A/N: Hello readers. I apologize for the length of my sojourn from writing, but with the loss of my brother and the subsequent quarantine, the environment was not conducive to continuing this story at the time. I hope that all of you are staying safe and healthy. Because of the length of time since I've last worked on this project, my return to it may be fraught with continuity errors and differences in writing style. So bear with me if you can. My outline was very basic and only really detailed how I wanted it to end. Without any further ado, let us return to the Commonwealth.
Chapter 18: Easy Living – Ella Fitzgerald
POV: Luna and Soleil
"Do you hear that?" Luna murmured softly, her face turned up and eyes as unfocused as they often were.
Soleil merely sighed and shook her head.
"It's people, their memories were burned into the stones by the fire. It's quite sad actually."
Soleil glanced at the pale witch and looked around the ruin of downtown Boston. Her imagination ghosted on the edge of what once was; the noise and press of humanity echoing with the shadows of the past, the silent sentinels of brick and mortar casting them in an unnatural umbra. The fingers of darkness were like deathly shawls, defiant against the weak sunlight filtering in between the rib bones of the old city center. She strained her senses, but could only discern the faint sound of a gunfight taking place some distance away and the mournful dirge of wind whistling through the skeletal remains of the high rise buildings.
She suppressed a shiver and returned her focus to the task at hand, guiding the wisp of a woman along the so called, 'Freedom Trail.' The area was avoided by most, as this area was known only for how people could enter, only to never come out; never to be seen again.
With Soleil's vigilance and Luna's magical ability, they managed to circumvent or eliminate the threats that arose from the detritus of Boston's cityscape, whether overgrown vermin or those ghouls whose minds have irrevocably rotted away to the point of madness. Thankfully, there were no super mutants or worse to oppose them.
The late afternoon sunlight haunted their trail as they entered the Old North Church, a locale replete with history, which saved it not at all from the fires of perdition. It was a ruin, though surprisingly intact given the state of most buildings in the Commonwealth, though it was a maze of debris and collapsed material.
"This is where the trail leads. My gran told me that this building had historical significance, something about a signal, 'one if by land, two if by sea', whatever that means." Soleil intoned, her eyes faraway as she conjured an image of the larger than life woman who she called gran.
"It has something to do with the American Revolution I believe." Luna breathed, her attention already wavering as she skipped over the rubble strewn street in front of the ancient structure. The building seemed to scowl at them, as if the old church was given agency to act of its own accord, as if they were unwelcome and unwanted.
"Well, I guess there's nothing for it but to go in." Soleil sighed as Luna did just that, forcing her to scramble to keep pace with the witch.
The fading afternoon light was even more muted within the ruin, its gray light competing with a smattering of fire barrels haphazardly spaced around the nave of the church.
"I've always wondered who bothers to keep these things lit." Soleil muttered to herself.
"You do find them in the most curious of places." Luna added, surprising Soleil a little that the itinerant mind of the blonde woman had actually managed to focus on the present for once.
The rasping cry of a tortured soul cut off any further musings on the subject, as horribly maimed figures rose from piles of splintered and rotted wood; all that remained of the pews that once graced the site.
"More ferals, great." Soleil muttered, as she hefted her rifle and attempted to push Luna behind her.
Luna tilted her head to the side and murmured sadly, "They are so little of what they once were. I wonder if dying will let them be whole again. I hope that's the case."
Not spending the mental capital to ponder her companion's musings, Soleil brought her rifle up and fired two quick shots each into the closest ghouls, their harsh cries nearly drowning out the wet slaps of the bullets plunging into their mutated bodies.
"Oh shit…"
Dozens more began to crawl forth from every nook and cranny, the term 'coming out of the woodwork' a little too on the nose for Soleil's taste.
She pushed Luna backward with her body and continued to empty her distressing low ammo count into the very agitated ferals which surrounded them. Either Luna was distracted by something or simply didn't recognize that they were in dire peril, neither of which was out of the realm of possibility from Soleil's experience.
