A/N: We are looking at approximately 6 maybe 7 Chapters before we wrap up this story. I am sure it has gone in a direction that the original author had never intended, but I do hope that he and you other dear readers have gotten some enjoyment from it.
Chapter 22: Whole Lotta Shakin –Big Maybelle
POV: Morgan
She could see the arcane fire through her hand, her flesh having taken on an almost ghostly quality as the ages wore away at her essence. She had sequestered herself in the tower to keep the young ones from noticing, but eventually she would have to confess to them her failing life force. She theorized that the magic that had kept her imprisoned for so long had fed on her to sustain itself, and so she found herself nearly spent. Had she not escaped when she had, she would have withered away and died there, consumed utterly. Perhaps that was the intent of the Magical Congress, but they were beyond confronting.
Her breath was tremulous as she stood up and glided to the railing surrounding the balcony. Standing atop the lighthouse, the heights were nearly enough to efface the damage that humanity had wrought and bless her eyes with a view unfettered by rot and ruin.
Her heart was heavy, the fear for the others a palpable weight on her soul. Would they be able to defeat this dark wizard and his coven? Would they be able to resurrect the Old Ways and restore the leylines? And most importantly, will they give aid to the one who should be their enemy to find the one hope for this dying world?
She remembered his face then, her half-brother, the once and future king. His face was lined from the weight of responsibility and it granted his visage an air of solemnity that was balanced by his almost unfailing hope. Almost unfailing. Mordred had robbed him of that near the end. She had been among those who had carried his body to Avalon, laying him to rest upon an ancient bier and placing her hand on his brow. Despite the ashy pallor of death, his body still radiated warmth, as if life had not completely loosened its hold on him.
Why had she thought of him? Her mind was scattered and she had to fight to bring her errant thoughts under control. Oh yes… the one hope of the world. That which brings life… the cup.
It was out there somewhere, the grail once held by the Son of God. Was it his blessing that had granted it such power? Or was it always so imbued? Regardless, it had resurrected an ailing Arthur in time for his final confrontation, his final glory.
A sudden raucous snore interrupted her ruminations, the sudden sound followed by a small avalanche of books and parchment as Cait toppled from her desk in an ungainly mass of limbs.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" The young woman roared, flailing her trapped limbs as she vainly attempted to extricate herself from the desk.
"Enjoy your nap?" Morgan asked sardonically, aiding the beleaguered woman with a simple flick of her fingers.
Cait glared up at her and blew errant locks from her eyes. She stood up in a huff, stepping back to allow Morgan to set the desk back down among the piles of paper.
"I'm not cleaning that up." Cait declared.
"Yes you are. Wand out."
Cait groaned and muttered something very unflattering, not to mention physically impossible, under her breath. But despite her truculence, did as she was bid and pulled her wand free from within the folds of her disheveled robes.
Morgan watched as Cait lifted the parchments and stacked them neatly back onto her desk. She then forced the spilled ink into a globe and forced it into a narrow stream back into its bottle. Finally, she picked up the tomes she was supposed to be studying and rearranged them back onto their respective shelves.
"As much as I appreciate the personal attention," Cait began, her tone indicating anything but appreciation, "we both have better things to do with our time."
"You need to learn. You will learn. And since the younger children began to repeat some of your more colorful phrases, this is the only way until you either start behaving or you learn enough to pass those tests Lady Hermione has drafted." Morgan explained for the tenth time.
Cait put her wand away, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
"But, we've done enough for today. Are you of a mind to take an outing with me?"
"Get outta this fookin prison? Yeah I'm good for an outing."
Morgan frowned at Cait's description of the tower as a prison, but nodded in assent.
"Be a dear and retrieve Tacitus and Fingers."
Cait wasted no time, humming an Irish ditty as she pulled her robes over her head and, sparing a careful look at Morgan, carefully folded them and placed them on the seat of her desk.
Morgan arched a brow at the nearly nude young woman, "You know, it's not necessary to be in that state of undress beneath your robes."
"It's too hot." Cait complained, scratching at her bare stomach as she knelt and began rummaging through her bag for some clothing.
She pulled out her distinctive vest and a pair of brown jeans, pulling the clothes on with an alacrity that nearly cracked Morgan's veneer. She held back the laugh and did an admirable job of maintaining her stern countenance, nodding slightly when the redhead finally wrestled her vest on and dipped a patronizing bow before skipping through the door to the staircase.
