Prologue

Preston was panicking. Of course, the others couldn't see that. He was all they had left, the only chance they had for surviving, so to them, he was the epitome of calm and collected. The flight from Quincy had decimated the group, and now, he was the only combatant left. Lexington had seemed like a safe bet, but the number of feral ghouls was apocalyptic, and the group lost half their numbers, including most of the surviving Minutemen. Four more were lost when the raiders attacked, and Louis, the only other Minuteman, was killed holding the raiders off from the entrance to the museum. Not that it did them any good, because now the group was surrounded on both sides, and Preston was the only one willing to fight. The more pressing matter was the raiders outside in Concord, who were trying to reinforce the thugs already inside the Museum of Freedom.

Preston took a deep breath in, shoved the door open, and proceeded to line up a shot on a raider. Before he even got the chance to begin squeezing the trigger, the drug-addled raider dropped to the ground, a chunk of his head missing. Two more followed, and by then some of the raiders had turned to face the new threat. They didn't last long. Preston couldn't see who was killing them, but frankly he didn't care. He turned his aim to one of the closer raiders, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The recoil was minimal, but the charged shot from his Laser Musket went clean through the torso of the man he had shot. Once again, he turned to aim at another raider, only to find the rest were dead. A man was hunched over one of the corpses, rifling through it, and placing loose bullets and magazines in his vest.

Preston had only heard of guardian angels in passing, but he was certain that the unknown man was one. But that assumed that guardian angels were armed to the teeth, and looked like pre-war soldiers. The man had a modified chest-plate of Combat Armor. Thinner than most, and broken into smaller plates, the man had a wide range of movement. He had webbing as well, which contained ammunition and grenades. He had an assault rifle in his arms, a rifle slung over his back, and a side-arm in a hip holster. Preston didn't wait long to call out pleading for help.

The man looked up at Preston, and for a horrifying moment, he thought that the man would simply walk away. But then, he darted forwards, completely ignoring Louis' Laser Musket, and slammed through the door. Preston blinked, but then switched to window that covered the main hall of the museum. Already, the two raiders who had been firing into the wall were dead, and the one who had been prowling the lower floors was leaning against the stairs, his neck twisted at an awkward angle. Preston hadn't heard any shots, which confused him, but then leapt back from the window when part of the wall on the second floor blew out in a fiery explosion. The raiders trying to break in were oddly quiet, and when Preston peaked out, he saw that, like their friends, they were dead, bullet holes in each forehead. The man from outside was standing by the door, patiently waiting. Preston and Sturges pushed the cabinet that had been blocking the door to the wall, and let the man in.

Their saviour was tall. Preston wasn't short by any means, during his last physical in Diamond City, he had topped off at six feet, but this man had at least three inches on him. He wasn't skinny, but nor was he fat. Broad shoulders turned into thick arms. A bushy beard covered the lower half of his face, and his hair was tied back by a bandana. He wore dark tactical glasses, the kind Preston had read that special forces wore before the bombs fell.

"Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing's impeccable." Preston stuck out his hand, "Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen."

The man regarded his hand for a second, but shook it. "Nathaniel Thiel. Glad to be of assistance."

"If that's the case, maybe there's something else you can do for us." Preston was praying that the man would be amenable to the idea he was about to propose.

He was. Nathaniel 'Call me Nate' had clambered into a suit of power armour, ripped a minigun off a Vertibird, and proceeded to demolish the raiders, and a Deathclaw. The suit was trashed by the time he was done, and the minigun was rammed down the Deathclaw's throat, but the threat was nullified. Nate walked back into the museum, collecting his weapons from Sturges, who he had entrusted them to. As he put his gear back on, Preston began talking.

"That, was a pretty amazing display. I'm glad your on our side."

Nate nodded, fastening his sidearm, a forty-five, into his holster. "The feeling's mutual Preston. It's good to meet someone who cares for other out here. But you're far from any settlement. What brings you out here?"

Preston told him everything that had happened to the group in the past month, as well as where they were planning to go. Nate grimaced.

"I'm sorry. It's tough to be betrayed, but even worse when it leads to the death of your comrades." Preston got the impression he was speaking from experience, but just nodded. Nate continued, "As for Sanctuary, I've been fortifying it for the past three months on my own. I'll need to update the defence parameters on the turrets, but you're very welcome to come and settle. Sanctuary could do with life again."

"What happened to the previous residents, if you don't mind me asking?" Preston inquired as politely as he could, without seeming paranoid.

"Oh, I didn't do anything to them. Blame the US, or China, or whoever the hell launched the first nuke. My butler Codsworth has been there since the bombs were dropped. He can probably tell you a comprehensive history of Sanctuary since 2077." Nate responded, unperturbed by the assumption Preston made. "Let's go, we can rest up at Red Rocket. I have some spare mattresses and food there. You all look like you could use a fair bit of both."

It was a fifteen-minute walk to Red Rocket, and Preston was beginning to see why the raiders had stood no chance against Nate. The old gas station was surrounded by a rampart of earth, metal, and sandbags. A large sliding door allowed entrance, but it required Nate to put in a password. On the inside, the old filling area was replaced with different workbenches and crates. Ammunition presses, weapon workbenches, and a small smithy littered the area. A ladder led up to the roof, where Preston had seen a small tower. Inside, the garage had been replaced with a little room. A bed, a doghouse, and several stacked mattresses were resting against the wall. The door was down, and Preston could see evidence that it had been welded into place.

