest daughter, and how much of a hot head she was becoming. Like not doing more to protect her, or calm her down so she wouldn't challenge a group of heavily armed raiders.
He spotted a problem. It was a helmet light, and the sound of power armor. This wouldn't be good, he knew, but the only thing he could do is stand up for himself and his family. It may not be the right lesson to take from Mary’s death, but if nothing else he saw his daughter willing to lay down her life for the farm, and him not willing to do the same. Oddly enough he just began to make out the body he was lugging behind him. Maybe it wasn't trouble, but some trade.
He still pulled his gun, and his hands on the deck did the same, “That’s far enough stranger. We’re armed, and we don’t want trouble.”
Jon stopped in his tracks, then exited his armor. Blake put his gun down immediately. A man in power armor that means trouble doesn’t get out of it. Jon said, “Don’t mean you any. I’m here to trade. Have a tenderized Deathclaw, and I want to secure some produce for myself and Sanctuary. Some settlers are moving in, and I’ll be at the Red Rocket. You know Jake?”
Blake smiled and nodded, “Oh yeah. We know him. He gave us that ASAM to try. I don’t need a gizmo to tell me how to farm, so I was a little apprehensive, but being able to monitor what I can on the thing made me like it. I was going to talk to him for more. What happened down there. We heard the shots.”
Jon said, “Raiders drove Jake out, and cornered some survivors in the museum. I helped clear them out. Just arrived in the Commonwealth. Don’t know what happened, but one was a Minuteman, another dead. Looked like they went though the ringer.”
Blake grimaced, “Man, I don’t know what happened either. Word ain't that fast in these parts these days. Only get Carla up every once in a while, and she hasn't been back for around a month on her circuit. All I know is the Minutemen kind of faded away over time. One thing after another. We need em back though. Thanks for helping them out.”
Jon said, “It was a little selfish. Survival is best as a team effort.”
Blake said, “No argument here. Say, maybe you can do something for us. Raiders also came here a couple weeks back. From Corvega in Lexington, probably the same place they came from today. Now I’m not under any delusions, the plant is a fortress with dozens of the bastards, but if you can recover the locket they stole from us, I know Connie would go more than fair on trade. Even throw in a couple hundred caps.”
Jon said, “Keep the caps, I’ll take payment in food. It may take a minute to get to it. I need to do more scouting and gathering to take that place on. Secure my own position first. You have any salvage claims on that warehouse over yonder?”
He scoffed, “Man you really are new around here, thanks for asking though. Finders keepers. The place has ghouls crawling though it. If you clear it, it’s your salvage, friend. And food is just fine. We’ll keep your station well stocked, and make sure to get over to Sanctuary to talk trade. Thanks for the tip, neighbor. How did that Deathclaw get tenderized? You hit the thing with a mini-nuke?”
Jon smiled, “A car. Pressure wave killed it.”
Blake shrugged, “If it works. That’ll make it a little easier to process actually, with some stuff already broken. Hop back in, and we can quarter it up pretty fast right now. Most of the time you need is trying to move the thing around to get the bone separated. I’ll get my axe and machete.”
The two men did a quick field processing of the Deathclaw. Its guts were spilled, with arms, legs, tail, and head separated from it’s torso. Blake explained that it actually keeps the scavengers away, being Deathclaw organs. That Deathclaws themselves were smart and knew not to go somewhere one of theirs got gutted, and even Super mutants thought twice about attacking people that kill Deathclaws. So it was actually good to just their giblets sitting out near by as long as it wasn't too close.
Jon took a leg for himself and the rest of the group, and also left with a good sized sack of produce, on the promise that the sack was returned. With his mole rats that hopefully hadn't been picked over, the group would eat good for the next couple days at least on fresh cooked meat.They would have more when the Deathclaw was dried to Jerky, about which which Jon also told Blake what one could do by adding a little rendered suet and dried fruit. He eagerly promised to have some of that also dropped off at the station. One of the hands was an avid hunter, and was always bringing back game for the farm.
