Disclaimer: This story is written using the setting and the characters of Bethesada's Fallout franchise, and as such, they all belong to Bethesada. Original characters, fictional locations, and such are all entirely made up and any resemblance to other people/places is purely coincidental. If you find a reason to sue me, proceed. Just be warned, I'm virtually penniless and have a cute little puppy that relies on me for food and a warm place to sleep. A puppy, people. Don't be cruel.
BRAVE NEW WORLD
Chapter 10 - Winning Hearts and Minds
"Adversity causes some men to break; others to break records."
- William Arthur Ward, American Writer
"March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and do not fear the thorns or the sharp stones on life's path."
- Khalil Gibran, Lebanese Poet
Already, they were running into problems.
Ever since leaving Murkwater, the difficulties had only mounted for Nathaniel Howard and the New Commonwealth Army.
It wasn't the considerable stress of managing an army composed of various factions; that job, Danse was managing superbly well, even despite the hatred the Outcasts had for him. It wasn't the burdensome task of training and drilling the volunteer corps while on the march; though his veterans were doing an exceptional job handling that. It wasn't the ornery task of keeping the Outcasts and their hated enemies, the Super Mutants, in check; both Protector Ingram and Stronk were keeping their forces moving. More Ingram than Stronk, who simply seemed to relish the prospect of any challenges to his command from his fellow mutants.
No, it was the way forward. Broken roads choked with flora. Bogs so muddy even vehicles could completely sink. Entire strips of land still irradiated even two hundred years later.
And there was no shortage of wasteland creatures to gun down.
That last bit was something of a blessing in disguise, though. It kept the Super Mutants happy and fed.
His engineers and mechanics were working around the clock, repairing and maintaining the vehicles. MacCready had his sharpshooters scouting ahead, searching for safe routes south while his men were often forced to stop for a time, bust out the shovels, and dig up dirt. All just to create earthworks solid enough for the vehicles to roll over.
If a road was broken in two? Fill it in with dirt. A ditch's in the way? Fill it with dirt. Stuck with a wide chasm? Fill it with more goddamn dirt. Dirt. Dirt. Dirt. So fucking much dirt that half his men were sick of it and the other half was beginning to think they'd start shitting dirt.
Even Nathaniel, long accustomed to the harsh realities of a campaign, was irritated by it all. They were behind schedule, but not by much. Despite the difficulties and the obstacles, the New Commonwealth Army had managed to make eleven miles so far, which meant Brockton was only nine miles away by now.
There were a few Gunners outposts and checkpoints they had already come across, but none of the bastards got away to warn the rest. The mercenary sharpshooters made sure of that.
The raiders were even more of a problem, but as it wasn't crucial to maintain secrecy against them, the volunteers had been deployed to fend them off, earning themselves some combat experience in the process.
Nate sighed as he sat at his command table inside the reinforced bus Major Isabella Cruz and her techies had prepared for him. A few of his people were aboard with him, manning the communications array and going through the inventory to figure out how much more supplies they would be hemorrhaging for the time being.
It was bad enough that he had to send three of the vertibirds back to the Commonwealth with requests for additional biofuel, more coolant, and assorted parts. Thankfully, the rations for the army were still intact, as plenty of food had been foraged by his scouting parties. The water trucks would need to be refilled, but that could be solved once they found a water supply large enough to assemble an industrial purifier or two on.
The other bit of good news came with the natives themselves. They had only come across three settlements so far, big enough to just barely survive, not small enough to escape the Gunners' depredations, along with a larger one that had borne the brunt of the Gunners' tyranny.
One that had existed since the earliest days of the post-apocalyptic wasteland, when frightened survivors had finally begun to come out of their hiding spots and safe holes once the atomic fallout had finally dissipated enough to safely explore their ruined world.
After many such survivors had discovered each other and congregated in the ruins of Westgate Mall, a new community had been born.
And for two hundred years since then, Westgate dominated the local scene, growing larger and developing into a city of scavengers and explorers and pioneers, bravely sifting through the ashes and wreckage of the old world.
