The radstorm thundered as it approached, but Lance 27 had time to fortify their position. After tossing the dead scavvers onto the street outside, Michael ordered that the walls of the store be repaired. Using materials readily available in the storage rooms, bullet holes were patched over and windows were sealed shut, as was the hole that Michael had entered through. They finished just as stinging rains fell from the clouds above and the front door was closed and barred, allowing Lance 27 some time to rest.
Choy sat by the stove, warming her hands by the fire that heated and lit the storefront around them. Andoh stood alone to keep watch over the rear exit in the adjacent hallway, lit by a separate trash fire, a fire contained in a metal trash can. While it was closed and barricaded, Michael needed someone to make sure it stayed that way. As Andoh was the least senior paladin in the squad, he was the natural choice. Michael and the other paladins, meanwhile, were free to engage in a paladin’s favorite pastime as they brandished emergency flashlights from one of the pouches on their belts.
Michael pulled a foot locker from underneath a bed and filed through its contents. There were small monkey figurines made of metal, whose arms could interlock. A small metal car with flames on the side, its wheels showing signs of tinkering that enabled its wheels to roll. There were other similar junk items, more children's toys and a wooden carving of a dog, but nothing of interest to Michael.
A bundle of keychains caught his eyes, dozens of them with different names. One of which was Valerie. Michael unhooked the keychain and placed it into one of his pouches on his belt. It wasn’t exactly the same as “Valery”, but it was close enough. He combed through the other keychains, in case there was a better quality bribe, but there were none. None for Valery, at least. Michael found a keychain he could gift to Dominic, a token of gratitude for his dedicated service, and pocketed it with the other keychain.
“Look what I found!” Miles said, pulling several bottles of brandy from beneath another bed nearby. He opened one and pressed his lips to the bottle, but stopped and looked at Michael.
Miles seemed young then, but just old enough that he could enjoy drinking alcohol in public without scrutiny. Michael himself, physically, was not as old as Miles, but that didn’t stop him from drinking in public. However, they were on a mission and no sergeant would suffer a drunken soldier on duty. Most of the ones Michael had served under, at least, the good ones.
“I’m sorry, sir. I got carried away.”
“It’s fine.” Michael cleared his throat and called out to his squad, mainly to Beck who had wandered into the side rooms to explore. “Lance 27, gather around. Andoh, you listen too.”
“What’s going on?” Beck said, running into the storefront, weapon ready. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that there was no need for it.
Michael addressed his squad, to make sure they all knew where they stood and what was expected of them. As sergeant, it was his duty to preside over the taking of the loot. As well as his privilege.
“I’m sure you all know the drill, but this is our first round of looting together. So let’s refresh ourselves on the rules.
“Bring all the valuables you find to the center of the storefront. Alcohol, chems, and other items of note. They will be divided amongst the squad as per regulation. One share for the enlisted, two shares for their sergeant in the field. Anyone caught attempting to sneak contraband into camp will be flogged.
“And under no circumstances is anyone allowed to partake in any mind altering substances. As long as we are in the field, everyone is to remain sober. Understood?”
“Understood!” The paladins echoed in unison.
“I don’t really drink alcohol or use chems.” Choy said from her seat by the fire, her hand raised to the air.
“You are entitled to a share regardless, which you will carry back to camp. What you do with it will be entirely up to you.”
“But my pack is already heavy enough with the radio.” Choy said, then hastily added, “Sir.”
The division of spoils was generally handled between squads of knights and paladins. Scribes almost never had an opportunity to see combat. When they did, it’s because they were stationed in an outpost that was attacked by an enemy.
Loot in such a scenario could be easily brought inside for division among the defenders, but Lance 27 had its journey back to camp to consider. A problem that would be shared by the rest of the paladin squads, once Torland deployed his radios, and scribes, among them.
One of Lance 27’s paladins could carry Choy’s pack in addition to their own, because of their power armor, but they all had their burdens to bear. “Even so. Unless you forfeit your share, it’s your responsibility.”