Jon arrived back at Sanctuary, and an air of melancholy hung over everyone. They were relatively safe, and that meant they now had to process what they had been though. Sturgis was still taking it in stride however, working with Jake to set up ASAMs while the rest sat glumly on the patio near the workshop.
Codsworth floated up and said, “Sir, if I may, I can begin preparing supper with the food you have. I just need you to haul it to the cook station. It’s been moved to a more convenient place.”
Jon said, “Of course, Codsworth. Let me get out of this armor. I can haul without it.”
Jon decided to test his control of the armor as he carefully stepped around the silent survivors and lined it up on the power armor station. He said on the internal comm, “Register Sturgis as authorized mechanic, under Minutemen designation.”
“Sturgis registered under second amendment protocols. Designated blue. Goodbye, Lieutenant Singh, and thank you for securing maintenance.”
He smirked and got out of the armor, happy to be free of it. It made him slightly claustrophobic. He grabbed the haul of food after throwing his ruck back on, and followed Codsworth to a large strew pot and small cooking fire. It had been moved from the last house on the row, and onto Nate and Nora’s car park, closer to the workshop.
Codsworth said, “I intend to cook some fresh meats first, and then get a stew simmering. This is plenty to use. We can even make it perpetual. Throw whatever in, I say!”
Jon smiled, “I like that idea. Look, I know we had this whole revenge tour planned.”
Codsworth said, “Ha! Your going to ask me to stay, and I was going to suggest the same. I think these people need me here, more than you need me out there, from what I’ve seen. I have every confidence you’ll find who did it, and give them the what for. Thank you for letting me accompany you on such an exciting jaunt, though. I think when things are settled here, I would be able to accompany you again, if you require it.”
Jon nodded, “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m going to do a round while you cook.”
Codsworth said, “Of course, Mr. Singh. And don’t think I’ll forget the laser weapon you promised me. Ha ha.”
Jon chuckled, “Wouldn't dare forget. When I get a bench for it. Good job out there.”
Jon decided to leave the three alone. They were ruminating, and didn’t need Jon asking them how they were. He knew how they were, and Dogmeat was already doing his best to comfort them. Jun broke out his his stupor long enough to at least pull them some chars out of the house next to them.
Jon made way for Sturgis and Jake out back, setting up farm and well ASAMs, whos work could be started in the morning. He was also walking Sturgis though an interior plot he had programmed, using to workbench to build a basic bed and nightstand setup. You couldn’t just tell the workbench you needed a bed. You needed the template, either one you bought pre-war, or one you programmed at a terminal so it could print the parts for assembly so long as you had the appropriate base materials. They could either be raw material, or junk scrapped and proceed back down to their components, with of course of loss when that was done. The ASAM provided the plan programmed, and the instructions on assembly, as well as monitoring services like even remote vitals monitoring, telling you if someone was sick.
Jon said, “I figured you two would get along.”
Both men chuckled. Jake said, “I reckon I walked into a little more than just help for clearin my shop. The man’s a genius.”
Sturgis said, “Oh, I just like tinkering enough I got good at it. Plus I collected old school white-papers like they were going out of style.I think we’ll have a lot of fun together, my friend.”
“Indeed we will. Stop by the shop, I got a couple projects I know you’ll love.”
“And I got one serious job I know you’ll love.”
“The vertibird?”
“The vertibird. Oh yeah.”
Jon smiled and said, “Anything you boys need from me? Codsworth has a stew going, but we’ll get some fresh meat here soon.”
“Nope, we’re cool as rad rain, boss.”
“Outstanding. I also got the suit set up at the stand. I registered you under the Minutemen, so there shouldn’t be any hiccups.”
“You had to do that?”
“Yeah, there was a program in it. Its a touch self aware.”
“Now that really is a goodie. I’ve only heard about experimental AI in power armor.”
“Of course. Why wouldn't that be be good? It shouldn’t blow you up.” Did that start the war? Did they give their weapons over to AI? But was are the army of murder-bots?