POV: Cait
Cait took a deep breath as she emerged from the tower, the sunshine warming her skin and the salt laden air caressing her unruly locks.
Despite her attitude toward… well pretty much everyone, she truly felt at peace here. The magicals, though she should really stop referring to them in the 3rd person considering she was one of them, had erected defenses not seen even before the Great War. The grounds, the buildings, the shore, hell even the very air they breathed, was clean and pure. Neville was even working on a way of modifying some type of seaweed that would filter out the radiation from the ocean.
Children freely played within and between the settlements, the entire area bathing under the aegis of Morgan's invisible shield. As much as she complained about being under the stern witch's tutelage, she eagerly took to her lessons with the ancient woman, though not without the occasional snipe, she had a reputation to maintain after all.
It was a short walk to the house, where the no-maj's that lived in the shadow of the tower made their home. She found Fingers and Tacitus inside the dining room, both of them cleaning their weapons with an admirable single-minded focus. She pushed the door closed loudly, getting their attention.
"Morgan wants to go on an outing, so get yer arses in gear and saddle up."
Tacitus reacted immediately, completing the assembly of the rifle he was working on and standing up. Without a word, he strode past Cait and out through the same door she came in.
"Well, it's good to see you too. Arsehole."
"His brain was cooked. He has the personality of a radroach." Fingers noted, taking her time on the .44 she was working on. She spun the cylinder and flicked her wrist, trying to get the heavy piece of metal to pop into place. It's reluctance to comply agitated the former raider and she gave up and pushed it into place with a scowl.
"He do anything other than guard Morgan or clean his weapons?" Cait asked.
"Not really. Though he did react when I turned on the radio the other day. It was that Skeeter Davis song, the one where she's whining about her man not putting out or going away or something."
"The lady who wrote it was thinkin of her da. Apparently he died and she was sad about it. Must of have been a good chap for her to write words like that. I was glad when mine died… of course, I was the one who killed him, so not dyin would have been contrary to the point." Cait shrugged.
"How'd you know that?"
"Me ex had a thing for that singer, and for that song in particular. He'd talk about the old songs when the mood struck."
"Oh. Where is this beau of yours now?" Fingers asked.
"Hopefully being chewed on by a mongrel in a ditch somewhere. You ready?"
"Yeah. Yeah I'm ready."
POV: Morgan Le Fay
Tacitus arrived first, the thuds of his heavy boots reverberating through the room as he stomped in. He came to a halt and stood quietly, his heavy fists clenched at his sides, his face the same perpetual blank slate.
A few moments later, Fingers came in followed by Cait, the two young women chatting amiably. The former raider and former slave were surprisingly friendly to one another, neither holding the other's past profession against them.
They quieted as they came up to stand close to Tacitus, looking to her expectantly. She extended her arms and nodded slightly as the trio laid a hand on one of her arms, Fingers noticeable paling though she didn't hesitate.
Morgan focused her waning magical energies and apparated from the tower with her companions in a flurry of black.
She reappeared miles away, at the very edge of the Glowing Sea.
"Ah hell. What the fuck are we doing out here?" Cait groused, frowning at the glowing green sky.
'The answer is in there… somewhere.' She thought, even as a wave of fatigue brought her to her knees.
Magic took more out of her by the day, and it was that sudden onset of vertigo and exhaustion that allowed another presence to surprise her. At least, that was excuse she would ruefully give herself later.
The child, for no one that small swallowed up in robes far too large for it could be anything but, stared at her with eyes slightly too large for its face. It almost felt as if time had been frozen and a still image of a child was inserted into this particular frame of it.
"And who might you be, child?" She asked, ignoring Cait's vulgar question for the moment, her voice coming out a little more huskily than she would normally use, her throat suddenly quite dry.
The child squeaked in reply, suddenly animate but no closer to recovering from the shock of their sudden arrival.
"What's a wee lad like that doing on the edge of the Glowing Sea?" Cait asked.
Morgan sighed and drifted closer, murmuring soothing words as she pressed her power outward, radiating waves of calm. She extended her senses and was surprised to find that the child carried a crude knife as well as a makeshift wand, red maple with a core made of… radscorpion sinew? A poor excuse for a wand, but good enough if one didn't have access to better material.