Hydroponic farms had been established at first, but in the last fifty years they had finally begun implementing actual farming. Hunting for radstags had been a necessity at first but now ever-growing herds of brahmins gave them access to all the meat and milk they would ever need. Food from the old world was always a commodity to be had, though. Simply because they often tasted better. But more and more, the people of Westgate were beginning to rely more on their own meat and produce instead, using anything they could to spice up the flavors and make them as appealing as possible.
With a growing city built around Westgate Mall and the increasingly unwanted attention of deranged survivors and raider scum, it had become even more crucial for a security force to be established and walls to be built around the Mall. In the decades to follow, watchtowers and checkpoints and outposts soon followed, allowing Westgate to extend its influence and reach across the wasteland.
Until they ran into the Gunners, a veritable legion of thinly-disguised raiders masquerading as a professional army. A mercenary one at that. At first, there had been a tenuous peace as the people of Westgate opted to pay for the protection the Gunners were offering... But ever since the Gunners' disastrous stay in the Commonwealth north of them, the Gunners had grown even worse.
Desperate, really.
They had ceased to pretend they were mercenaries and had started extorting what they wanted from the communities of southern Massachusetts. Heavy tributes of caps. Exacting supplies in the way of food and medicine and ammunition. Forcibly conscripting their people to swell the ranks of the Gunners.
All the while draining the region of every available resource. It would take years, if not decades, to replace what they had lost already.
There had been talks.
Arguments and debates about whenever to request aid from the Commonwealth, from these new Minutemen to aid them in their struggle against the Gunners. But it hadn't been feasible back then.
They had heard rumors of the Minutemen being caught up in another war with another group of soldiers. Tech-savvy warriors in mighty armor. The Brotherhood of Steel. A faction that, by all accounts, seemed to be even stronger than the Gunners themselves. Accounts reinforced by sighting of a massive airship soaring across the sky toward the Commonwealth along with a veritable fleet of Vertibirds.
And so, they quietly concluded that there wasn't much to do but be patient and ride it out. In silence, the people of southern Massachusetts conspired and schemed and plotted together, hiding away precious supplies, stocking up on weapons and explosives, mapping out the Gunners' positions.
Collaborators within the Gunners, the native sons and daughters of many of the settlements, contributed as much as they could. A Chinese assault rifle here. A frag grenade there. A clip or two misplaced. All the while, passing information on the Gunners and any potential weaknesses they might have.
Their day of reckoning would come soon, they knew. All that was necessary was patience. Patience and the right opportunity to just come knocking.
Once the Minutemen announced that they had come to crush the Gunners and free the region, the natives realized that the right opportunity had finally come. The people were far less harsh and distrusting. They had heard much about the Minutemen in general, how the Minutemen had saved the Commonwealth from the raiders, from the Gunners themselves, from the Institute.
It was then that one of the elders informed Nate that they had been praying for years now for the Minutemen to finish what the Gunners began all those years ago.
All the while, they added, a resistance against the Gunners had been going on underground. Small bands, mostly. It had gotten bad to the point that a good number of raiders had even gone as far as to fight against the Gunners and ignore the people of southern Massachusetts. These raiders-turned-resistance fighters had managed to put a dent in the Gunners' makeshift infrastructure with the help of native collaborators in their own ranks, raiding supply lines, hitting convoys, taking down outposts...
By now though, most of them had been wiped out.
The rest had surrendered and gone over to the Gunners, co-opted by the very scum they had tried surviving against. All except for the resistance led by an ex-raider gang of bikers, once infamous for their activities over the years, and now bordering on the heroic for their lone battle against the Gunners.
"They've got guts, I'll give them that." Nate smiled as he digested what he had just heard. With the New Commonwealth Army camped just a few miles north of Westgate, camouflage and hidden away from all well-worn routes that might be taken by Gunners or natives both... Nate had gone ranging south on his own, accompanied by Danse and two squads of their veterans, along with MacCready and some of his snipers. It was a group small enough to infiltrate enemy lines, but not so small that they'd be wiped out easily if they came across a Gunner war party. "Any chance you can get a message to them for me?"
One of the elderly leaders stared at him, after they shared glances with each other, "What message do you want to send him?"