“Thanks for warning me, boss. You should find Preston, he went off on a patrol.”
Jon nodded and knew exactly where to go. He could hear the crunch of the dead grass from his heavy foot falls. He saw Jon and stopped his march around the town, turning to face the creek in front of Sanctuary.
Jon stopped beside him, “So. Information.”
Preston said, “Information. Ask away, friend.”
Jon said, “Who and what are the Minutemen?”
“The good guys. At least they were. Citizen soldiers. People volunteering to look out for their fellow man, respond when others need help. I was one of the regulars. Most were irregulars, trained to defend their homes, respond to settlements close by.”
Jon said, “You would actually deploy. Hit them in their holes when they hit your settlements.”
“Damn straight. My dad was an irregular. He got killed when I was 17, and I joined the next day. He was all I had, so I had to feed myself. And I really believed in the cause, so I would have joined anyway in a year, when he said I could. Heh, old man just wanted me to stay home as long as he could keep me, then runs off himself. Colonel Hollis was one of the good ones. He believed too. We responded to Quincy a month ago. Gunners attacked, they drove their scout force back, we dug in for the main attack.”
“Gunners?”
“Military grade raiders. The only point in their favor is that they don’t attack indiscriminately. I don’t know what they wanted in Quincy. The position itself, or something specific, or because someone paid them. They’re mercenaries that take any job, no matter the blood spilled.”
“What happened?”
“One of our own betrayed us. The rest of the Minuteman betrayed us when they didn’t answer our call. Clint, that bastard, sold out the overpass watch. They took the high ground, and we didn’t last long, though we made them bleed for it. Colonel Hollis ordered us to get whatever survivors out we could. Last thing I heard was a single shot after the fighting finally died down. A month ago there were twenty of us, yesterday eight, now five. Five people walked away from Quincy. Hundreds lived there, it was almost a city. The town was mostly repaired from war damage. Now it’s gone. All that work, all those lives. Fucking gone, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Now I’m the last Minuteman.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“No you aren’t. Colonel Hollis was the last. You were just following orders. No, you’re the first. I can see you aren't giving up. You wouldn't dream of it, wouldn't dare, on the grave of your father, not while that heart of yours still beats. You're the first of the new Minutemen, Preston Garvey. In a Commonwealth that sorely needs them. So, what will you do about it?”
Preston didn’t like the first words out of Jon’s mouth, but the rest made him consider hard his own next words. His glare at Jon was just as hard. It was like the big bastard was beckoning him to ask. He would ask something. More like declare.
“I’m electing you General.”
Jon snapped his head to the river, and considered hard his own words. This was what Q was talking about. He was expecting Preston to ask him to join, and Jon was certainly going to. This was a target rich environment, and with nothing better to do he was going to hunt, so what if it actually helps people out. They could help him. He was certain Preston didn’t know exactly what he was asking. It was always about empire, and sometimes needing the resources from it.
“There are conditions.”
“Give the order, General.”
“There is no militia. This will be a professional fighting force. It will be an army. Any way you want to cut liberating locations and settling them, it will conquer an empire.”
“General Cho tried to form a CPG in the 30s, and the institute killed her and the rest of the representatives for their trouble. That was really the beginning of the end. Just went downhill from there.”
“There will be no representatives. I am henceforth Military Governor of the Commonwealth, until such time as I deem it ready for civilian governance.”
“I’d say you’re cutting though the bullshit that kept it from getting started.”
“I’d say there are targets. Things in the dark that will fear me like others fear them, and it is my personal ambition in seeing them destroyed that you ultimately serve. That you will order men to their deaths in service of, Colonel Garvey.”
“Institute, Gunners, Enclave, you name it. I’d say you're taking out the trash. That’s gonna cost blood, as much as I hate to admit it.”