Choy looked at her pack, which she placed beside her to relieve her shoulders of the weight. There was calculation behind her eyes and she must’ve decided that she couldn’t abandon her share of the loot. “I’ll carry my share.” She said with a sigh.
“Good, then get up and help us strip this place clean of valuables.”
Lance 27 continued tearing through the former home of the scavvers, piling up their findings in the center of the storefront. Choy had taken it upon herself to strip the workshop facilities of salvageable parts, exchanging her share of alcohol and chems with agreement from the other paladins. Steel clamps and the like. If she brought home a share of the loot, they would be things the scribes had a use for.
Michael briefly wondered if he could exchange some trinkets for a larger share of the alcohol, but it was a valuable commodity. He was also the squad’s sergeant, their leader. Things were going smoothly and he didn’t want his men to feel obligated to give up their share of the alcohol, the loot they no doubt actually wanted. There were men of low quality who used their authority to coerce their subordinates, too many for Michael’s liking, and he wanted to avoid following their example.
Beck walked into the room with several empty rucksacks and a medkit filled with loose chems she had found. “These scavvers have a shower, did anyone see it? Actual running water.” She sniffed the pits of her BOS flight suit, standard issue for all the paladins to wear underneath their armor. She made a face, but said nothing.
“We could use those rucksacks.” Michael said as Beck dropped her findings among the other loot she had found.
“There are a few more. If there’s rope, we can tie the rucksacks together onto one of the flat boards. Would be easier to carry in our power armor.”
“Found some rope.” Tobias called out from the main storage room.
“We could also put some cloth between the bottles we find, to prevent them from breaking against each other.” Michael said. He pulled sheets from bed and wrapped up a group of bottles, ample padding between each bottle, then stuffed them into a rucksack. “We can stack these onto a flat board then. Nice and tidy.”
Tobias began dragging flat boards of wood to the storefront, from one of the side rooms. Miles, after combing through the storeroom, joined him. They discussed how they might nail together the boards in a way that wouldn’t stick out and endanger anyone, but decided to hammer the nails off to the side. The nails couldn’t be used for anything else, but it’d get the job done.
Beck pulled a bed sheet towards the squad’s loot and helped Michael package the rest of their bottles into rucksacks. “So I’ve been meaning to ask, you’re from Chicago right? What’s it like over there?” She said and seated herself near Michael. Choy was nearby, laying underneath a workshop and focused entirely on her work. If only they could all be so driven.
“There’s not much to say. Haven’t you heard it all already? Surely, you must’ve had contact with personnel from Chicago.”
“I’ve asked around, but most everyone I’ve met are other recruits from Portland or Couve. The few that are actually from Chicago never want to talk about the place. One of them even told me that outsiders should mind their business.”
“They shouldn’t have said that.” Michael said and thought, out loud. He was aware of the general xenophobic sentiment among the Brotherhood in the Midwest, an irony when he considered their origins as the castoffs from Lost Hills, but such sentiment threatened to harm the cohesion between units as more outsiders were initiated into the Brotherhood. Abel had the right of it, despite his quarrels with the Elder. Their Brotherhood had to be more than just Lance Squadron.
Beck shrugged and went quiet, so Michael continued speaking on the subject. “I’m from near Chicago, from one of the bunkers. Been to Chicago though, it’s a large city. Bigger than Portland and Couve put together. Maybe Seattle too, but I haven’t seen the rest of it yet.”
“So a bunker? I’ve heard of those. They’re like vaults, right?”
“Yes, they’re like vaults.” Michael stuffed another collection of bottles into a rucksack and silence fell over them again.
“But the vaults were for civilian use. Bunkers were built for military purposes.” Choy called out. “The records say that the bunkers were invaluable during the Brotherhood’s war against Gamorrin’s super mutants, then the Calculator and its rogue machines.”
“Super muties?” Beck whistled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a long while. How’d a super mutant get a name like Gamorrin anyway? I thought they were all dumb brutes.”
