A/N:

Sorry for the delay in updating these stories. Had a tussle with Covid and got over it. The New Vegas story will be updating in a day or two.

Several miles North of Boston, between it and the town of Malden and beyond, were mixes of adolescent suburb projects, woods, and out of the way homes. There was also a National Guard base.

Prior to the war, it had been both an active base, a recruitment center, and a training base. 200 years ago, after the nukes had fallen on America, refugees from Boston had flooded the area seeking more aid than the beleaguered Citizen Soldiers could provide. Desperation and an ever increasing number of refugees had led to a violent storming of the base, and a violent battle between the National Guard troops and their fellow Americans.

The National Guard eventually lost, what little the base had was taken, and the desperate crowds moved on to find more help. But not all of them had left. Dozens of them, sick from the radiation baking Boston, had been too weak to move. But instead of adding to the number of corpses littering the area, they were victim to a worse fate: Ghoulification.

For over two centuries, no one had attempted to scavenge the area. Warnings spread all over the Commonwealth about the base in the woods overflowing with ghouls. People learned to avoid it, and only the most well armed caravans even risked traveling the road that passed the base.

The Sentinel of the Brotherhood, then only a Knight, had helped clear it with a Brotherhood Paladin soon after the Brotherhood entered the Commonwealth in force, allowing the Brotherhood to pick it clean. The occasional curious scavenger would explore, but the base had gone from a known danger zone to just another abandoned ruin.

Until earlier that year, when the base had been returned to its former purpose. The General of the Minutemen had decided to renovate the base and install a garrison there. Their efforts in Boston had pushed the Commonwealth's sentient threats further North into the woods and those aforementioned scattered houses, and that was a big problem for the many farms in the area. The woods themselves already were full of packs of wild dogs, aggressive mole rats, and other wild animals.

To fulfill their obligations to the Commonwealth's people, they needed a base closer to respond. With its standing armory, barracks, and other buildings, the National Guard center was perfect. The commander of this detachment was none other than Colonel Preston Garvey.

Truth be told, they spent more time fixing the base than they did fighting. The wildlife wasn't so hard that the irregular companies couldn't handle it, and the only raider group that had tried to make a move in the area had fled for the hills when they caught sight of the professional Minutemen. Their only action had been against two different super mutant bands a month apart. But if their mere presence deterred threats, they were still doing their job. Any sane person would rather spend their days working than fighting anyway.

And the whole thing had come together nicely. They'd had to gut and repair the second floors in the administrative building and the barracks, and most of the training fields had been reclaimed by nature, but it was better living than a lot of people got to experience. The officers had their own private quarters and offices. Every enlisted man had a bed, personal storage, and a roof over their head. They had a well stocked armory and medical area. Stoves for cooking and heating, water purifiers and even a small farm they all pitched in on. Communications gear taken from Gunners Plaza had been installed and let them broadcast all over the Commonwealth, same as the Castle. It was quite the transformation.

But to Preston, being in command was still the unbelievable part of all of it. He was definitely one of the most senior Minutemen, at least in the professional contingent and behind old Ronnie Shaw. He could certainly command soldiers in combat, be it against man, beast, or robot. But to him that wasn't enough to be an officer. The General must've thought differently when he tried to convince-not order-an initially reluctant Preston to take this important job. Not just him; Piper and Codsworth had also tried to encourage him. Even Danse, impartial to the Minutemen as he was, had commented on Preston being qualified to hold the position. After old Captain Shaw had raked him with a few less kind words on how the old Minutemen had continued on to honor their losses than just feeling sorry for themselves, Preston accepted the position.

If not for all that encouragement, Preston probably still would've accepted it eventually just because the General had asked him. Preston owed him his life. Once figurative and three times physically, although he'd made up for two of the latter already. He really didn't think he'd still be here if not for the General, even though General Howard modestly insisted no one (which was many people including Preston) owed him anything. He still never realized how unusual he really was.

The Commonwealth was safe. More than it had ever been. And yeah, the Brotherhood of Steel had probably had an impact too. But a lot of it could be attributed to General Howard. The Minutemen had had a lot of good Generals and a lot of good officers, but none with the quantity and mix quite like him. What Preston thought were the defining factors was the General's sheer conviction in how the entire Commonwealth was peoples' home, a willingness to actively fight across the entire region, and an ability to convince people to fight for the Commonwealth rather than just their homesteads and fellow man. And the results were hard to argue with.