“You need to understand that eventually you will be General. That I will explicitly be grooming you to take the Generalship, so I can explore this new land I find myself in, be a scary monster for other scary monsters. There will be no elections, but appointments and approvals by the civilian government, and I will recommend you for that position when I step down. After some fieldwork, it will mostly consist of you running the Minutemen day to day, so I don’t have to, what the General should actually be doing. That will be the point it goes from fast and loose, to professional fighting force.”
Preston said, “So you can be out there, doing what you know needs done. It’s your vision. Yes sir. I even know when that point comes. When we retake the our HQ, the Castle. Old Fort Independence. I’ll fill you in more a little later. When we’re ready.”
Jon eyed him for a moment, trying to divine Preston’s thoughts, “Why. You don’t know me. This is your entire life your putting in my hands. Imperialist ambitions you’re agreeing too.”
“Because you already saved my life, in more ways than one, so I trust you. I’ve seen enough to know you’re exactly what the Minutemen need. You risked your life, and only asked for some information in return. You know who needs their asses kicked, and you want to kick them, even if its just sport to you. You gave us this place that’s yours by right, you call that an empire? You’re also military. Real military. If I had to guess, from that NCR I’ve heard about. The rifle sells it.”
“Yes, and No. I’m not from the NCR. I found this.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Singh, Mr. Garvey, some mole rat steaks for you. The stew will be done in a couple hours at least.”
“Thanks, pal.”
“Thanks Codsworth.”
Jon began taking bites, and he squinted when he saw an old man walking in the dark, though the trees of the small park across the creek. There was a stature that Jon was also going to check out when he could. He came up to the opposite bank wall and held up his hands.
“Hey there fellers, don’t mean yah any harm. Can we talk?”
“Sure.” Jon said.
“I’m Old Paul. I got a few people with me, and we’re lookin for a place to settle. Women and kids with us, a couple men. There was disease where we’re from. We’re not sick or anything. Been on the road a week now. We would have symptoms, an whatnot. It looks like you’re already starting one up. We’re all willin to work, and I’m a hell of a junker. We even have a bit of food we can add to the pile.”
Jon eyed the genuine demeanor for a second more out of prudence. He said, “Sure. Talk to Codsworth. Stay away from the others for now. They won’t trust easy.”
“Fair, perfectly fair. This is a big place. Plenty of room. Thank you Mr. thank you.”
“Jon.”
He nodded and went back to the main road for his people to lead them in. Jon said, “Lets keep our long term plans on the down low for now.”
Preston nodded, “Understood, sir. You don’t need a target on your back. Our backs. Not until we get something set up and can defend it. Speaking of, I did get word from a passing trader on the way up that a settlement was asking for help. They didn’t know our situation when they passed the word. Tempine’s Bluff, east of here. I’ll mark it on your map.”
Jon nodded, “Good. I’ll look into it. I also took a job for the Abernathys. Blake is coming over to set up trade.”
Preston scoffed, “And you had to ask why I made you General?”
Jon smirked, “I just need you to understand that it’s ultimately my selfishness and survival instincts driving me. I’m doing it out a sense of logic, not a deeply held belief in heroic ideals. You’re a true believer, that would do it for free if you could. I have ulterior motives you need informed of. Think about it. I helped you for information. I helped Jake for information, and his ASAMs. I wouldn't have just left you to die, but I would not have helped Jake if I didn’t think he could help me, which is what brought me to you.”
Preston shrugged, “Like I said, my dad died for it, and I was going to carry the torch. I also needed to eat, and professionals are always well paid in food, even if caps can’t be spared. So I have an ulterior motive or two as well. You’re the right man for the job, sir.”
Jon nodded. “Get some rest. Me and Codsworth can keep watch for the rest of the night.”
Jon kept patrol until the stew was ready to eat. Codsworth announced everything was ready, and thankfully there was still enough with the addition of the new neighbors. Marcy muttered away about all the synths now had to live with, but took her food and ate mostly quietly. The new additions, a couple families and a couple more stragglers, didn’t look as downcast as the Quincy Five, but they were certainly haggard from the harsh roads. They looked as if the settlement with a functioning, and friendly, Mr. Handy was heaven sent.