"He's armed. He has a poor wand and a knife." Morgan murmured.
Tacitus reacted immediately, raising the muzzle of his combat rifle in the child's direction. He paused at a gesture from Morgan, though he did not lower his weapon.
"Careful now. It's the little ones that will surprise you."
"That's what she said." Fingers remarked flatly.
A chuckle burst from Cait before she could stop it, glancing at Fingers who smirked back at her.
"This child will not harm us." Morgan declared, the weight of her gaze almost pushing the child in on himself, "He was set here to watch, isn't that right child?"
The boy nodded, his shock replaced with intrigue given the tilt of his head and light frown marring his otherwise innocent features.
"Watch for what?" Fingers prodded.
"For anything coming from the Glowing Sea." The child whispered, his voice leaping free of his throat as if with great effort. "My father wants more specimens for his experiments but I'm afraid to go in."
Morgan frowned in disapproval. "We have some measure of his character then, that he would send his young child into that desolation to satisfy his curiosity."
"I can relate kid. My da was that sort too." Cait growled.
"I'll have to go." The child forced out, "He'll be angry if I don't report to him about you."
"About us, huh?" Fingers stated, emphasizing each word as she edged in closer, her hand closing on the handle of her .44.
"We have standing orders. Any sighting of magical potential is to be reported to him immediately."
The boy stood, prompting nervous reactions from Morgan's three companions, hands tightening on weapons.
He glanced at each one and licked his lips nervously. His hand trembled as he withdrew the sad wand from his robes.
He gasped as the wand flew from his dirty fingers and slapped into Morgan's waiting palm. She analyzed it critically, a corner of her mouth twisting with disgust as she handed it back.
"As I thought. Elm with a radscorpion core. Go on then. Let's see what you can do. I'm curious to see you manage any magic with that rubbish."
"Rubbish?" The boy almost looked offended. "I killed the creature and harvested it myself! There are no finer ingredients in the Commonwealth for the making of w… what is that?"
Morgan held up a smooth pale wood wand with a gentle taper and a carved rondel on the wide end. "I made this last week, white ash with a horned serpent scale horn." She laid it in the boy's hands gently. "Try it."
The boy peered at her suspiciously for a long moment, then flourished the wand.
All around them in a circle at least a yard wide, flowers burst from the ground in a riot of colors. The boy gaped first at the flowers, then at the wand. He looked at Morgan with eyes at the verge of tears.
"It didn't hurt!" he exclaimed.
"No. Wands aren't supposed to hurt the wizard or witch using them, unless they are vastly off tuned with one another, not even all that often then." Morgan quoted from a book she had perused on the subject.
"What she means to say is that your wand is shite." Cait put in helpfully.
"Are you… are you giving this to me?" The boy asked.
"In return for something." Morgan answered.
The suspicious look returned with an air of vindication, as if the child was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Your name." Morgan murmured softly.
"Toby." The child managed after a few tremulous moments. "My name is Toby."
"Nice to meet you Toby. I'd hide that wand with a concealment charm if I were you, lest you lose it when you report to your father about our encounter."
"What?! You mean to let the brat tell his arse of a father about us?" Cait pushed Tacitus aside as she moved to confront Morgan.
"I have to agree. Seems foolish to inform someone we don't know that we were here." Fingers added.
"Oh we know who it is." Morgan waved away their argument, "His father is the Dark Wizard, Jeremiah."
"Is that the fucker who used to live in Salem?" Cait asked, peering at the boy with sudden interest.
"Yes. He was among its original inhabitants… well, original after the Great Muggle War. He essentially destroyed the first magical community there and has aspirations of creating a magical world modelled on his desires." Morgan answered.
"Weird how a raider gang like the Rust Devils are among his followers. They are decidedly not the type you'd expect from a dark wizard." Fingers interjected.
"Toby? Could you explain that? It is curious and surely sharing that bit of information won't cause you any problems with your father." Morgan cooed.
Cait could feel the weight of Morgan's magic behind the seemingly innocuous question, though it was subtle enough that perhaps the inexperienced young wizard here wouldn't notice it.
"Father is fascinated by the machines the muggles have built. He wants to combine the best of both into a new future for mankind." Toby intoned, as though it were a rehearsed speech.
"Oh really? Like how?" Fingers asked, her frown lines deepening.