"There are people here."
Soleil barely heard the wisp of a girl speaking over the barking retort of her rifle, the words hardly registering beneath the wash of adrenaline which coursed through her body.
"Well that's just great kid, but is there any chance you could do some wand waving to help us out of this fracas?"
"Oh." Luna seemed to snap back to reality, "It IS awfully noisy in here. Between your gun and that awful howling, it's a wonder you can hear yourself think. Or myself think."
"Good of you to notice! Care to do something about it?"
"Some quiet would be good, it will help me listen for the people I can sense here. I think they're beneath us somehow. Must be a basement or a dungeon down there."
"Somnium. Somnium. Somnium." She intoned, over and over, the pale glow of her wand flitting about like an excited firefly. One by one, the ghouls slumped to the ground, the tattered rags they wore blending in with the dust of the ages and making them appear as nothing more than mounds of filth amidst the wreckage. Soleil breathed heavily, the clank of her last spent casing plinking against her belt buckle before creating a small crater in the thick dust carpeting the floor.
"That's handy. I can't help but consider how helpful that would have been in any number of circumstances." Soleil muttered, eyeing the blonde witch askance.
But she could only sigh as Luna had already moved on, her thin pale fingers wafting over the wreckage as if she were afraid to touch the ruin, but compelled by some unseen force to dare.
"The nargles are trying to trick me, again." Luna murmured.
"I think it's that way." Soleil gestured with her rifle in the direction of a shadowed alcove, the rusted hinges the only evidence of the door that once stood there. Luna hummed something which made the hairs rise on the nape of her neck, but she ignored it as she led the way through the yawning portal.
Stepping carefully over displaced brick, the pair soon found themselves descending into an old trapdoor into an undercroft, the worn red brick dimly lit by haphazardly spaced candles. Peering into an alcove, Soleil shuddered at the skull which leered back at her, its grin forever locked into a leer.
She shook her head vigorously and stepped back, chiding herself for her childish fears. If her life had taught her anything, it's that there is nothing to fear from the dead… only the living.
She caught up with Luna further down the passageway, the witch's attention captured by the same curious circular emblem they had followed on the streets outside. This one appeared to be some type of mechanism, with the central portion rotating like some type of lock.
"They are behind this door… they're waiting for us."
"Jesus." Soleil shivered, something about the way Luna having said that causing an uncontrollable shiver to course down her spine.
Shaking off her discomfiture… again, she took another look at the emblem and made note of the letters arranged around the outer circle.
"If it's some kind of a lock or puzzle, I bet we turn the dial and spell out railroad."
"That seems rather simple." Luna murmured, sounding almost disappointed.
"Yeah, well. For all their claims to subtlety, it seems they cleave more toward their symbolisms than secrecy."
Simple or not, the mechanism seemed to welcome their advance, as it rotated easily as they spelled out the name of the ubiquitous yet elusive organization. The wall swung inward on a cleverly disguised hinge, revealing a dazzling light which blinded them to what lay beyond.
"That's far enough." The voice was carried to them on a miasma of cigarette smoke, the husky tenor of it oddly pleasing despite the veiled threat implicit in the tone.
Their eyes adjusted enough to make out an angry looking woman hefting a minigun, its ominous barrel pointed directly at them. To her right, the supposed owner of the sultry voice, a middle-aged woman in leathers with a lit cigarette clamped between her ruby red lips.
"Now, you're going to tell me who you are and give my friend here a very compelling reason not to fill you with lead."
"I'm Soleil, this is Luna. We are from New Salem and are looking for the Railroad. I hope that's a good enough reason to not kill us out of hand." Soleil muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
"Desdemona. Glory." Luna breathed, and glancing to the right, adding, "Deacon."
His breath hitched at being so easily found, the agent stepped out of the shadows. He recovered quickly and grinned at the duo, nodding in respect.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the witch, 'Desdemona' cigarette tossed aside with rancor at the affront of being so unceremoniously named by the eerie young woman before her.