“Here you go, Mr. Singh. Everyone else had been served, and the stew will continue to simmer. How about I keep patrol for the rest of the night?”
“Thanks Codsworth.”
The old man had sat down next to where Jon had while both ate. He said, “Howdy. As I said, I’m Old Paul. We really appreciate yah letting us stay here. This your place an all?”
Jon bobbed his head back and forth, “Unclear at the moment. I’m setting up at the Red Rocket. I wont be around telling you what to do, usually.”
Old Paul said, “Ah. It’s one hell of a spot. I would take it if it was just me. Not a great place to settle with families though, and I’m too damn old to be going it alone. Well if you need anything, let Old Paul know. He’s done a thing or two, like gun smithing. I’ve seen plenty of service rifles, but none with authentic redwood.”
Jon smiled. So his rifle wasn’t the rarest thing, and he had access to a proper smith. Superiority was nothing to decades of experience, not without at least a few months of practice for an Augment.
He said, “I can do my own cleaning and field service, but if I need a smith, I’ll find you first. Thanks Old Paul. You get the rundown for the ASAMs?”
Old Paul finished his bite and said, “Oh yeah. Don’t need a do-hicky to tell me how to junk, but the inventory management is something special. How many times I forget I had something, need it, and find it a week later.”
Jon finished up his stew. Speaking of maintaining. He said, “Nice to meet you Old Paul. I’ll be cleaning my rifle and getting rest myself.”
“You as well.”
Jon made his way over to his crates, he would have to drag them over to the Red Rocket, and pulled a cleaning kit out of the weapons crate. Interestingly enough, it was one from his homeland, with Hoppe’s 9. After stripping and cleaning the powder from his mint condition rifle, he decided to take a stroll back to the top of the mountain. That would be poetic.
He stood on the vault door, and heard the snap behind him. He turned and saw Q in a Napoleonic era uniform, frill and all, and his rank was somewhere above supreme commander of the coalition.
Jon said, “Are you pleased with how things are proceeding, Supreme Field Marshal?”
Q smirked and said, “Yes, I am, General. Chaos, in all its forms. Even order being squeezed from chaos is it’s own flavor of chaos. You wanted to ask me something. A 2000 IQ doesn’t make one omniscient, but you are so very predictable.”
Jon said, “I need kit for my second. Since I’m your proxy and everything, and proxies get supplied.”
Q said, “Oh finally, one that actually knows his place. In some circles, the Colonel would be your number one. Tah-Tah.”
Q snapped away, and in his place were two yellow crates like the one’s his gear came it. A quick look at his person also showed his green becoming blue. He took off his helmet, and the front was a single star, a darker blue than the rest, near black. He opened the crates and found gear the same as his, with a full bird on Preston’s helmet. The weapons crate wasn’t a service rifle, however.
It was a laser musket, but redesigned from the ground up as a proper weapon instead of a taped together pile of garbage. It was pretty close to how he would redesign the concept of a laser musket. It was not a front line service weapon, and he would have to gently break to Preston the fact that that’s why his company died. If Colonel Hollis was half the Minuteman Preston made him seem, Jon knew he would have fought a bloody, but successful defense with proper weapons in the hands of his men.
He dragged the crates down to the bridgehead, just off from sight. He already had to many accusations of being a synth on him. Lugging around brand new gear in full view wouldn't help. He found Preston and motioned him over to the place just across the stream.
Jon said, “Open them up. They’re yours, Colonel.”
He shot him a questioning eye, but dutifully opened them up. Then his eyes went wide. He whispered, “Holy shit. All this stuff is brand new. Like yours. I’ve never owned something brand new. Were did you get this?”
Jon said, “An inter-dimensional trickster god. Named Q. He brought me here from where I’m from. Since I’m basically his proxy, I asked nicely for more gear. Gear for you. My 2IC needs proper kit, and a proper weapon. The duster is good for dress, the stetson fine for non-front line duties, but we need helmets, armor, and fatigues. The musket is also good as a marksman rifle and stockpile weapon, but they will not be scrap piles, and we will use service rifles.”