"He built a mechanical suit. It was meant to make people stronger. But it hurts. My sister was put into it for failing against Harry Potter. She screamed until she tore her throat so badly that blood starting spraying from her mouth."
Even Fingers, the hardened former raider who was no stranger to sadism, gasped at that.
"I see. Thank you for sharing that with us and satisfying our curiosity."
"He wants you, you know." Toby admitted, his eyes glassy and unfocused as if speaking from a fog of drug addled euphoria. "He wants all of you. Even the no-maj. He'll breed you if he can. Turn or kill you if he can't. He wants us to have more brothers and sisters."
"How many siblings do you have?" Morgan prodded.
"26." Toby admitted, "That lived."
"Magicals?"
"Yes. There were many more that weren't. He used most of them up."
"I'm sorry, used them up?"
"Fuel for his engines, subjects for his experiments, or spare parts."
"I'm sorry for you Toby, truly. No child should have to grow up with a family like that." Morgan.
Cait snorted dismissively.
Morgan eyed her critically, "No child."
"But it happens anyway, doesn't it." Fingers said quietly.
"Yes it does." Cait murmured back.
Morgan turned her face back to Toby and knelt so that their faces were level. She smiled at him and tucked a lock of his hair back from his eyes.
"It's time to head back then, young wizard. I hope to see you again someday."
Toby's mouth was agape, that they were simply going to let him go or some other reason, even he didn't know.
With a final glance at the odd foursome, he turned on his heel and apparated away.
POV: Neville
Neville felt a little light-headed, gasping at every turn as he moved through the terrarium that Morgan had brought with her from Ilvermorny. It was his 3rd trip through so far, and he would spend every waking moment among the greenery were it not for his promise to help Lilith teach the 1st years. He paused in his examination of a young batch of mandrakes to consider that thought. 1st years. Does that title, that label, truly apply? No two were of the same age and only a handful were of an age that would have been considered normal for 1st years.
He glanced at his timekeeper and shook the errant thoughts from his mind. He would have little enough time for his work here if he allowed himself to be distracted. He had transplanted a portion of the dittany and asphodel crop to a greenhouse he had built in Salem proper. He had planned to transplant some mandrake and moly next, but had neglected to bring any earmuffs or plan for how he was going to move them without knocking out everyone he came across as he worked.
He sighed as he moved on to another small plot with some moly. The black-stemmed white, lily-like flowers were wilting a little, possibly due to the lack of starlight within the terrarium. He would rectify that he determined, as he knelt and gathered up his spade.
He prepared to plunge the silvery blade into the soft loamy earth when a pale white foot came to rest right where he was about to strike.
Neville yelped in alarm and hurled himself back, his body crashing into the leafy shrub-like wiggentree.
"Hello Neville. I imagine that rowan is quite cozy to lay on, but I doubt they or the bowtruckles appreciate being crushed like that." Luna reached down and took Neville's hand, helping him to his feet.
"Oh, you aren't allergic to wiggentrees or bowtruckles are you? You're all red and puffy." Luna asked, peering at his flushed face with concern.
He pulled a bowtruckle from his face and murmured an apology. He set it down and promised some woodlice next time he came and exhaled with relief when it agreed, "No, just shocked and embarrassed. You know, the normal way I feel whenever you're around."
Neville's heart sank at the crestfallen expression that settled over Luna's face like a darkening veil. "Because I'm mad about you." He blurted out, "No one else makes me as barmy as you do, and to make it worse, I get the feeling that even if you knew, you wouldn't… couldn't, care enough to return my affection!"
"You're bleeding." She murmured, her eyes locked onto his with an almost palpable force.
Neville reached up and found moisture with his fingertips. The warmth that been trickling down the right side of his face left a red smear on his hand when he glanced at it. He realized then that he still held his trowel, and that he had fallen on it and cut his head just above his right ear.
"Oh hell. Can we just say that my head injury made me a bit wobbly and that everything I just said was bonkers?" He pleaded.
"We could. But it would be less fun that way." Luna nodded at her own reasoning. "I came to ask you if you knew anything that would help against cancer. The Father of the Institute is very sick and I thought, if anyone could do anything for it, it'd be you."
"Oh, well, I um, might be able to do something. Depending on the cancer, it would likely have to be a combination of several potions and a few charms. The muggles were close to a cure before the bombs, but we can't really use what they learned, even if I knew where to find it."