And the Sole Survivor grinned, pulling out a map he had brought with him, one with multiple locations marked down along with enemy positions. "Tell him, I want to meet him here in three days' time." And he tapped his finger down on the map, right where Memorial Tower was. It was, after all, the highest point in Massachusetts, and on a nice and clear day, you could see up to ninety miles away. It was the perfect place to set up an observation post as well as some artillery pieces, though they hadn't brought any with them other than several operational howitzers... which meant it would be a good opportunity to test out the newly-repaired field pieces."
The old man looked up at him, knowing the location where the General had marked out; he had traveled there when he was young with a caravan as they sought to explore a potential route... It hadn't worked out, but he still remembered Mount Greylock well. "And what do you intend to do with him?"
Nathaniel, still smiling, only gave him a shrug along with a cryptic answer. "Got a fuse I need lighting up, and he sounds like a man who's got a couple of matches." With that, he walked away, concluding the meeting on his terms.
MacCready, on the other hand, caught up with him. "Are you really thinking of using these raiders to land the first shot on these assholes?"
"Yep," Nathaniel answered.
"Jeez, Nate... I don't know if that's such a great idea." MacCready groaned as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. "Look, pal, in my experience, making deals with raiders doesn't usually pan out well."
The Sole Survivor chuckled, "I mean, one could say the same about making deals with Gunners, no?"
MacCready snorted. "Fair enough, you got me there... But I'm going with you to your little meeting, someone's got to watch your back." He set his sniper rifle against his shoulder and patted it then.
"What's wrong with my Minutemen?" Nathaniel raised his eyebrow.
"Someone's got to watch your back," MacCready repeated, though he added, "without being seen."
Nathaniel grinned, "Now, that I can agree with. Might not be raiding anymore, but raiders are usually a jumpy lot, especially when they know they're being hunted."
Danse approached the two of them, "General. I've been checking out the road ahead of us, as per your orders." He pulled out his own map, with his own markers and notes jotted down, and began pointing out several suitable sites for combat. "There's a valley right here. I'm thinking, if we can lure Clint out of his encampment with a smaller force, before staging a fighting retreat..."
And MacCready grinned, seeing what the Major was getting at, "Hit him from both ends, with our snipers along the ridges up above? That valley's going to turn into a real bloodbath pretty damn quick." He cleared his throat, "Pardon my French."
Nate laughed, "Think we can get a company or two behind enemy lines without them noticing? Have them ambush Clint and his forces from behind once they realize they've been drawn into a trap and try to run?"
Major Danse nodded, "Actually, and I never thought I'd say this, but... I was thinking about the Super Mutants."
The Sole Survivor stared at his chief of staff then, "Damn, Danse. That's pretty damn evil... Let's give them the task then. Should keep them happy, I'd say. I almost feel bad for the Gunners, though."
MacCready snorted, "I don't. They deserve it."
Nathaniel grinned, "No argument there, especially after what happened at Quincy. Let's get back to camp and figure out the details for this nasty little trap of yours, Danse, and let's make sure it goes without a hitch because I'd like to give Preston some good news." It would certainly make the Minuteman's day, hearing news that the main architect of the Minutemen's fall all those years ago had finally met his end.
Danse nodded, a rare smile tugging the corner of his lips, "Outstanding, sir. Not to mention, starting the campaign off on a strong note will help shore up support back in the Commonwealth, and strengthen the resolve of allied forces that will be entering the field soon."
The General of the Minutemen snapped his fingers at Major Danse. "Damn straight. Everything's riding on this, so let's make sure every detail is accounted for. I don't need the Gunners getting any funny ideas about their chances of winning."
"Put two ships in the open sea, without wind or tide, and at last, they will come together. Throw two planets into space, and they will fall one on the other. Place two enemies in the midst of a crowd, and they will inevitably meet; it is a fatality, a question of time; that is all."
- Jules Verne, French Author
That same day, over at Battleship Cove, a man sat within the bridge of the destroyer that once carried the name USS Massachusetts, or Big Marnie to the sailors that once lived and fought aboard her. The man stared out at the bustling fortress the Gunners had built up over the last decade or so, watching as his troops made their preparations and outfitted themselves for the coming war.