Preston shook his head, “Whoa. So your like an alien. No wonder you were trying to get me to really think on it. Justify my decision. That just reassures me even more.”
Jon shrugged, “I’m from Earth. Just not this Earth. One that didn’t blow itself up, but was damn close to doing so. Pretty nasty war I came from.”
Preston said, “Man, it’s the same everywhere, huh? Never changes. You’re pulling us away from some tradition, but that's the old Minuteman, and no one is going to miss them.
Jon smiled, at least he wouldn't have to break anything. He said, “Let’s take a walk.”
The two dragged the crates to a safer place, and took off across the bridge and into the park on the other side of the creek. They moved though the mostly dead trees, a leaf here or there hanging on for its life, and found themselves in front of the aged copper statue that Jon wanted to inspect. This was a place of serious history and reflection, despite the shortness of the poem dedicated to the colonial militia, and namesake of the his current force. Jon took a preserved smoke, and so did Preston despite not usually smoking. Everyone smoked at least once in the wastes.
It read, “THE MINUTE MAN STATUE. DANIEL CHESTER FRENCH
BY THE RUDE BRIDGE THAT
ARCHED THE FLOOD,
THEIR FLAG TO APRIL’S
BREEZE UNFURLED,
HERE ONCE THE EMBATTLED
FARMERS STOOD,
AND FIRED THE SHOT HEARD
ROUND THE WORLD.
EST. 1875.”
Preston said, “Man, these guys were the real deal. The original Minutemen. I don’t know much about them, but I know we carry their torch. Protect the people at a minutes notice.”
Jon said, “Colonial militia. They fired the shot heard round the world, as you see. They were rebelling against a tyrant king. They wanted representation in parliament in exchange for the taxes they were paying for the Seven Years War. The king replied with occupation, troops quartered in their homes, massacres in their streets. Redcoats marched here to seized militia arms, and that was it. The farmers finally shot back and started the revolution in earnest. If you hear bullshit about the second amendment protocol from robots, it was that. The right to bear arms written into their founding document in response to what happened here. A well regulated militia, being necessary for the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”
Preston nodded, “Thanks for telling me, sir. They seem like my kind of people, that's for sure.”
Jon said, “Someone looked at this statue, and then the wasteland around them, and knew what they had to do. I just know it. This is where it started, then and now.”
Preston said, “Maybe. It would make sense. No one actually knows how we got our start. Settlements just started banding together, people calling themselves Minutemen. Then we drove back Super mutants from Diamond City in the 2180’s. Largest Super mutant attack ever seen in the Commonwealth. That’s when we really took off. Then the CPG massacre happened, then some sea monster attacked the Castle, I think a mirelurk queen, and now you know what else happened. Colonel Hollis wanted to recreate that victory. He thought If we could defend Quincy, then we would stop being a joke. We could rebuild. Then we got betrayed, in more ways than one. We were all so confident walking in. Marching songs and everything. They almost threw a party for us before Hollis ordered the defenses made ready.”
Jon hung his head, nearly crying. Preston didn’t try to fight it. Idealistic brave men and woman that just wanted to help. A town that just wanted to live their lives. And now they were gone, lost to the wasteland. The Gunners were going to die. Whoever ordered that attack was going to die. Clint was going to die. Jon wouldn't suffer their stench in his Commonwealth. He would be their bogyman, the scary story they tell their deficient children to make them behave. Beware, beware the wrath of little blue men.
Jon said, “There will be a wreath here. I don’t care if it’s made from deadwood branches. When we are able, there will be an honor guard at this statue. It will be a tomb for the unknown Minuteman, past, present, and future.”
“Yes sir.”
“When we retake Quincy, there will be a statue of Colonel Hollis erected there. If you can draw, draw him, if you cant, have someone that can. It will bear the names of your company.”
“Ye-Yes sir. 1st Minutemen, always ready.”