"I'm happy to help. If we can help him, then we can move on to more important things."
"Like?" Neville asked.
"Like, where my shoes keep disappearing to? At Hogwarts, the other girls would hide them from me. But here I suspect nargles. There are so many more of them now."
"Ah, ok." Neville answered, the default response to most of what Luna declaimed.
"William!" He called.
"I'm right here! No need to shout!" The taciturn pukwudgie grumbled, popping up next to them as if it had been there the entire time.
"Ah, there you are. We need to find all the books written by Professors Spore and Sprout, and anything related to muggle research into cancer or other non-magical ailments."
"So I'm a librarian now? The gall of you hairless monkeys." William grumbled as he turned away and headed for the staircase. Every step was punctuated by more muttered complaints as he stomped down the stairs to the library level.
"Are those creatures ever happy?" Neville wondered aloud.
"All the time." Luna replied helpfully, "William positively radiates with happiness."
"Really?! How can you tell?" Neville asked, astounded.
"Typically, the more a pukwudgie complains, the happier he or she is. It's when they go quiet and sullen that you really need to watch out."
Luna looked back at the staircase that William had disappeared into, "They are pleased to be back among magical folk, though they tended to be withdrawn in the years before the Great War. Now, they can scarcely stand to be left alone. Funny how world ending apocalyptic events can change people."
"Um, yeah. Funny thing that."
Neville received the shock of his life when Luna suddenly got up on her toes and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, he held a hand to it and stared back at the witch with something approaching wonder.
"I'll meet you in the potions lab." She declared brightly, then skipped off to the staircase.
"Funny thing." Neville murmured.
POV: Harry
The landscape was a haze of greys, browns and greens, though lamentably sparse in the latter. The day had dawned bright and cheery, though those on board the Constitution were far too pensive to enjoy it. Harry stood braced in the rigging above the crosstrees at the top of the mainmast. He had opted to wear hardened leather armor in the Gryffindor colors, the ensemble a poignant reminder of his quidditch days.
"Just missing the cape." He mumbled to himself.
Daphne leaned against the forecastle below, similarly decked in leather armor though hers were in green and silver, the serpent of Slytherin proudly embroidered on her cuirass. She had somehow managed a deep green cape which complemented the emerald of her eyes and completed the illusion of days gone by.
It was curious how his feelings on that ancient house had changed since his Hogwart's days. Aided in no small measure by the beautiful witch he couldn't take his eyes from. As if sensing his regard, she turned and shaded her eyes to look up at Harry's perch. She waved and blew him a kiss, Harry pantomiming the act of catching it and placing it over his heart. He could sense more than see her smile, just as he was sure she could sense his.
Hermione, George, and Lilith were amidships, speaking with Captain Ironsides, the baritone rumble of the robot's synthesized voice a percussive buzz in Harry's ear. Of the three, only George was armored, though he chose a stripped down version of the muggle combat armor in bright red and gold, the lion of Griffyndor resplendent on his pauldrons and cuirass. It was outrageously ostentatious, but at least it wasn't a rubber chicken or some other ridiculous mascot.
Barney Rook had arrayed his squad around the railing of the deck, each of them grimly intimidating in their dark grey T-45 power armor. They had designed a quartered sigil in homage to the old schoolhouse, each of the houses represented on a shield which was artfully painted on each of their breastplates. Hermione had carved runes on each of the six to further augment their impressive protective capability.
Harry couldn't help but believe that Salem alone could bring Saugus low, but Jonathan was a firm believer in the concept of asynchronous warfare and was unflappable in his belief that this assault must be both overwhelming and send a profound message.
The Constitution was sailing the skies at a sedate pace, a necessity for the message Jonathan intended. It wouldn't do for Salem to arrive before the Minutemen and steal all the glory. Harry chuckled at the thought, even as he realized the importance of showing the Commonwealth that not only did Salem and the Minutemen stand together, but that they were more than capable of meeting any challenge.
Driving north, a single APC was negotiating the cracked and broken asphalt. It was a victory for Isobel Cruz and her team's efforts. They operated from what was formerly the Mechanist's Lair which was now retooled to construct all manner of mechanical marvels. A trio of imposing sentry bots in Minutemen colors helped the old world vehicle navigate the torn roadways. Together, they would close off any possibility of retreat or reinforcement from the south.