Watching in anticipation of victory over their enemies. They took too many hits lately. Far too many for his liking. Their reputation had taken a severe blow and now they needed to do something to reverse that, restore the aura of fear and infamy that had made them so successful over the years.
Otherwise someone else was bound to come gunning for the Gunners.
"General Braddock," came the voice over the ham radio, and the scarred man growled as he heard it. How he fucking hated that voice, as much as he hated who it belonged to... though he didn't know much about his enigmatic employer at all. Hell, he didn't even know the man's name, beyond the stupid alias he had been given.
"Mister Odious." The warlord that led the Gunners responded as he picked up the mic, "What can I do for you?" He hated the fact, almost as much as he hated the man himself, that Odious had no respect or patience for the proper radio etiquette.
The voice, much like some evil Galaxy News Radio announcer, chuckled over the ham radio. "Ah, it's the other way around, General. I'm calling in to let you know that you have trouble on the horizon."
General Braddock's eyes swept the horizon then, even though he knew it was just a metaphor from the bastard. "Tell me."
Odious went on then, a small trace of glee apparent in that tinny artificial voice of his. "The Gunners destroyed them once, but like the brilliant flames of the resurgent phoenix, the ashes have re-ignited and given rebirth to a fearsome military power. They sent your Gunners running. They broke the unbreakable Brotherhood of Steel. They brought peace to a land torn by decades of violence and war. And now, they are on a collision course with you."
And the General growled when he realized who his mysterious handler was talking about, "The Minutemen."
"Yes," Mister Odious answered and Braddock felt as if he could hear the sneer in that one word, "Led by their all conquering savior, General Nathaniel Howard. It really is interesting, isn't it? From what my informants tell me, he is in essence the complete opposite of you as well as the complete opposite of our mutual employer. Where we rely on fear and guile to move the ignorant masses, he energizes them with his courage and his sincerity. You hide behind military orders and all those precious medals and badges of yours..."
General Braddock scowled then.
"And my employer hides behind his false names and his carefully curated reputation," Mister Odious went on, "though I can't fault either one of you. Nathaniel, on the other hand, stands out in the open, shining a beacon for all of Mankind, what's left of Mankind, to follow." The enigmatic individual laughed then, "My, he really is something, isn't he? It's almost awe-inspiring, this legend that he's built up for himself the last eight years. If Nathaniel and his Minutemen manage to defeat your Gunners, and unite all these disparate lands... I have no doubt his victories and his accomplishments would elevate him to the status of an all sufficient savior."
There was silence then, as the warlord waited patiently in silence, knowing that his handler wasn't finished talking. No, he knew instinctively that there was a threat in these words, a promise of punishment should the future unfold as Mister Odious had suggested...
"Well," Mister Odious went on, his voice eerily cold and utterly devoid of all humanity, "that would be most troublesome for my employer. If you don't crush him now, if you let this Commonwealth of theirs develop any further... I would hate to have you and the Gunners liquidated... but if I must, I will reallocate all the resources and funding we've put into your organization elsewhere and find someone who can handle the task. Do not let me down, my dear General."
Quentin Braddock was quiet, long after Mister Odious had cut his end of the connection and the room was filled only with the static of the ham radio. There was nothing to say. How could he have said anything then? Eight years ago, he had guaranteed that the Commonwealth would be grounded into the dust, even the Institute as well. He sighed then, pulled out a cigar and lit it up. After taking one hit from it, the General looked at the horizon then, in the direction of that forsaken region where so many of his people had fought and bled and died before being thrown out by the Minutemen.
"You want war? You've got it."
"Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the
total of all those actions will be written the history of this generation."
- Robert Kennedy, American Politician
"How are the preparations going?" The woman asked as she ran her carefully manicured fingers through her blonde hair, panting heavily from the exertion of lifting and carrying so many crates and containers. Even though these Vault Suits were designed to be as comfortable as possible, nothing could stave off the unpleasant sensation of sweat sticking to flesh forever.