Nate unstacked the mattresses, and spread them on the floor. Before anyone could move towards them, he steered them out of the garage, to a bench with a few stools. He disappeared for a moment into a back office, and came out with a few more chairs, before going back into the office. Five minutes later, he came out with a tray filled with bowls of soup. The Quincy survivors dove into the meal, shovelling the food down. Nate didn't stop them, and Preston was too busy trying to drown himself in his own soup to care. Once they had eaten, he ushered them back to garage, where they all collapsed onto mattresses. Preston stood standing, not sure where to go, with all the mattresses filled. Nate pointed at the bed, before walking off.

Three hours later, Preston woke frantically, reaching for his gun. Instead, a strong pair of arms held him down. He thrashed for a moment, but regained control of himself. He found Nate standing over him, arms pressed down on his shoulders. Preston opened his mouth to apologize, but Nate cut him off before he could start.

"You haven't done anything wrong Preston. It's PTSD. It happens to the best of us. It happens to me sometimes." Nate's voice was soft, soothing, and it made Preston relax into the bed. Nate removed his hands and sat down in a chair. "The others woke half an hour ago, and I took them to sanctuary. I came back here to wake you, but you were having a nightmare."

Preston nodded, "Did you try to wake me?"

Nate shook his head, "No, that would've been worse. I started talking to you, and that's when you woke up. I find its best to let people wake up on their own from nightmares."

Nate then motioned for Preston to follow him, and led him up to the roof. Two chairs were propped up, facing towards Concord. Resting on a stool were two Gwinnet Stout beers, and when Preston grabbed his, to his surprise, it was cold. He must have been staring at the bottle like an idiot, because Nate chuckled.

"Most of the power cables in Sanctuary were underground. I just had to repair some points, hook a generator up to the circuit, and I had power again." Nate's answer was simple, but increased Preston's respect for him even more. A warrior, and an builder, if Nate turned out to be a decent politician, he could probably unite the Commonwealth within a decade.

Nate spoke up again. "You told me your story, so I think it's only fair that I tell you mine. I'll warn you now though, this will be the weirdest story you've ever heard. Prepare yourself."

Preston scoffed lightly. "I travel with a woman who can get glimpses of the future when she's stoned. I doubt you can top that."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Apparently, Nate could top that. When he had finished his story, Preston just downed the rest of his beer. The wheels in his head were turning, Nate had said he was a pre-war soldier, and Preston knew that the Minutemen rested on him. Maybe Nate could become the leader that was needed, and teach a new generation of Minutemen the proper way to fight.

"Nate, I'm the last Minuteman. I need to rebuild, but I can't do it alone. You could help me. Take up a leadership position, help me train new recruits. If we bring the Minutemen back, the commonwealth will be a safer place, and it would be easier to search for your son!" Preston knew that was a cheap tactic, bringing Nate's son, Shaun, into it, but he was desperate.

Nate's face reddened in anger quickly, before it went back to it's usual color. "First," he began, his voice low, "If you ever try to manipulate me using my son, I'll make you wish you had never met me. Second, what kind of leadership position. I won't commit to anything without knowing what I'm getting myself into."

Preston swallowed, but explained how he wanted Nate to become the General, to lead the Minutemen into a new era, but he vehemently shot down that idea.

"It's not that I won't, Preston, it's that I can't. I'll be spending a lot of time travelling, so I'll rarely be able to stay and make important decisions, or coordinate operations. I think you should take up that mantle. But make me a colonel, or a major. I'll lead strike teams for you, and train Minutemen." Nate's logic was sound, and Preston found himself agreeing. Nate carried on, "At the same time, I was an Operator, Delta Force. I'm not trained to lead large amounts of troops. At most, fifteen men, elite soldiers. If you can find me candidates, I'll train them. You'll have an elite force of Minutemen that can do almost anything. We'll be untouchable."

For the first time since Quincy, Preston felt hope for the Minutemen. The next day, when Preston announced to the group that he was the new General of the Minutemen, and that they would be rebuilding from Sanctuary, he was met with cheers. Jun Long offered to be the first recruit, much to his wife Marcy's dismay. She ranted and raved at them, saying how all Preston was going to do was to get them all killed. She stopped when Nate rested his knife on her shoulder. No one had seen him move, heard him move, and even Preston, who had been standing next to him, hadn't noticed him leaving his side.

"I doubt that'll happen, Mrs. Long. But Jun won't be a regular Minuteman. He's gone through a lot. I'm going to train him myself, and I promise you, I'm a very hard man to kill." Like the day before, when Nate had threatened Preston, his voice was low, and ice-cold, but it carried.

Preston knew that under his leadership, and Nate's training, the Minutemen would become a force to be reckoned with once more. There would be no Quincy Massacre ever again.

XXXXX

Author's Note

So. This isn't The Conquering. I'm having a lot of trouble getting inspired to write it, since I play more Fallout 4 than Skyrim. I promise to keep writing it, but I've had this idea stuck in my head pretty much since before I started writing The Conquering.

Anyway, so this is an AU for Fallout 4, where my SoSu, Nathaniel Thiel, and ex-Delta Force Operator, left Vault 111 three months before Preston and the Gang made it to Concord. He had a general idea of what the wasteland is like, due to super spy Codsworth, and is kind of a badass, as my protagonists seems to be. If Preston seemed OOC, I just want to say, when we find him in the game, he's been leading a group that went from twenty to five people in a month. There's no evidence of him having PTSD in the game, but damn, if that situation didn't give him any, he can't have any feelings. I don't make light of PTSD, it's a serious thing, and I am in no way an expert on it. The next Chapter takes six months later, when Recon Squad Gladius, led by Danse, finds itself in a ghoulish situation at the Cambridge Police Station. Get ready for a Badass Minuteman story.

Vonok,

Soviet_Babushka