Jonathan himself led a platoon strength force of crack troops, the Minutemen's finest, in T-51 power armor painted dark blue and the lightning bolt/musket symbol stenciled on their breastplates. They had set out early in the morning from the Red Rocket barracks south of Sanctuary. They were the main assault team, the ones who would be clearing out the Ironworks once the others secured the perimeter.
Finally, Preston Garvey and the single Minuteman survivor of Finch, a young woman named Nixen, were leading a company of just over fifty Minutemen from the Castle. They were to provide support and create a perimeter as well as act as spotters for Jonathan's 'Final Solution.' Jonathan had only grinned when Harry had asked him what that was. This company had left first, given that they had more distance to cross.
Harry had flown overwatch for them late the previous night, though the small army met no resistance as they marched in sync from the Castle, a sonorous drumbeat keeping time for them as they marched. Harry chuckled as raiders and scavvers scurried into cover once the force came into view, and had hummed in surprise when a group of super mutants turned around and head back to Trinity Tower instead of meeting the Preston's force. Super mutants typically engaged in any opportunity to fight, regardless of the odds… though in fairness to them, the odds were almost always in their favor.
Despite the long night and the equally long day their plans promised, Harry was too full of energy, surging like lightning through his veins, to feel any fatigue. He imagined passing out hard once the euphoria of the day washed off of him. He only hoped that he'd have a certain blonde woman to warm his bed when he inevitably succumbed to exhaustion.
The Constitution groaned and shuddered beneath him as it tacked to port to present its broadside to the distant grey bastion of the Forged. The raiders undoubtedly saw them, but they were well out of range and because they weren't utter fools, began to weave a protective shield around the ship. Harry nodded in satisfaction as the glowing bubble of magical power cascaded into a sphere around them, painting the land beyond in a kaleidoscope of wavering colors, like looking up from underwater.
It was time to begin.
POV: Greg
Greg scratched the left side of his nose, the ugly burn scars across that side of his face bothering him more than usual. He yawned profoundly, the pressure of his inhalation forcing an impressive volume of gas from his rear. He chuckled at how loud it was and how the tiny candle flared once before going out. Kim let a colorful stream of curses define precisely how little she appreciated being awoken like that, the woman kicking herself free from the sleeping bag they had shared the night before.
"Gods balls, what the fuck did you eat asshole?" She muttered angrily, punching him in the shoulder hard enough to rock him.
"About 3 cans of that meat we got from those rotting fucks at the Slog. It's doing something to me guts."
"Yeah, no shit! It smells like one of those ghouls crawled up your ass and died!"
Greg guffawed, her ability to turn a phrase having attracted him to her more than her looks, which were nothing to write home to mom about.
She stood and scratched her leg just beneath her panties, having to bend over a bit to reach. The acrid tang of old sweat and sex assaulted his nostrils and he felt a twinge in his crotch as he breathed it in.
He reached up and pulled her down on to his lap, letting her feel his burgeoning arousal against her ass as he wrestled to get her lined up for some quick fun.
"God damn it, I'm supposed to relieve Larry topside. He'll bitch to the boss if I'm late again."
Greg didn't listen, he just bit at the junction between her neck and shoulder and let his tongue taste the salt of her skin. He reached around her and gripped her breasts hard, his ministrations encouraged by the throaty growl that rumbled in Kim's throat. That was another thing he liked about her, she was always ready for a tumble; Larry's bitching be damned.
A shudder jolted through his whole body, plaster dust raining down on his head as he worked at her neck with his mouth.
"Stop you idiot. That was an explosion."
It took a moment for him to comprehend her words, "A what?"
The building shook as if in answer. A reinforced concrete smelting facility… shaking.
He growled his annoyance at whoever was interrupting his fun. He stood and pulled on his harness, the elastic bands scratching furrows across his shoulders in his haste. He fumbled about until his hands closed on the automatic pipe rifle he had modded himself and grabbed what ammo he could in the darkness.
Kim had likewise dressed with alacrity, and was loading a fresh magazine in her modified hunting rifle. She was a good shot, so he had modded it as a sniper, with a good scope and muzzle brake. It was one of the few things in the place that was clean and well-maintained, which meant that she prized the gift.
He grinned at it and at her, "Come on babe, let's kill us some dumb asses and have a good fuck next to their flaming corpses."