Preston had lived and breathed the Minutemen back before Quincy. That rare kind like Colonel Hollis that didn't have their own farm or job or anything, they just spent all their time helping people. So to see the Minutemen transform into a more organized group wasn't a difficult shift for him at all. Preston was glad they could help people more efficiently now. It was enough to cancel out the more mundane aspects, like how he spent a lot of his time now doing logs, documents, and keeping computer records.

Not that Preston had completely embraced the new Minutemen style. He still had his laser musket when nearly everyone else had moved on to regular guns or energy weapons. It may have been slow, but all his muscle memory was associated with it. And since it was essentially a crank generator, he didn't have to carry around ammo for the thing. Preston joked when everyone else could outshoot him, he'd give it up. He'd kept his old coat and hat too, even after the General had furnished better winter coats for the entire organization and despite the fact it wasn't that cold at this time of year.

Today's business was just more reports. Since they weren't fighting, they could use the time to build. The General always had ambitious ideas for how to fix up the Commonwealth. Even if he was at home more often these days, he still communicated with the Minutemen about it remotely. It was the late afternoon, and Preston was typing out a request to the Castle for a shipment of more copper. Street lights and spotlights were very good at keeping wild animals out of settlements and off the roads at night, so they'd been building a lot around the settlements up here. Before the war, Boston had been the home to hundreds of thousands of people-an incomprehensible number today-and the salvage left behind was more than enough to give the few thousand still here now good standards of living. They just had to carry it where it was needed, and the Minutemen kept all its building material stored under the Castle.

Preston liked to keep his office door open to hear into the administrative building outside, so he was able to hear the front doors open and then the heavy thumping of metal of wood that increased in volume with each passing second.

"Colonel, there's a Charlie out here." A private manning the desk outside Preston's office leaned in the open doorway. "Were we getting a delivery today?"

"I hear him." Preston stood up and made his way around his own desk. "Don't think so." Those assaultrons usually were only supposed to respond to officers, although they were smart enough to listen to other Minutemen if needed. But since he was here, he might as well.

Standing out in the middle of the hall was an assaultron, painted blue with a number 4 on its chest and sporting a backpack and about a dozen smaller satchels spread all over its limbs. Preston had never seen many robots up close until the General got the idea to use them, and got the Minutemen enough people that knew how to make them. The creepy factor decreased with exposure, but it never stopped being a little uncanny staring into the 'face' of one and not being sure which lens to make eye contact with.

"Good afternoon, sir." Charlie 4 greeted him. It's voice sounded only partially robotic, and the phrase could even be described as cheerful. The General had seen to equip all of the assaultrons with personality subroutines that made them a little closer to sentient. It was a little unsettling at first, but in time a lot of the soldiers in the Minutemen had become attached to them like they were just other soldiers.

"Hey, Charlie. You got something for me?" Preston asked. All of its satchels and packs looked empty.

"A message for, colonel. Captain Shaw insisted I deliver it as fast as possible. Front left chest satchel. The roads are as safe as ever, so I made good time."

"That's always good to hear. Ronnie Shaw sent this?" A message on its own and without an advanced notice? Good chance it was important.

"Sorry sir, my left." The robot corrected him when he didn't immediately find it. Chuckling, Preston reached into the right satchel and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"Those deployment orders?" A voice asked from above. Preston looked up. While the building originally had a solid second floor, they'd only rebuilt walkways around the edge of the room and put railings up, putting a square balcony above the first floor. The man speaking, a middle aged caucasian, was Lieutenant Jeff (like a decent portion of wastelanders, he didn't have a surname), the platoon commander for the group deployed here. A former loner out in the wastes, he'd been one of the first people to hear about what the General was doing and take interest. Thanks to that, he'd absorbed quite a bit of the martial knowledge General Howard hadn't been afraid to share back then and earned himself a high position when the Minutemen started to expand more rapidly.

"We'll see, Lieutenant." Preston started to read the document. Rather than handwritten, it had been printed out of a typewriter.

EMERGENCY COMMUNICATION. 8/14/2288

To be distributed to all professional and irregular Minutemen forces BY HAND ONLY.