"How the fuck do you know who we are?" In response to her tone, 'Glory' set the barrels spinning, the high pitched whine a threat all its own.
"Easy Des, there's an explanation for all this, but you may have trouble believing it. Hell, I have trouble and I've seen it with my own eyes." Deacon was quick to interject, stepping in between Glory and their visitors.
Desdemona's face lit up with an amber glow as she lit another cigarette, drawing on it deeply as she regarded the two women suspiciously. She gestured in Glory's direction, the perceptive heavy easing off her itchy trigger finger at the signal. Her eyebrows cocked in impatience, she grunted in affirmation and seemed to ease into a less hostile stance.
"We came from Salem." Soleil started simply, taking the lead to keep the strange young witch from saying something nonsensical which could inadvertently start a shooting war with the nervous Railroad.
"Heard about a group of people setting up there. A lot of weird rumors coming from the north." Des glanced at Deacon meaningfully, "Some of it is indeed hard to believe."
"Long story short, a group of wizards and witches came over from the UK and set up there. Regular folk don't much care how they do what they do, all they know is that they are safe, eat regular meals and a have roof over their heads." Soleil added, a hint of pride in her voice.
"Has anyone seen my shoes? I seem to remember having shoes when we came, but my feet are dreadfully cold." Luna stated suddenly.
The group looked down at her feet, and sure enough, her pale feet stood out in sharp contrast with the dark red brick.
Soleil could only shake her head as the others looked to each other, bafflement coloring their expressions with varying degrees of incredulity.
Shaking off the stupor sooner than the rest, Deacon scratched the side of his face and shrugged away his concern, "In any case, Ms. Lovegood's missing shoes notwithstanding, I can vouch for these two. Luna here is in fact, a witch and tall, dark and good-looking here is a skilled fighter originally from the Pitt."
Soleil maintained her stoicism, but to those paranoid people who trained to pick up on every nuance, the Railroad members took note of the brief shock she displayed at Deacon's insight.
"A witch…" Des muttered, "really Deacon, is this another one of your… colorful stories?"
Deacon patted the air, "Whoah, whoah! Me? A storyteller? Ms. Lovegood, would you be so kind as to display a little of your… erm, wand waving, to our less than trusting hosts?"
A mere ghost of a smile graced her as her eyes became unfocused and far away. She drew her wand from a pocket and let her smile deepen as she flourished it grandly, "Expecto Patronum."
POV: Danse, Harry and Daphne
The jarring impact upon arrival, not to mention the nightmarish twisting of reality that characterized their journey here, left Danse reeling, with only the comforting bulk of his power armor to ground him. He shook his head violently to clear it of the unsettling experience and insisted to himself that he was not nauseated. Thankfully, the sensations abated somewhat quickly and his training and discipline took over. Danse raised his rifle and quickly scanned their surroundings for any sighting of hostiles.
"All clear."
He turned to his companions, the remarkable civilians whose unique skills were undeniably advantageous and whose character thus far had proven to be far above that of the typical wastelander. Mr. Potter, despite looking somewhat ill-kept, appeared both brave and loyal while Mrs. Greengrass had already proven herself beyond a shadow of doubt during their mission to retrieve the deep-range transmitter.
Mr. Potter flashed him a grin, a sparkle in his eyes. No doubt finding amusement in Danse's discomfiture at their mode of travel. He sighed in annoyance but otherwise gave no outward sign that the man was correct. Daphne was far more sympathetic, with concern for him clear in her eyes. For some reason, that was worse than Harry's good-natured ridicule.
Quick to get on mission, Danse checked the pulse beacon signal and found it to be coming in strong and clear. A devastated shell of a house beckoned as the probable source, and as he moved in that direction, his theory proved correct as the signal strengthened further.
"Oh no." Daphne breathed, her shoes kicking up a small cloud of dirt as she stuttered to a halt. Harry adjusted his glasses and peered into the ruin, his sigh taking on an almost palpable air.