"You're such a romantic." She cackled, slapping him firmly on the ass as he started for the stairs leading down to the second floor.
Greg whistled as he kicked the metal door open, his usual declaration of 'Surprise mother fuckers!' dying in his throat at the sight before him. Kim came out behind him and grunted in shock as she made out what he was looking at.
There was an army out there, and there was no question as to who it belonged to. After the pasting they had given them at Finch Farms, Greg was sure that the cowards wouldn't dare cross them again. He was wrong.
They were too many to count, and from what he could see, they had already surrounded the Ironworks and everyone that had been on guard duty that morning was either a red smear or a smoking pile of ash.
He gasped at the ominous sounding groan of metal and wood as a flying fucking ship turned from ahead of them and headed off toward the Hub City Auto Wreckers. He had no opportunity to ponder what that ship was doing as he suddenly found himself on his ass, his breath stolen from his lungs.
A shadow fell over him and Greg squinted as he looked up, a towering behemoth in powered armor looming over him like armored death. He turned to Kim, the last thing he saw before a bright light flashed in his skull was the terror forever imprinted in her wide dead eyes.
POV: Jonathan
Jonathan plowed through the dead raiders and pushed through the door they had just exited, a pair of his boys coming through behind him. He hadn't actually meant to land on the female like that, but he wasn't going to argue with the result, the impact of his landing crushing everything below her sternum into paste. The man had gaped like an idiot for all of the 2 seconds before he crushed his skull with his armored fist, the bone of his face offering little resistance to his augmented strength.
"Lights on, spread out and advance." He intoned, the speakers removing all humanity from his voice. He hefted an assault rifle decorated with a green shark motif, the barrel painted with its toothy maw. He strode forward as the corrugated steel gang plank shuddered beneath his weight, the map of the interior fresh in his mind from their last visit to this den of scum.
He spotted movement below him next to a massive steel cauldron filled with steaming ash. His armor pinged the target with a red arrow, indicating that it had not received the proper IFF signal. He fired a burst of 5.56mm rounds and was rewarded by a cry of pain. The Forged who had been taking cover behind the cauldron fell to the ground, his gibbering moans cut off abruptly as 3 other lines of traced rounds intersected with him, ripping through his piecemeal cage armor with brutal efficiency.
His squad marched through the facility, their heavy footfalls echoing around the interior like the staccato drumbeat of war. A few of the less fanatic Forged threw down their weapons and pleaded for mercy, a situation that Jonathan had planned for but had thought unlikely. Still, each member of his squad was equipped with at least two sets of handcuffs, their standing orders to secure any captives by wrist and ankles.
His head jerked to the side as a profound cry of pain echoed to his right. Peering through the smoke created by the gunfire, he spotted one of his people restraining one of the raiders, only they were cuffing them wrist to ankle. The powered armored Minuteman was contorting the hapless raider like a pretzel to make it work and he couldn't for the life of him decide if his man was being purposefully obtuse or was doing it for laughs. He made a mental note to check later, for as funny as it was, his troopers had to be disciplined on the field.
He met one of his sergeants, a matronly woman named Jenny who had lost her entire family to raiders, at the entrance to the main smelting area. She took up position to the left of the doorway and nodded the question at him. He held up a fist to hold for a moment as he took position to the right. Moments later, one more of his squad showed up, an older man named Sheffield who was surprisingly a natural at powered armored combat. He had chosen to decorate one of his pauldrons with a well-drawn picture of Nuka Girl, which made him stand out more than the others. Sheffield stood in front of the door with a mini-gun and braced himself as he waited for the order.
Jonathan nodded to Jenny and they turned simultaneously and kicked in a door each, the resounding crash of both doors flying off their hinges drowning out any shouts of alarm that might have greeted their sudden entrance.
Light return fire plinked against their plates like peas flicked against tin. At a quick glance, half a dozen Forged were foolishly gathered together on the elevated walkway above them.
"Sheffield, take out the supports on the left! Jenny, keep them pinned!"
The man nodded and spun up his minigun, in moments a storm of 5mm rounds began to tear into the ancient metal holding up the walkway. He and Jenny added to the fusillade, firing for effect to keep the raider's heads down. One face popped up, the ugly sneer on the man's face marking him as the leader, a man Preston said was called the Burnt or some such.