The other Vault Dweller, a man in his late twenties, looked up at her as he tapped away at his Pip-Boy. "Pretty good, Sarah, all things considered. I don't know what the Overseer was thinking when he let that guy in... and I don't know what the hell he said to the Overseer to convince him to support him... but we've been making good progress, moving all this shit from Cape Cod to New Bedford, despite all the difficulties we've had.
Sarah nodded, she couldn't argue with that. She didn't have as much experience as most of the Vault Dwellers that had come with the stranger, given that she was barely in her twenties now, but there was just something about him that captivated her.
Jordan, on the other hand, was as suspicious of him as ever though he still came anyway because someone had to watch their backs... especially if they were going to be idiots and follow some asshole that said he was from another vault...
Though, even Jordan had to admit that the way the stranger took care of some of the atomic horrors that had sprung up in their way, along with the ruthless and cruel raiders that roamed the wastelands, it was... terrifying... the way he knew how to disable each and every one of them.
It was almost as if the stranger embodied the concept of knowledge being power, as if intelligence was truly his ultimate weapon. He shivered then, still unsure whether it was wise to put himself in the stranger's company or not.
Most of the group was made up of youngsters, though there were still quite a few older folk, but what nearly all of them had in common was a desire to leave the Vault they had been born into and grown up within.
For Jordan, that desire now clashed with the suspicion and the fear he felt from the stranger. He sighed then, unsure what to do or where to go from there.
Sarah, though, put her hand on his shoulder and smiled, "Don't worry about it, Jord. He's not a bad guy."
He just didn't buy it, though. "Then what the hell is he?"
"A legend," she answered, "I've been talking with those caravaneers that joined us yesterday. One of them came from way past New York, and she was telling me about some of the things he's done. Back west, there isn't anyone who doesn't know him, until he disappeared. Apparently, he's been roaming all over the wastelands, righting wrongs and putting an end to bad men. "
Jordan looked up at her, wondering where she was going with this, only for the two of them to be interrupted by the very person they had been talking about.
"I see people still like to talk about me," the stranger interrupted as he adjusted his eyeglasses. "Wanted to check in with you and see if we've gotten the last of our supplies from the vault."
Sarah nodded, though Jordan merely scowled, "Yessir! Everything is accounted for, there's nothing left holding us up now."
"Good, we'll rest for the night, then we'll move on first thing in the morning." The stranger answered, giving them a nod in return.
"Hey!"
The stranger stopped and turned to face Jordan, "Yes?"
"Just what are you really up to?" Jordan asked, and Sarah smacked his head from behind, though the stranger merely stared at him for several moments in silence... before giving him a sardonic smile.
"What I always do... Wander until I find someone that needs my help, and punish the wicked while I'm at it."
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Yes, I'm still alive, and yes, I intend to not only continue this story but finish it. In all the time I've been gone, I may not have written anything new, but I've been constantly adding to the story and planning ahead, and in my mind, BRAVE NEW WORLD has only grown immensely ambitious in its scope and depth. All the same, I apologize for the long delay in between this chapter and the one before it. For the time being, I'm going to try to get at least one chapter out every two weeks, depending on how my free time holds up. I've also updated the first nine chapters, but it's mostly fixing errors and creating a better flow, so there's no substantial changes, story-wise.
I plan to continue THIN RED LINE, but it'll be more self contained and smaller in scope, as I don't really have the time to continue both stories at the same time, so instead, TRL will serve to set up parts of BNW later down the road.
I also intend to, once I have reached a certain point and tied up a few things, put BRAVE NEW WORLD on hold in order to tell the story of the Lone Wanderer and give my readers a better picture of who he really is, his trials and tribulations, the hardships he's suffered and the triumphs he's achieved. The same will occur once we've reached the point where the Courier will join the cast of BNW as a main character, in order to really let the three protagonists (or really, two protagonists and one anti-hero) tell the the final tale of their lives.
I'm also on the lookout for someone who can help me with BNW by proofreading the latest chapters before I upload them, letting me bounce ideas off them, things like that.
My only requirements are the following:
-You have Discord
-You have a solid grasp on English.
-You have more than a perfunctory knowledge of Fallout.
If interested, message me!
As always, thank you for reading!