Danse slowed his march as he beheld the terrible scene, a crater littered with the half-melted shells of Brotherhood power armor. He strode respectfully around the scene, his eyes taking in every detail.
"Most of these suits were set to destruct, probably to prevent them from falling into enemy hands."
"You mean, they were empty when this… happened?" Daphne asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Affirmative, at least, for some of them." Danse quietly noted, the twisted remains of at least two knights seared into their armor glaring up at him in condemnation.
Leaning against a wall was the third knight, a man he recognized, a man he had fought alongside back in the Capital Wasteland before he had been assigned to Recon Team Artemis.
He knelt as much as his power armor would allow and placed a hand on Knight Varham's shoulder, the other reaching beneath the man's chin to pull his holotags free. A glance to the left revealed the source of the radio beacon, the Brotherhood technology still operating, still broadcasting the squad's distressing end three years later.
"Did you know him?" Harry asked quietly.
"I did. He was a good man, a good soldier. Even in the end… he did his duty." Danse stood up, gathering the beacon and a holotape that the knight had left.
"He deserved better than this." Daphne added, though it came out almost as a question.
"He did. They all did." Danse confirmed, "I'll tag them for later retrieval and burial. Perhaps their gear can be salvaged and made into new armor for other knights, and so the Brotherhood lives on. Ad Victoriam, Brothers."
Harry and Daphne kept a respectful distance, a consideration Danse appreciated for its nod to operational security as much as for his feelings, which he considered was likely their sole motivation. Still, it wouldn't do for civilians to overhear Knight Varham's final words.
"…ambushed on the road. We're outnumbered five to one! Varham, report!" That was Paladin Brandis' voice, the commander of the recon team.
"Core's down to 5%!" Varham's voice, hearing it again like this sent a chill down Danse's spine.
"We'll have to scuttle the armor. We can't let them have it-" Brandis again.
"Varham!" Another member of the team? He didn't recognize the female voice.
"Damnit! Astlin, set the self-destructs! Faris, fall back! We'll head for the old military base, then try to make it to our holdout. The code will be our callsign. All right, move! Move! Move!" Brandis' order was the final recorded voice on the holotape, the audio serving as a blackbox of the Varham's final moments and offering some clues as to what the remainder of the squad did next.
"It appears that the survivors headed for an old military outpost. Do you have any map information on your wrist computers about any such site nearby?"
Harry tinkered with his Pip-boy and adjusted his glasses as he peered at the display, "Yeah, the Minutemen updated our maps with locations they were aware of, looks like a National Guard Armory is nearby. That could be it."
"Roger that, it sounds like our best lead. Let's move out."
Daphne and Harry shared concerned looks.
"Paladin Danse? Do you need a moment?" Daphne asked, daring to approach and lay a hand on the paladin's arm.
He glared in her direction, but his expression softened immediately at the clear concern in her eyes.
"I appreciate your concern Ms. Greengrass, but it is unnecessary. My mission is ascertain the location and status of the remaining members of Paladin Brandis' squad. It is the best way to honor these men and I fully intend to do just that. I will not fault you if you prefer not to accompany me."
"We're with you Danse." Harry declared firmly, a notion that Daphne supported with a nod and a small smile.
"Thank you. We've lingered here long enough. Let's move out."
The journey to the National Guard Armory was blessedly quiet, the miles between the two locations somewhat desolate with only the occasional cawing of crows to herald their passage. Despite whatever misgivings his two companions had, Danse appeared steadfast, his face hardened with a fierce determination.
The miles melted away beneath their feet, the brisk walk reminding Harry what he most appreciated about flying as his feet protested their ill treatment. He kept his complaints to himself, and was soon rewarded by a cluster of buildings with the twisted ruin of a vertibird laying on its side. There were a number of concrete bunkers along one side of the structures and a dormant parking lot opposite. The once vibrant colors of the various cars parked here having assumed a muted rust color, sad remnants of a once brighter age.