Trader caravan from The Pitt arrived at the Castle earlier this morning. All members attested to increased Gunner activity Southwest of the Commonwealth and relayed rumors among local communities that the Gunners are looking to attack the Commonwealth again. Caravan admits to having paid to pass a Gunner toll near Providence. 20 minimum. Overall Gunner strength and position not known.

All professional forces are to move to a higher state of readiness awaiting further command. All irregular forces are encouraged to be extra vigilant and report any suspicious activity. If intending to warn distant farms and settlements DO NOT TRANSMIT OVER RADIO.

Updates to information and plans will be forthcoming.

Capt. Shaw.

"...Damn!" Preston swore when he'd finished with the note. The Gunners…The Gunners were nothing more than better organized and equipped raiders. You either paid them to do your dirty work, or you paid them to not kill you. If you had something they wanted bad enough, they'd just kill you and take it. Running them out of the Commonwealth had been one of the best moments of Preston's life. He still remembered the Second Battle for Quincy vividly. He'd been right behind the General, leading from the front in power armor, commanding the troops giving supporting fire to the power armor. None of those bastards had gotten out alive. Preston was pretty sure Clint, the one that had betrayed them in the first battle, had been crushed when the highway fell. They chased them out of the rest of the Commonwealth not long after.

But now it looked like they were back. The Gunners were bigger than just the Commonwealth; rumors were, they had thousands of members as far South as New York and West as Detroit-the ruins of those cities, anyway. Truth be told, everyone had thought it was possible. The Commonwealth was a more prosperous place now to steal from, or it could just be out of revenge. Expecting it didn't stop the news from striking deep though. Providence…Providence was less than 100 miles away, which put them close.

"That bad?" Lieutenant Jeff asked.

"I think you better get down here." Preston looked up. "We have work to do."

August 15th, 2288

Boston Airport

The Boston Airport that had once serviced millions of passengers both American and foreign had seen better days. Without human attention to constantly fight back against the forces of nature, the ocean had claimed all of its runways just like it claimed most of Eastr Boston. But the main terminal and the parking lot remained like a defiant peninsula, even if the terminal itself was half collapsed.

The dilapidated airport was the base of operations for the East Coast chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. Their massive airship, the Prydwen, floated ominously above East Boston and was tethered to the old control tower, and the terminal had been converted into both a supply depot and a forward barracks. Defensive barriers ringed the whole terminal and were especially thick on the two different roads that still connected to the airport.

This expedition of the chapter had taken the airport last year from a hoard of ghouls. They'd judged it as a good spot for a forward base: It was defensible, there was solid ground for their vertibirds, the still standing terminal could be utilized, and East Boston as a whole had a very low civilian population, less than ten in fact. And it had served them well, making it through the entire Institute War without getting attacked once.

Arthur Maxson, Elder of the Brotherhood, thought about this from inside the Prydwen's observation deck, which had an unobstructed view of the rest of Boston. It had served them well, but it wasn't meant to be permanent. The Brotherhood of Steel would abandon it one day, and Maxson was starting to think that would be soon. They had come to the Commonwealth for several reasons and fulfilled all of them. The Institute was destroyed. Thousands of disgusting super mutants and ghouls were dead by their hands. They had recovered and documented numerous pieces of technology from all over the area. To find anything worthwhile to do, they were flying increasingly further and further away from this base for leads that sometimes didn't even pan out. Very soon, he expected they wouldn't have anything else to do here.

Besides that, the expedition had taken a lot of losses in the time here and used a lot of their supplies. They'd originally arrived with a complement of exactly 8 Paladins, 164 various Knights, 20 Lancers, 53 Scribes, and 17 Initiates. They made promotions as necessary to make sure there were always 8 Paladins in the chain of command, but they were down to 79 Knights, 11 Lancers, and 32 Scribes. There were only five Initiates now, but that was equally due to promotions as it was combat. And when you factored in that some of those remaining Knights and Scribes had duties that made them unavailable for field duty, it meant that the Brotherhood had little in the room of deployable forces, so much so that they'd reduced their outposts to just the Cambridge Police Station. They'd taken in less than twenty locals to replenish their losses, and had lost two-thirds of them to desertion and combat. Equipment wise, they were down to five vertibirds from eight and had a net loss of three power armor frames despite recovering some from the wasteland here. The cost of saving humanity was great, but it was one the Brotherhood paid willingly.