“Gamorrin was one of those smart super mutants that fought for the Master.” Michael said as he struggled to recall his faded memories of the Fallout games, which weren’t as useful as he once hoped they would be. Especially now, after he and the rest of Lance Squadron were banished from the Midwest.
“He fought the Brotherhood when they arrived in the Midwest.” Choy continued. “And defeated by a warrior of great renown.”
Michael cast a furtive gaze in Choy’s direction. There had been two Gamorrins. The first Gamorrin, the super mutant who led his remnant army to the Midwest, and the second Gamorrin, a Brotherhood paladin who took up the name before his defeat by the Warrior. Did the scribe’s archives record them as a single individual? It was peculiar, but Michael said nothing. Gamorrin and Latham were long dead, as were the super mutants they led. They didn’t matter anymore.
“And the Calculator?” Beck asked.
“Also defeated by the Warrior.”
“Damn, they really put in work. So Chicago is safe?”
“The Warrior fought their battles nearly a hundred years ago. The Chicago of today is under threat from the Enclave. It’s why Lance Squadron was deployed to the Pacific Northwest. Our original target was Seattle, but our airships crash landed in Portland. We were meant to secure a research station under Seattle, to achieve any small advantage for the war in Chicago.”
“An enemy that can challenge the Brotherhood. It’s difficult to imagine.” Miles said as he and Tobias approached, carrying several bottles of alcohol between their fingers or under their arms.
“There was a stalemate by the time Lance Squadron left. We tried to expel them by force, but the attempts were costly. If I was allowed to take part in our counter offensives, I’d be dead right now. Even if I had my armor with me, the Enclave’s weapons could probably pierce through with ease.”
“That’s grim.” Miles muttered and pulled up two chairs for him and Tobias.
Tobias seated himself to pack the bottles he carried, Miles doing the same beside him. “That must’ve been at least two years ago. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?”
Michael resisted furrowing his brows at the question. Tobias was just asking and his age wasn’t exactly a secret. If his squad had to find out, it was better they learned it from him. So he could confront any questioning of his competence, before it took hold in their minds. “I’m 17. I was 13 during our first counter offensive, so they didn’t allow me to take part in the fighting against the Enclave.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Tobias cleared his throat, looked away. He had that look on his face again, the one he had on the muster field. It told Michael that Tobias was having thoughts he didn’t want to say out loud, but Tobias wasn’t the only one. The rest of his squad shared the look. Choy took the time to glance at Michael from her work. Andoh peeked into the storefront, with wide, curious eyes, having removed his helmet.
“I was old enough to fight, so I contributed to the war effort in other ways. I did my part.”
“Well, it’s good to give initiates time to learn.” Tobias said, incredulous. “Children are better at learning. Or so my Aunt Rosemary says.”
“I was a knight.” Michael corrected. “A squire to Paladin Sergeant Roccaforte.”
“Impressive name.” Beck said and mouthed the name. “Roc-ca-for-te.”
Miles jumped from his seat, the volume of his short, dark curls swaying through the air, and exclaimed. “How were you a knight at 13?!”
Michael couldn’t help but chuckle as Miles apologized and returned to his seat. “Paladin Roccaforte was a second or third cousin on my father’s side, I can’t remember. He vouched for me, but I had to run all sorts of errands for several officers. Mostly solo retrieval missions to prove myself worthy of ascending to the Order of the Knights.
“Once, I helped build a giddy-up buttercup. Different pieces from different locations. The head I retrieved from a super mutant camp. Scribe Choy can probably find it in our records. There was a scout who joined me to confirm my success or my death.”
“Is that how you earned your armor?” Andoh called out from the entrance to the hallway. He was supposed to be on guard duty, but it was an opportunity for Michael to properly introduce himself to his squad.
“Once I grew large enough to wear power armor, that was roughly the time I became a knight, Paladin Roccaforte allowed me to use my mother’s PA frame.” Michael gestured to his armor. “It was smaller then, but there was less sneaking around after that. Besides my new responsibilities as a knight, I continued running errands for the officers, it was only a matter of time before I became a paladin.”