"Turrets along the roof edge on that large bunker, and more on the main building. That one should be a barracks, the signal appears to be coming from there." Danse reported, his keen eyes taking in every detail as they scanned the periphery.
Harry had a suspicion that made his scar itch ever so slightly, a palpable indication of his magical senses telling him that there was more here than his eyes perceived. Holding out an arm to signal Danse for quiet, he waved his wand and murmured, "Homenum Revelio."
He grimaced after a moment, "There are people hidden all over the place. But they don't quite feel right. At a guess, I'd say feral ghouls."
"It doesn't surprise me that ferals would infest a place like this." Danse muttered, "We need to move tactically, our mission is to discover the rest of Squad Artemis and effect a rescue or… a recovery."
Harry huffed at the unnecessary reminder and considered the problem.
"A strong enough sleeping charm should keep them in place, at least long enough for us to investigate inside." Daphne pointed out.
"And if it doesn't, we'd be surrounded and overwhelmed by the abominations." Danse stated flatly.
"You have another idea?" Harry snapped, more than a little irritated at his quick dismissal of Daphne's plan.
Danse looked around, the gears turning in his head as he assessed the environment.
"If we could draw them out, funnel them into a kill zone."
Daphne sighed at the violent solution, but also fully aware of the danger feral ghouls could present. She glanced over at Harry and saw the grim look etched on his face.
"The charm isn't clear on how many there are, we could find ourselves overwhelmed pretty quickly. I'd feel better if we had some backup." Harry stated flatly, his eyes strangely unfocused.
"Maybe they got Radio Freedom up?" Daphne wondered aloud, and began fiddling with her pip-boy to try to obtain the Minuteman radio signal.
Danse glanced at her curiously, unsure of her meaning, but trusting in her enough to bide his time.
"There it is." She murmured, biting her lip as she turned up the volume.
"This is Radio Freedom, voice of the Minutemen. Hello to all of you listening in on our inaugural address. Have some news for you all tuning in. If you haven't heard, our very own General, with a handful of brave Minutemen and our friends from Salem, have retaken the Castle!"
The broadcast was accompanied by a brief fanfare, the scratchy audio of old world trumpets both saddening and nostalgic.
"I wish all of our news was good, but we've received reports that Finch Farms has fallen. You heard me right, Finch Farms has fallen. I have it on good authority that the General himself is going to address this personally, more to come!"
Danse's expression was thoughtful; it was a major coup for the ragtag militia group to have a regional communications capability, but it was bad operational security to announce strategic information like the fall of one of their settlements.
"Let me see if I can contact them." Daphne stated, after a brief pause to absorb the news.
Harry looked somewhat disconcerted, worry creasing his forehead and his scar seeming to blaze against his pale skin.
"Radio Freedom? This is Daphne Greengrass, can you hear me alright?"
"I have you Lima Charlie, Mrs. Greengrass. How can the Minutemen help?"
"We are just outside an old National Guard Armory, we tracked a distress beacon to this location, but we fear that it's infested with ghouls or worse. We could use some back up."
"I know which one you mean, clearing that place out would actually help out several nearby settlements; I'm sure they'll all sleep better at night having less worry about a feral ghoul attack."
They could all hear the profound sigh coming from the radio operator, "Normally we'd detail a detachment from Finch… but, well, I assume you heard of what happened there?"
"We just heard the broadcast, yeah." Harry interjected, "We helped Jonathan and the Finches set that place up. How did it fall with all that?"
"I don't know how much I can tell you over the air," Danse huffed at that, "but from the survivors, some of the attackers used magic. They described the outer wall exploding and fireballs being lobbed into their settlement."
Both Daphne and Harry gasped at that, the shock of the news striking at them like a thunderbolt.
"But, County Crossing is doing well. We've dispatched reinforcements to that settlement in case whoever attacked Finch gets it in their heads to go after them. I think they can spare a squad to come give you a hand."