Still, they were only human. They would need time to replenish and reorganize their forces. By now, Maxson was sure many of them were homesick for the Capital Wasteland, blasted hellscape that it may be. Some had spouses and children. An outward stoic, Maxson nevertheless didn't want to deprive his soldiers of that, especially when they'd performed so admirably in this campaign.

Yes, it might just be time for the Brotherhood to return to the Citadel. He'd have to confer with his Proctors and see if they had any ongoing projects in the region and how quickly they could be wrapped up. His brothers and sisters would no doubt be jubilant at the news, should he decide to announce it. One wouldn't: Sentinel Howard. But the truth was, Maxson wasn't intending on him coming anyway.

It was strange to have such a cold and dismissive mindset over one of his highest ranking soldiers and the architect of their victory here, but it was an attitude a long time in the making. He had started out as a promising soldier, soon proving to be a model one even, and he had been at the front that day the Brotherhood finally destroyed the Institute. But signs of his wavering belief in the Brotherhood's ways had started before that final battle. They might have been there from the beginning, when they looked back with the foresight that he'd only come into that ranks by way of that infiltration synth-M7-97.

That was really the breaking point in everything. When that synth-Danse was the name it was programmed with for infiltration-was discovered, the Sentinel, then Knight, defended it. More than that, he'd outright threatened to turn on the Brotherhood entirely if the Elder didn't grant it mercy. It was gross insubordination, but one Elder Maxson had given into. It still shamed him greatly.

It seemed like they had been used. The Sentinel admitted up front his main reason for wanting to defeat the Institute was because they had kidnapped his son. Maxson had even been there when they miraculously found the Sentinel's son. He'd watched one of the strongest soldiers in his organization become overwhelmed and fall to his knees. But after rescuing his son, and gaining his promotion, Sentinel Howard seemed to completely drop out of the Brotherhood's world.

Oh, he was definitely still around; Maxson had his own eyes around the Commonwealth. But he spent that time with his Minutemen, helping build up the civilian communities of the Commonwealth. Unlike the West Coast chapters, it wasn't something the Brotherhood was really concerned about, even as the Minutemen gained a numbers advantage and were rapidly bridging the tech gap. Maxson knew those in his ranks that had been part of the Outcasts weren't happy, but he overruled them. Civilization wasn't something they were opposed to on principal, and the Minutemen hadn't been abusing technology by any means. Hardliners were the reason the West Coast Brotherhood was almost wiped out now. This campaign had taught Maxson that a certain 'flexibility' might be necessary if they encountered pockets of civilization on the East Coast.

There were many more complaints that could be made about Sentinel Howard's conduct, namely his association with even more synths coming to light and his actions such as straight up leaving the Commonwealth for weeks at a time for some reason or another. He'd even gone over Maxson's head on several matters related to the Institute, matters they had to settle off the record. The man quite plainly did what he wanted, and while the rank of Sentinel did provide a lot of leeway, he had long since stretched the broken it.

But…He had gotten the Brotherhood into the Institute. And before that, he'd saved the recon team they'd sent to the Commonwealth, and located the lone survivor from the team sent before that. He'd helped recover numerous technologies and documents for the scribes. It was thanks to him that Scribe Neriah's medical research had had a breakthrough. He had done a lot for the Brotherhood of Steel, perhaps even more than it had done for him.

The fair and easy thing to do in this situation would probably be just to cut ties on amicable terms, letting everything bad that had happened fall to the wayside. It was a far better alternative to either letting the insubordination continue to fester or to force a confrontation over it.

It wouldn't even be the first time. When Maxson had still been but a squire, another outsider, another vault dweller in fact, had helped the Brotherhood in the Capital Wasteland enough to earn a place in its ranks. The people called him the Lone Wanderer. Maxson remembered his name had been Albert something; he'd have to consult their records before he remembered their surname. But after the water purifier had been activated, he too wandered away from the wasteland for a while and stopped reporting into the Brotherhood, although he was allowed to keep his rank of Knight. Maxson wasn't 100% sure, but he thought the man was living in Megaton now, raising a child he'd had with a vault dweller from Vault 101.