Miles turned to look at the row of power armor lined up near a wall, fronts facing the wall. “How did it become so big? Like, that’s a lot of steel.” Michael’s own custom ATA stood taller and wider than his squad’s T-45’s, especially around the shoulders. Which was protected by large pauldrons that connected to a curving plate that protected his back and neck.
“Melted down my father’s power armor and added it on top of my mother’s.” The words never felt natural, catching in his throat. Mother. Father. They were Michael’s parents, but not really. “There used to be more steel, but it was far too cumbersome. It slowed me down until Knight Dominic helped make the servos more efficient. The size difference was fully accounted for once we added an outer layer of composites that the Midwestern scribes reversed engineered from dead Enclave PA troopers.”
“How does it compare to the other models?” Beck asked. “The other power armor models.”
“It’s more protective than the T-45’s and standard ATA’s. Maybe the T-51’s as well, but it’s a lot heavier for comparable protection. Difference in materials.”
“I’m surprised you were allowed to modify your armor to such an extent. It’s distinct. I was told that paladins had to remain uniform at all times.” Tobias said.
“That’s generally true, but this type of modification was common enough in Chicago. A number of our paladins there are descended from tribals, some from a place called Brahminwood, and special exemptions were given. There was a paladin who fixed a brahmin skull to his helmet, plus some other decorative alterations.
“As for more practical modifications, adding extra protection onto power armor was popularized among paladins stationed in Chicago once we entered into conflict with the Enclave. I got the idea to enlarge my armor from them. Mostly the purists kept their armor the same, the ones who were stationed outside of Chicago. Didn’t stop them from adding a layer of Enclave composites on top of their armor though.”
Scribe Choy blew dust from the gears she had stripped away from a workbench and sniffled her nose as she spoke. “Head Scribe Torland has a side project to replicate your armor. Or rather, Knight Dominic’s reports are being collected to help develop a new series of ATA’s, the Mark 2’s. We have a file open on your armor, but the time and material costs are expensive. The resources are being diverted to build more suits of T-45s.”
“Is that so?” Michael said, hiding his surprise. Knight Dominic had mentioned delivering reports to the scribes, but Michael didn’t realize the extent of Torland’s interest in his power armor. If he volunteered his help again, what might he gain?
“So how are your parents? And Paladin Roccaforte. They must miss you.” Tobias said.
“Huh? Oh, they’re all dead now. Died some time before I left Chicago.”
“My condolences.” Tobias shook his head and muttered something to himself. The squad had gone quiet and Michael felt the awkwardness heavy in the silence that returned to the storefront.
“They died bravely. My father, against super mutants. My mother and Roccaforte, against the Enclave. They were paladins to the end. It’s what we signed up for.”
“My friend died once. I mean, my friend died. You can only die once.” Beck said and gave a wry smile as she tucked her blonde hair, shaved on one side, behind an ear. “He was like a brother to me. I joined the Brotherhood to avenge him, but I ended up becoming a paladin to protect people.”
Michael looked over to Beck. “What happened?”
“Super mutants. It was years ago, before the Brotherhood arrived in Portland, but it still hurts. Our family was close. My dad, Flynn, and his Aunt January raised us together like we were a real family. We used to joke that we’d become siblings one day.” Beck looked away, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “My dad disagreed with my decision to join the Brotherhood. I still keep in touch with my Aunt Jan, but I haven’t seen them since.”
Beck offered up the information, bared her soul, like she was offering up a piece of herself. Her paleness sickly in the fire light. Michael wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to say anything, just because he did, but it was an opportunity to learn about his squad. He wouldn’t coddle them, these paladins of the Brotherhood, he would respect their choice. If they wanted to speak, then they would speak.
Miles spoke next, scratching at the white vertical scar that marred the dark skin of his face, across both lips. “My dad died to super mutants too. Near Gresham. My mom raised me with my uncle’s help. I was hopping between helping my mom at the clinic she works at and joining my uncle on his patrols for the militia. Then the Brotherhood showed up in their airships, literally falling from the sky into Portland. That was a sign as sure as any, so I joined up. My uncle was too old to join me, but he’s still doing his part back home.”