The trio pulled back from the bare hillock overlooking the training yard, positioning themselves to be in line with any advance from County Crossing to the East-Southeast. With the lack of shade, Harry conjured a large umbrella like shield to block the searing radiance from the midday sun and the group settled in to wait. Danse stubbornly stood just outside the blessed shade provided by Harry's charm and paced agitatedly, his head constantly rotating as he peered about with an almost frightening intensity.
"I wish you'd stop pacing." Harry muttered.
"I wish you'd take this more seriously. The report from those militia, as unreliable as it might be, is still cause for concern. It significantly alters our strategic position. In fact, once Scribe Haylen can establish contact with the Citadel, I will be making a formal request for reinforcements." Danse snapped.
Harry and Daphne shared a look at the implications of a greater Brotherhood presence in the Commonwealth. Danse was a textbook soldier and had displayed a certain intolerance for anything not within his narrow definition of 'good'. How would more of his kind react to Salem and its population? Or the mixed populace of the Minuteman protected settlements across the northern Commonwealth?
These questions would have to wait, as Daphne's pip-boy began beeping insistently at them, the squeal of the radio coming to life with a crackle.
"Daphne? Its Jonathan, Hermione and I need to talk to you. Now."
A few hours ago…
POV: Jonathan and Hermione
Jonathan was pleased that the trip back to the Castle from the Mechanist's Lair proven to be free of impediment. It showed that the steadily increasing Minuteman presence was helping to pacify larger sections of the once volatile ruins of Boston.
The company was of course, quite pleasant, the brunette carefully following in his shadow with her nose in a book. How she managed to read so intently and not trip on the detritus strewn path they took was beyond him, but for her sake, he did what he could to steer her along a more circuitous but smoother trek.
Behind them, trundling with mechanized clamor, were a quartet of newly reforged robots courtesy of Isabelle Cruz. In the lead was a dusky gray sentry bot, the Minuteman insignia proudly emblazoned on its chest plating. The barrels of its dual mini-guns glinted with menace in the mid-morning sun, an overt display of Minutemen power. It was followed by a pair of Mr. Handys, especially modified for general repair and maintenance work. They would be vital to the Castle's full restoration and ensuring that the edifice endured. Finally, a pair of RobCo Protectrons lumbered in the rear, both of them firefighting models with an axe hand and fire retardant sprayer on each respective arm. Isabelle originally had one of them configured as a medic, but one look at the angry blue-white sparks flying from its defibrillator attachment scrapped that idea. Jonathan felt that Ms. Nannys would be far superior, and tasked Isabelle with working on a design based on that frame.
Jonathan stopped suddenly, sensing something pensive in the air. He held a hand up to halt the robots, but realized his failure when Hermione walked into his back, staggering him.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, as her book flew from her hands.
"Sorry, sweetheart." He rumbled quietly, bending down to retrieve her lost tome.
"What is it?" She asked, taking the offered book back.
"There's something out there." He replied cryptically.
Hermione peered at the buildings along the waterfront, the haze of the castle barely in view in the distance.
"We're pretty close to the Castle. It doesn't make sense for it to be dodgy here."
"Maybe…" He murmured, unwilling to concede the point.
"Sentry, initiate scan. Search for biologicals in those buildings." Jonathan ordered.
"Acknowledged. Initiating scan." The sentry bot rumbled.
"Life signs detected."
"Well, bugger me." Hermione groused.
"That was fast." Jonathan agreed.
"Receiving IFF. Analyzing… life signs friendly. Minuteman signal received." The robot reported.
"General!" A distant voice cried out, accompanied by waving sentries spied atop a building not far from them.
Jonathan waved back nonchalantly, nodding to himself in approval at Preston's foresight of having a picket line set up away from the castle itself.
The lookouts must have radioed in, because as they approached the Castle, they noticed an honor guard already waiting for them.