It was an odd similarity. Although now that Maxson thought about it, the two were very similar aside from originating from a vault and helping the Brotherhood for a time. There was an overwhelming sense of optimism in both of them, and a drive to do good deeds that you just didn't see in most of the wasteland's inhabitants. It must be a product of not actually living in the wasteland.

The Elder realized he was getting off topic and returned to his previous thoughts. That was the only proverbial string to cut for him, since he was the only Brotherhood officer above him. If he intended for them to leave, he would have to dismiss the Sentinel personally.

"Captain Kells," Maxson had a communication line in the observation deck straight to the bridge below, "report to me with the Proctors as soon as possible." Without making a decision yet, he decided to at least confer with the upper ranks about the subject. At the very least, they could have an outline made in advance for when they did decide to leave.

He looked back out at the skyline of Boston, still outwardly ruined, but no doubt safer thanks to the Brotherhood.

After leaving Sanctuary, they'd passed through Concord and followed the roads out into the rural areas of Massachusetts til they reached Starlight. The town was still growing and improving, and Nate found out some people had brought in some machinery and turned a few train cars into gunsmiths, always needed. The only real issue was they still needed to bring in water from other settlements for everyone, but there was still enough.

The duo avoided Lexington entirely. No one lived there, although plenty of scavengers would venture in (and some never come out). Lexington and deep Boston was the only place left where one had to reasonably be afraid of raiders. There were so many places to hide that weeding them all out was just impossible. They were nowhere near as thick as they used to be, assuming they still existed at all, but it paid to be cautious in this new Commonwealth.

Factoring in their break at Starlight and their good stride, General Howard and Cait made it to the farming settlement of Country Crossing not too long after the sunset, and the people there were more than glad to let them stay the night. Preston was only a couple miles down the road from them, but Nate resisted the urge to go say hi. At their request, the settlers woke them up at daybreak and they set off in the cold morning, warming up quickly from the movement and the rising sun.

They crossed the Mystic River into Boston proper, first entering the Charlestown neighborhood. They passed by Bunker Hill but didn't actually enter. Even if it wasn't the only trading and caravan center in the Commonwealth anymore, it was still a major independent settlement. Prosperous too, since they no longer had to pay off raiders to ignore their business. It remained one of the few places that had business contacts outside of the Commonwealth.

Then they crossed the Charles River into the more built up parts of Boston. Towering, sometimes skeletal skyscrapers reached into the sky, many of them former super mutant nests. It was mixed in with more historic parts of Boston, like the Old North Church and the Old Massachusetts State House. Goodneighbor was located deep within this section of Boston, but not many people were to be found there otherwise. The streets were dark and imposing underneath the shadows of the many buildings, making it eerie to traverse. The Minutemen had come in to clear the area up some, but it was undoubtedly the least touched portion of the city.

But if you tilted your head back and looked up, you might find something peculiar: A ship, perched precariously atop one of those skyscrapers. It was the USS Constitution, one of the US Navy's original frigates that had been a museum ship here in Boston for over two centuries before the Great War. No one was quite sure how, but the ship had undergone a strange transformation post war, with someone having slapped two rocket engines on the sides of the ancient ship. And up until last year, it had previously been stuck on a building in Charleston, just across the river. As for why it was now lodged in a far taller building? That was Nate's doing, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.

The ship itself was now crewed by a collection of robots headed by Captain Ironsides, an old sentry bot tour guide that had gained some kind of sentience. They intended to use the rockets now mounted on the ship to escape land and reach the ocean and sail the Atlantic Ocean again. Nate had helped them with that first launch. Having grown up in Boston, he'd seen the USS Constitution plenty of times and had a certain respect for it. When he'd seen it though, he realized that he wasn't going to be able to restore it as a museum ship. But he thought the next best thing he could do was help the robots get it to sea again. It had been quite the sight to witness it taking to the air.

The robots up there had been trying to get it ready for a second launch, and Nate had procured some supplies for them to accomplish that and even brought Codsworth along to give the crew much needed repairs and spare parts. He just hadn't visited in a while. He honestly wished them the best if they could, and he got a small smile on his face seeing it up there again. He'd told Ironsides that if they ever got off that skyscraper, they could stop by the Castle anytime.