Miles looked at Beck with dark eyes, who glanced back at him with faded greens, an understanding shared between the two young paladins. Michael had heard stories concerning the raid near Gresham, of super mutants venturing north to feast upon the populace, all of them exceptionally bloody. It was partly why Betty’s auxiliaries were forbidden from the area, mostly secluded in the wilderness to the northeast along the fringes of Couve, to live in camps. More savage than even the savage wastelanders.
“Tobey.” Andoh called out to Tobias.
Tobias looked up from his work, at Andoh who had taken his helmet off. Andoh nodded at him and gestured at the rest of the squad with his chin. Tobias pursed his lips, shutting them tight as if refusing to speak, then speaking anyway. “Our families were close, Andoh’s and mine, but our parents died when we were young. Our uncles and aunts raised us, alongside their own children. Some time after that, we fell in with a bad crowd, wannabe gangers who wanted entry into Port Maw. Our uncles tried their best to set us straight, but they were killed in a raid before it happened. By the same people we called our friends. We fought in the Frenchman’s militia against the raiders until the Brotherhood arrived to dissuade any more of their raids. It was an obvious choice to join up with the Brotherhood when he had the chance.”
Tobias let his head hang, rolling it side to side and popping the joints in his neck. He seemed deflated in a way, still a young man, but outwardly the oldest among them. If he was anywhere near the same age as Andoh, it didn’t show. Tobias’ hair, short cropped and dirty blonde, was flecked with a handful of white hairs.
Andoh stood in the back beneath the doorway leading into the side hallway, tragically far from the conversation and shrouded by the dimness along the edge of the storefront, and Michael called over for him to join the rest of the group. As Andoh slowly ambled closer in his armor, Michael paid closer attention to the man than in their previous encounters. He looked like Tobias and Michael suspected the two men were related by blood. Not siblings, but maybe cousins. It’s probably why Andoh had seemed tanned, especially compared to Tobias, but maybe he was a lightskin like Michael.
Michael himself was mixed with many different groups from across the world, which he learned from DNA tests conducted on him in Chicago. In a way, all peoples were his own. Not that it mattered in the wasteland. Everyone was too busy scraping together a life to care for skin color. One that wasn’t green, at the very least.
Choy picked herself up from the floor and seated herself against a workbench, knees up and against her chest. Her East Asian features were common enough on the West Coast, present even in the Midwest, despite the state of the world during the Great War. Whatever enmities there had been in the world was washed away by nuclear fire. Even the most ignorant savage in the wasteland knew people are born looking different and paid it no mind.
Their squad of varying ethnic backgrounds were all just soldiers of the Brotherhood and they lacked the prejudices of the world before the bombs fell. Michael’s own passing fascination was merely a byproduct of his previous experiences from the other Earth. But maybe it wasn’t egalitarianism in the wasteland, just pure indifference.
It applied to men and women both, but also the children. Many of whom were armed and allowed to fight the Brotherhood’s enemies, indoctrinated as they were initiated. Michael would know, he’d been one of them.
Andoh kneeled beside Tobias, sitting on the heels of his boots, and smiled. “Anything you’d like to add, Paladin Andoh?” Michael asked him.
“No sir, Tobey got it all. Enough of it at least.” Andoh said and everyone looked to Choy.
“I guess it’s my turn? I don’t know where to begin.” Choy said and she petted a long braid of dark hair that hung over one shoulder, deep in thought. “My family traveled to Couve from Victoria in the north. We cut through Koover during its troubles and bypassed Seattle through the countryside, so it’s funny to me that my parents went through all of that effort to avoid raiders just for me to end up fighting them in Seattle.
“My parents were actually worried when they heard I was being stationed in Seattle, but becoming a scribe for the Brotherhood was a good opportunity. Tinkering with old tech happened to suit my interests and there were many advantages with the position. I’m a third child and my eldest sister is set to inherit our family’s shop in Couve. Maybe some of you have heard of it? It’s called Bok Choy’s, like the plant. It’s a pun.”