Preston, his face split in the widest grin Jonathan had ever seen, led a small detachment of smartly dressed Minutemen.
"General!" He greeted. He stopped a few paces shy of them and almost as if practiced, saluted simultaneously as the honor guard.
Decorum satisfied, Preston moved forward and gripped Jonathan in a firm handshake.
"Wow Preston, that's quite the welcome! Hermione and I weren't gone that long were we?" Jonathan joked.
"Used to be that a day was much like the others, filled with despair and that anxious wait for death. Now, we have real hope. You and your friends made that happen." Preston smiled at Hermione, making sure to make her feel included in the compliment.
Hermione was surprised at just how much the Castle had changed in the few days that she and Jonathan had spent away, like the old edifice was given new life and had an electric eagerness to live up to the hopes of the souls living and working within.
The kelp and seaweed had been cleared, as well as the numerous mirelurk mounds that once dotted the courtyard like sickly pustules. The wall that the queen had crushed on her first assault of the castle was being cleared away by men and women who sang and joked as they worked. Finally, the radio tower in the middle was powered and manned, the blue flag of the Minutemen hoisted atop the dizzying height.
Preston wasn't disappointed at their reaction, as his grin widened even further at the awestruck expressions on their faces.
"Preston! Preston!" The radio operator was flagging them down, his eyes wide in barely contained panic.
Any words were stolen as the trio jogged over to the radio operator, whose eyes widened in recognition of the general and of the famous witch of Salem.
"Take a breath son, fill us in." Jonathan intoned steadily, something in his voice lending some of his steadfast stoicism to the radio operator.
"Yes sir, General, sir." He took a deep breath, "We received word of an attack on one of our settlements yesterday from Country Crossing, but their radio went quiet. The squad sent to investigate only left this morning, so they hadn't gotten there yet. I guess their radio had went out, because I just got them back on the air with a survivor from the attack. She's on right now."
Jonathan nodded and held a hand out for the man's microphone, "Put it on speaker."
"Hello?" A tiny voice crackled over the radio, "Are you still there?"
"We're here. This is the General on the horn. Just relax and tell us what you know."
"General!" The young woman on the other end exclaimed, Jonathan shaking his head at the effect his title was continuing to have on the volunteers he met with.
Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her calming presence sending waves of warmth through his body. He wondered for a moment if she was using some sort of charm on him, of the magic variety as opposed to the womanly type.
"I'm just another Minuteman, just like you. What's your name?"
"Um, Nixen, sir."
"Ok, Nixen. Let's start at the beginning. What settlement were you stationed at?"
"Finch Farms, sir."
Jonathan took a deep breath… Abraham and his family. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that the attack on Finch was related to the action he ordered Preston to take against Saugus. The 'Forged' were fire worshipping maniacs that threatened The Slog, Greentop and Finch directly.
"Ok, go ahead. Tell us what happened."
"I was on night watch," her shuddering breath came through ragged, "when the southern rampart just… blew up! All hell broke loose, it was chaos! There was a lady with one of those sticks, waving it around and doing things. She threw the Finches across the settlement without even touching them! Fireballs flew over the northern wall while the Forged poured through. My boyfriend was cut down with laser fire… it…"
The rest was broken by the muted sounds of sobbing, the plaintive cry denying them the will to interrupt its heartbreaking song.
Once it quieted down a little, Jonathan cleared his voice and spoke into the microphone, "Did anyone else make it?"
"Two kids, I picked them up and ran once Trevor was gunned down. I… I was so scared!"
"It's alright Nixen." Jonathan said comfortingly, "You did the right thing. You saved the little ones and got them to safety. You make the Minutemen proud. You make me proud."
A sigh, "Thank you sir."
She wanted to believe that she did the right thing, but Jon and Hermione both knew she was going to suffer survivor's guilt for some time.
"Nixen, I want you to try and remember as much as possible so that we can plan our response."
"Our response sir?" She asked.
"We're not taking this lying down." He growled.