To avoid going into deep Boston, they followed the river until it emptied out into the Atlantic Ocean and followed the coastline from there.

Walking along the former seaside shops and buildings, they had a perfect view of East Boston across the water, including Boston Airport and the Prydwen, that still dominated the sky view for miles.

"Beginning to think that thing's an eyesore." Cait spoke up. She had mixed feelings on the Brotherhood. On one hand, their ideals were 'bollocks'. On the other, they sure as hell knew how to look tough and back it up, a quality Cait appreciated in any human.

"I still like it." Nate said more optimistically. Airships were really old fashioned, yes, but this one was new. The world now was an odd mix of advanced technology and old ways of living. Restoring civilization would require fixing what they could, but embracing old ideas that still worked and were more within their means. The Brotherhood's vast knowledge of technology old and new could facilitate that. Nate had spent hours pouring over their vast digital libraries and sharing what we could. The Brotherhood was still busy with its primary missions, but the Sentinel thought he could convince them eventually to help more actively. He was sure there were elements in the Brotherhood that would agree with him.

Maybe in Shaun's lifetime, people would be using airships like that to travel all over a reborn United States.

They kept walking, and not too long later, they could finally see the peninsula that was South Boston in the distance. South Boston had been a hive for super mutants and raiders when Nate first woke up, but they'd cleared it not long after clearing the mirelurk infestation out of the Castle. Now, South Boston was one of the largest concentrations of people in the Commonwealth. Not as big as Diamond City, but still big. It had all grown out of Preston and him reclaiming the Castle. Some people had moved in realizing it was a safe place next to a literal military base, but a lot were the spouses, relatives, and children of Minutemen. Just like Nate, protecting your family was a strong motivation to fight for your home, and there had been an overwhelming number of recruits with families. They couldn't fit them all in the Castle, but there were plenty of places in South Boston for people to live. They could do their jobs in the day and simply walk home to their families at night, the dream of any soldier. The Castle stayed strictly a military base.

They could see the old fort now, right on the outermost tip of the peninsula. A long historical symbol to Nate, the headquarters for the Minutemen, and a bastion of good to the people of the Commonwealth.

Building a professional force of Minutemen had been a daunting task. To have that many people willing to fight was a good start, but they needed more than that. They needed organization, doctrine, logistics, and a chain of command, all stuff General Howard had started on by himself before Ronnie Shaw ever showed up to help.

Getting everyone organized and a chain of command set up had been the hardest part, harder than standardizing gear or repairing the Castle. He was the General and there were more other senior members like Preston, but they still had to organize it down farther than that. A horde that one person can send in any direction is not an army. It wasn't like the old army where the older and more experienced naturally had NCO and officer positions; they'd had prospects of all ages, varying educations and experiences, and physical capabilities. Due to underlying factors of ego, sexism, and discrimination against ghouls (and later synths), some people had walked away rather than be told who would be above them on the totem pole. But like any other challenge, Nate eventually overcame it, after examining everyone on an individual level, factoring in their personalities and abilities and making his choices based on that.

He'd had to fix some of those decisions down the line, but he'd still accomplished the goal. He turned a lot of rabble into a professional force, and set up a down-flowing stream of knowledge that meant every new generation of recruits for years to come would be similarly well trained by the people that came before them. Not all were idealists. Some were just there for a paycheck or for safety, Nate wouldn't deny that, but they were still soldiers who would fight alongside the rest of them. It was good enough.

The primary force was the infantry, which General Howard had organized just like the old Army. Four men in a fireteam, two fireteams and a sergeant in a squad, three squads and a platoon sergeant and lieutenant in a platoon. He formed two such platoons. One would be there now, and the other would be with Preston at the old National Guard Training Yard. They could pick up their gear and march anywhere in the Commonwealth with just an hour's notice.

He'd commissioned a lieutenant to have overall command of the Castle's artillery batteries, with five enlisted to serve that purpose. With a range of nine miles, they could keep any threats to the Castle far away. He'd expanded that into a dedicated Base Security unit, just in case.

He'd made great use of the Commonwealth's many hunters to form four independent scout teams of two to four Minutemen. Doubling as sniper squads, they were the Minutemen's eyes and ears around the Commonwealth, watching the places where there weren't settlements and the Caravans didn't pass through. They'd caught many raider groups trying to get back into the Commonwealth, and they'd been able to deal with them themselves.