The man ducked back down before Jonathan could put a few rounds into the waste of skin. Suddenly, a loud crack reverberated throughout the room as the stanchion to the left snapped. The walkway dropped down and swung to the right, dropping the raiders that were sequestered on it straight into the massive pit of molten metal.
The screams were ear piercing but blessedly short lived, the men and women igniting as they struggled for the scant few moments before the heat melted burned away any semblance of life. The quickly disintegrating corpses floated on top of the metal, a thick and greasy pall of smoke rising from the slightly darker areas of the bright orange funeral pyre.
"Serves 'em right, fucking scum." Jenny swore, and Jon was sure if she hadn't been wearing the helmet, she might have emphasized it with spit.
"Secure the room, make sure we got them all. Preston and his company will be scouring the building for anything of use before we go to the last phase."
"Yes sir." The duo stated in unison. He left them to it, stalking out with the realization that this was only the beginning.
POV: Harry
The owl arrived shortly after Jonathan began his assault. The white winged mechanical bird twisted in the wind and landed with a heavy thump on the cross tree next to him. It fluttered its wings with a metallic clink before hopping closer and presenting its message scroll proudly.
"Good work, girl." Harry patted the owl, swearing that it preened under the praise despite its synthetic nature.
Harry glanced at the brief message and nodded, "We're good to go. Let the others know girl."
The owl popped up and swooped, snatching the message from his hand before diving in a tight swirl toward the deck. Harry drew his wand and took a deep breath as the frigate began to move once again.
In moments, the maze of gutted vehicle carcasses and ramshackle huts that was once a scrap yard came into view. The plan was for Salem to standby in case the Forged had any surprises up their sleeve. Once the Minutemen determined that it had achieved surprise, then Harry's group would move on to neutralize the Gunners stationed at Hub City. Harry had to argue a little with Jonathan over that part of the plan, the man seemed to lose some of his vaunted stoicism where the Gunners were concerned. Harry recalled the battle at Starlight, when Jonathan had charged with almost reckless abandon, as if he had some personal vendetta against them.
He had since come to learn that the Gunners were led by someone who had grown up with the General. They both were products of the vault that made them the very pinnacle of what un-augmented humans could be. That one led a ruthless mercenary group that most considered barely a step above a common raider seemed to spit in the face of Jon's idealism. He was almost fanatic in his denial that Cypress had done what he had clearly done. He needed to face him at some point, face the truth that his brother in name had betrayed his training, and more to the point, had betrayed Jon.
The Gunners had seen and heard more than enough to prepare for their approach. Missile soared up from at least 3 points within the wreckage, each launcher cleverly hidden amongst the detritus. Harry smirked, clearly the Gunners operated under the false assumption that they needed to be seen for the magicals to affect them.
They were wrong.
"Confringo!" Harry shouted, jabbing his wand in the general area that one of the missile contrails led to. Fire blossomed as other, smaller flames erupted all across the area, the others adding their magical might to the assault. A brilliant beam of laser energy splashed against the shield protecting the hull and actually seemed to diminish it appreciably.
Harry peered down, adjusting his glasses to get a better view. He spotted a vaguely feminine robotic figure dashing through the pathways, its central eye glowing as it recharged its primary weapon. Harry took up his broom and leapt from his perch, hooting with glee as he plummeted. He could almost feel Daphne glaring a hole through his back as he mounted his broom with one quick sweep of his leg.
He swooped down until he was mere feet from the ground, his passage stirring up a cloud of dust as he raced through the ruins. His wand flashed and spat as he stupefied every Gunner he saw, laughing at the stunned expression frozen on their faces as they were blasted back.
Finally, he caught up to the assaultron and levelled his wand at it.
"Reducto!"
Harry wisely kept his eyes and mouth shut as he flew through the cloud of metal fragments, the assaultron's head spinning away and bouncing among the rusted cars.
He flew up to where the so called 'Gunner Commander' was reported to be, only to find that the others had gone straight there and held the female captain immobile in midair.
Harry grimaced a little at being robbed of his fun, then brightened when he considered that there might be more left in the wreckage below. He spun on his broom only to have his frown deepen once again. Barney had deployed his militiamen and they were clearing out the last of the Gunner resistance.
"You tossers take all the fun." He groused.
A/N: Next Chapter will wrap up the battle. I'm going on a little trip to visit the parents, but I'll see if I can write a bit while I'm out of town. Thanks for reading.