POV: Danse, Harry and Daphne
Danse's head snapped to the left, his entire body tensing beneath hundreds of pounds of power armor as he surveyed the land to the south east.
"What is it?" Daphne asked.
"Someone is coming." He murmured, his grip tightening on his laser rifle.
Harry stood up and moved next to Daphne, adjusting his glasses and peering in the same direction Danse was fixated on.
"Minutemen." Danse reported after a few moments, though his tone didn't indicate any relief at the news.
Harry shook his head and strolled forward to meet the three men and two women who were marching toward them.
The lead Minuteman, a grizzled woman with a nasty scar across her face, waved in a friendly enough manner. Her four companions spread out and faced outward in a guarded position.
Harry nodded in approval of their caution, it appeared that the Minutemen became more professional with each passing day.
He noted that they were all kitted out in laser muskets and leather armor, and that they all wore their blues. Jonathan's efforts to standardize his people's equipment bearing fruit. No more pipe guns and threadbare rags for this army!
He considered doing the same for the Salem Militia, something that would make the blokes stand out from the Minutemen and give them their own edge the next time they had to face off against the myriad threats in the Commonwealth. He'd have to talk it over with Barney, though he was sure the man would welcome anything that gave his people even a semblance of professionalism.
"Good to see you lot. I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
The woman smiled, which had the unfortunate effect of twisting her scar and giving her a ghastly appearance, "I heard o' you. Friend of the Minutemen. I'm Mabel of County Crossing. My squad heard you were having some issue with ferals, and we owe you more than a little. How can we help?"
Harry flashed his customary grin, "This is Daphne Greengrass and that bloke over there is Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Brotherhood? Heard o' them too. Not all of it is nice, though. Still, if he's with you, that's good enough for me and mine."
Harry nodded in understanding, "The Brotherhood had sent out a team some time ago, things didn't go well for them. We're helping Danse here track down some distress beacons, maybe find any survivors."
Danse tromped over and took over the conversation, much to Harry's annoyance.
"Mr. Potter is correct, we are receiving the distress beacon signal from within that building there. Mr. Potter and Ms. Greengrass have discovered that the area is infested with feral ghouls. We do not know the exact number or disposition, so we thought it prudent to request reinforcement." Danse growled out the last bit, making it clear to all what he thought of that particular idea.
Mable eyed him askance and turned her attention back to Harry, "Got it. What do you need from us?"
Danse opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when Harry cut in, "I figure we can draw them out, make them come to us. We could set up a…"
"Firing line." Danse supplied helpfully.
"Right, a firing line. Along this ridge here and cut them down in the open where we won't get swarmed."
Mabel nodded, "Good thinkin, ferals are much harder to deal with in cramped, ruined buildings."
With something of a plan established, the Minutemen under Mabel lined up on either side of Danse, who by his very presence, formed an anchor for the firing line. The militia set up a few paces apart from one another and knelt, their muskets held easily in their hands as they waited for the moment of truth. Danse looked up and down the line and noted that all was in readiness.
"In case this goes wonky, Daphne and I will cover you while you fall back and regroup at Country Crossing, hopefully it won't all go to pot." Harry said lightly.
He glanced at Daphne, who smiled and nodded her readiness. They raised their wands and pointed it at the brick wall nearest to them, just to the right of the crashed vertibird.
"Bombarda Maxima!" They shouted in unison.
A/N: Hello readers. I want to thank you for your patience in following this story and getting through my muddled storytelling. I believe I have regained enough impetus to finish this story, which will involve more world building and story resolution.
I stopped a little sooner than I had outlined for this chapter because I need some help. The next section will see Harry and Daphne summon their respective Patronus. We know that Harry's is a stag, but we don't have any canon sources that specify what Daphne's is, or even if she had one. I am going to assume she is skilled and powerful enough to have a patronus, but I will ask you, as the reader, what form do you think Daphne's patronus would take? Drop me a message or leave a review with your idea! Thanks for sticking with the story!