Miles snapped his fingers and nodded his head with a smile. “Oh, and it’s also your name.”
“Yeah, but my name is actually C-H-O-I, but I misspelled it when I became an initiate. So now it’s C-H-O-Y.”
Beck burst into sudden laughter and tears fell from her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I needed that laugh. Choy? Our daughter is no plant! She’s a Choi! Can you imagine?”
“Actually, that’s what my father said when he got my first letter. I had to keep hearing about it from the other scribes for weeks until the Head Scribe reprimanded them for tomfoolery.”
Everyone was smiling then, their moods raised somewhat, and a realization dawned on Michael. He hadn’t spent such a time among his squad, sitting and talking with one another, not since he lost Roccaforte in an Enclave raid. The image of their faces burned into his mind. An unwelcome experience when he’d barely forgotten the faces of Roccaforte and his other mentors, all dead and buried, but it was necessary.
Michael was no longer a free-floating cog that could fit wherever he was needed, volunteering for missions between different squads. He was the mentor now, the one in command. A permanent fixture that binded him to them. He’d care for his squad as if they were his own flesh and blood, his Brothers of Steel. Even if, one day, he’d mourn their passing or they’d mourn his. It’s what they signed up for, in the end, no matter what they believed.
A knocking sounded on the door and Michael leapt from his seat with his rifle at the ready. The rest of Lance 27 followed quickly behind, arraying themselves throughout the storefront. Andoh put on his helmet and returned to the hallway to guard the rear exit, in case of a flanking attack.
“Paladin Michael, open up. This is Inquisitor Flores.” Michael’s rifle remained ready as he reached out with his other hand to open the door ever so slightly. Light pierced through the dimness in the storefront, temporarily obscuring Michael’s vision. His eyes adjusted as he slowly opened the door fully and a woman greeted him, her hands held up. “Don’t be alarmed, I come in peace.” Behind her, Michael saw that the radstorm had ended.
Michael looked at the woman, who smiled at him and patiently waited. He had been vaguely aware of the woman, one of only two inquisitors who kept to themselves, but she matched the description he knew of her. And while he wasn’t sure of where inquisitors stood in the Brotherhood’s hierarchy, he made a point to show as much courtesy as he could. It’s why he saluted the head’s of the other orders as well as their higher ranking personnel, giving them deference despite no technical requirement to do so.
“Hail, Inquisitor Flores.” Michael said and saluted the woman, who looked at the movement and chose not to extend the greeting back to Michael.
“I was in the area and I wanted to check up on your squad. Torland sent you to secure this place from scavvers?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve been expelled from the area.”
Flores lifted a brow and looked back at the dead scavvers Lance 27 had dumped on the street. “They’re not all dead?”
Torland had expressly asked Michael to kill the scavvers, so the inquisitor must be disappointed in his poor performance. A living enemy could return, seeking vengeance and potentially endangering his squad, but he had allowed himself to succumb to his weakness. “If they return, they will be.”
“I’m surprised they stood their ground. Did you give them terms of surrender?”
The thought hadn’t crossed Michael’s mind, he was too focused on keeping Choy and the rest of his squad safe from harm. It might’ve been an oversight, but it confused Michael. Was he supposed to let the scavvers go free? He had been ordered to wipe them out.
“No, sir. I opened fire on the front face of the store to stir the scavvers from their hiding places. Then, I personally cleared the interior. The scavvers who didn’t die from the initial salvo of my minigun fled through a rear exit.”
“You were assigned a minigun for this mission? I’m surprised you didn’t kill every scavenger inside when you had the chance.” Flores looked him up and down, disdainful. Clearly she found what she saw lacking. “The scavenging party is nearly here. Prepare for their arrival.” Flores pulled a gas mask and a unit of radaway from her backpack. She handed it to Michael. “For your scribe. Not that she’ll be needing it.”