Iconically, there was the power armor. The General officially had it down as the 'Heavy Weapons Platoon', since that's what the Army had used to call them, but people called it a variety of names. The three men who made it up would often just refer to themselves as 'The Platoon'. It was actually a collection of power armor: two sets of full T-51 armor, b and d models, and two sets of full T-45f armor. Nate had originally moved his own set of T-45 armor to the Castle to assist with garrison duties. But as he wandered the Commonwealth on Brotherhood, Minutemen, or personal business, he'd managed to locate three extra functioning frames ahead of the Brotherhood's many scavenging teams and sent them to the Castle, and plenty more parts and tools from dead raiders and Gunners with their own suits.

Rather than just giving everyone basic knowledge so they could break them out for defensive emergencies, Nate had the idea to train three Minutemen he found trustworthy and dedicated enough as full time power armor troops, with him as an exchangeable fourth member of the unit. He succeeded, and gave the Minutemen an asset as powerful to them as it had been to the US Army: A small force of heavily armed and armored soldiers capable of tackling enemy tough spots or operating in hazardous environments. And they'd proved their worth, especially during the war with the Gunners. Quincy and the GNR Plaza would've cost a lot more lives if not for them.

The rest of the Minutemen were in the Base Security groups or in small security detachments he made up as needed to guard fixed areas he deemed important, like the Graygarden Hydroponics lab out near Cambridge. He typically liked to put the newest members of the organization in these groups first, to make sure they could take orders and do the most common thing a soldier was meant to do: stand around and wait.

The only thing the General hadn't recreated was the vast support network of non combat personnel that supported the old army, partly because a lot of his Minutemen had their families with them to do most of those jobs. Captain Shaw, as the acting garrison commander on top of quartermaster, didn't count. Really there was only one man, an equally old fellow by the name of Robert Jacobs. An old caravan leader whose legs weren't so up to the task of taking him across the American Northeast like they had for decades before. Being too old to run, he'd wound up a raider prisoner in Boston but fortunately rescued by General Howard and a motley collection of irregulars. A lot of the established traders in the Commonwealth spoke highly of him, and he was looking for other work, so the General felt confident enough to hire him on as a sort of financial manager. And he was good at it too, handing the payments of food and caps each soldier earned, and managing the organization's transactions with scavengers, work crews, and merchants.

That included managing the caravans Nate used to personally fund most of the professional Minutemen (the rest came from donations). It still felt a little weird owning caravans. He was more like a CEO or investor; he'd helped get the resources together to set up the caravans, and that entitled him to a good share of the profits despite not being involved day to day. And it helped that under his direction, the Minutemen created public benefits that could also be monetized, like water purifiers or more farms to raise produce for sale. It wasn't a tax, obviously, but since their customers were mostly other Commonwealth citizens, they were basically funded by the local population in the same way. General Howard did feel a little dirty in how it all connected, but he tried to stay steadfast. It was working towards the greater good and confident in his own morals that he'd never use the Minutemen purely for financial gain. He didn't do much for the business, but he did make sure the prices stayed as low as they could practically be.

He'd built all of that, and he was proud of it. Proud of what it stood for, proud of what it did, and proud of what it meant to people. Nate hadn't been eager to leave home, but he would be lying if he said wouldn't bring a smile to his face seeing it all again. The duo continued on.

The Massachusetts Turnpike, the I-90, was a highway that had once stretched all the way from the Western border of the state and ended all the way here in Boston, although at that point it merged with other elevated highways heading North and South. Most of the elevated portions weren't standing anymore, a fate shared with the majority of highways around the country. The portion that ran through Boston- a nearly two mile long tunnel and another several miles on the ground, was still easy to traverse.

The portion that left Boston heading West mixed with the North/South I-95 at a massive but mostly collapsed interchange. But before that, it crossed the Charles River. That particular bridge had collapsed decades ago. The highway leading up to it had been a raider base until earlier that year. Scavengers had picked clean whatever there was to take, and the occasional wanderer would walk up it to get a view of the countryside and small towns beyond, but it was a low traffic area otherwise.

On that elevated highway just outside Boston, the air suddenly started to shimmer.