The steel gates of the South Boston Military Checkpoint groaned shut behind Nate and Charlie Team. The Minutemen general stood tall, keeping his rifle slung and hands visible. A half-dozen Brotherhood knights in polished T-60 armor flanked the inner yard, their plasma rifles gleaming in the sunlight.
A Brotherhood officer — scar over his brow, voice sharp — stepped forward."State your purpose, civilian."
Nate's jaw tightened but his tone stayed steady. "General Nate of the Commonwealth Minutemen. We're establishing a secure supply route south. That road leads to the Castle. We want safe passage through your checkpoint."
The officer scoffed. "Safe passage? The Brotherhood controls this sector. If your settlers blunder through, they'll compromise our operations. Our war isn't a charity."
Nate folded his arms. "Neither is ours. But every raider we clear, every ghoul nest we burn out — it makes your patrols safer, too. You want the Institute gone? So do we. We don't need to be friends, but we don't need to be shooting at each other either."
Through his earpiece, Nate caught AR Team's calm murmur — M4A1 giving quiet range calls, G41 confirming turret weak points. A reminder that if things went wrong, backup was seconds away.
The Brotherhood officer leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You're building an army. Don't pretend you're not. The Elder won't let some farmer militia undercut Brotherhood authority."
Before Nate could respond, a commotion at the gates cut through the tension. The guards stepped aside as a new group arrived — armored figures at the front, but behind them trailed worn settlers carrying bundles, children clinging to their parents' hands.
Paladin Danse led the escort, his armor still scored from battle. He raised a hand to silence the guards."Stand down." His voice was firm, commanding enough that the checkpoint fell still.
Danse approached, helm unlatched so his voice carried. "These families came from downtown. They heard rumors — Minutemen pushing south, clearing ghouls, opening settlements. They sought protection."
The settlers murmured anxiously, some nodding toward Nate. A woman spoke up, voice shaking: "We saw the Brotherhood's fight at Joe's Salvage… then the Minutemen at Jamaica Plain. We thought you were working together. It gave us hope."
The Brotherhood officer bristled. "That's—"
"Enough." Danse's command snapped like steel. He glanced at Nate, then back at his own men. "The Elder has been clear. We minimize civilian casualties. We do not create false enemies out of allies. If settlers see cooperation, we do not contradict them — we use it to build trust."
The officer swallowed his anger, stepping back. The air shifted; tension gave way to an uneasy calm.
Nate inclined his head, seizing the moment. "We'll move through here clean. No interference with your patrols, no disruption to your operations. But those families need a safe road south. If the Brotherhood wants stability in Boston, then let the Minutemen do what we do best: keep the people alive."
Danse studied Nate for a long moment, then nodded once. "Very well. Safe passage granted. For now."
The settlers let out a collective sigh of relief, clinging tighter to their bundles. In Nate's ear, Sarah's voice came faint but steady from Jamaica Plain:"Good work, General. Now keep the path open."
As the settlers were escorted deeper into the checkpoint, Nate kept his composure until the gate clanged shut behind them. He exhaled slowly, hand brushing over his coat.
"Sarah," he said over the field comm, his voice tight. "Where the hell did they even hear we were clearing a path south? We've been keeping operations quiet, haven't we?"
From the other end, Sarah's voice carried the faint hum of activity at Jamaica Plain. "That's what worries me, Nate. Someone's been talking."
Preston, standing just behind Nate, shifted awkwardly before clearing his throat. "Actually, General… I think I know how. When we were planning the Castle route, Nick Valentine was at the table, remember? He left for Diamond City right before we moved on Jamaica Plain."
Nate frowned. "Valentine? He's discreet. He wouldn't spill strategy."
Preston raised his palms. "Not directly. But he's friends with Piper Wright. The kind that share everything. And Piper… well, she's the Commonwealth's loudest megaphone."
There was a pause, followed by Sarah's dry sigh through the comms. "Which means our little war council became public headline. 'Minutemen Strike South, Reclaiming Commonwealth.' Cute story for the papers, but now half the Wasteland thinks we're running joint ops with the Brotherhood."
Nate rubbed his temples, glancing back at the checkpoint where Danse's men kept their vigil. "So our cover's blown, our movements broadcast, and every settler with a set of ears thinks the Minutemen are rolling out with air support."
Preston tried a half-smile. "Could be worse. At least the people believe we're actually doing something."
Nate muttered another curse under his breath, but before he could spiral further, Sarah's voice cut in over the comms—calm, clipped, with that practiced command edge.
"General, take this as a lesson," she said. "There's a difference between private talks and military operations. If we don't draw that line clear, the whole Commonwealth will start treating every word we say like gospel."
Nate looked down at the dirt, jaw flexing.
Sarah continued, her tone softening just a fraction. "That said, I'm relieved my part in this wasn't exaggerated. Piper framed it as the Minutemen reclaiming ground, with me on logistics. That works in our favor. Public morale's up, and no one's accusing us of shadow wars or backroom deals."
Preston nodded beside Nate, visibly reassured.
"But from here on," Sarah pressed, "operational meetings are authorized personnel only. No civilians, no guests, no wandering ears. Our plans don't leave the room until the boots are moving."
Nate finally cracked a half-smile. "Aye, Commander. Message received. Guess I'll be more careful who I'm letting sit at the table."
"Good," Sarah replied, firm. "Because next time, the stakes might not be just rumors."
Two days later, the Jamaica Plain square was already shifting from ruin to foothold. Settlers hammered scrap boards into makeshift walls, while Minutemen engineers worked side by side to raise water pumps and string fresh lines of power. A pair of heavy machine turrets clattered into place at the edge of town, their servos whining as they tracked the horizon.
By dawn, the convoy was ready. The Ghost Mule Humvee rumbled to the front, its engine growling like a predator as AR Team checked weapons from the back seats. Behind it stretched a line of wagons and utility trucks—supplies, food, and settlers marching under Minutemen colors. Charlie and Delta squads fanned out as walking guards, their rifles slung but ready.
The route took them past the Brotherhood checkpoint. Sentries in power armor turned their helms, surprised to see not a ragged caravan but a functioning ground convoy with military discipline. The Ghost Mule prowled forward, its mounted guns catching the light. Murmurs rose among the Brotherhood ranks.
Paladin Danse broke from the gate, his posture rigid but his tone measured. He gave the column a long look, then fell in along the side, not as an escort but as an observer. His eyes stayed sharp, weighing every truck, every man, every uniform.
Above, the roar of a Vertibird swept across the ruined blocks. Sarah's bird traced a low recon run toward the coast, the team aboard scanning rooftops and ruins. Dust plumed in her wake as she broke off and banked toward the Castle.
The Vertibird engines screamed as Sarah rappelled down ropes, boots crunching against the cracked tile of a ruined diner. Preston and General Nate were already there, Minutemen squads filtering in around them with rifles and nervous glances. AR Team took positions immediately, sweeping the perimeter with mechanical precision.
Preston's gaze flicked toward the treeline. Paladin Danse and a pair of Brotherhood soldiers stood at a distance, silent observers. Beyond them, a small crowd had gathered—settlers, drifters, and among them Piper Wright, notepad already in hand.
Nate moved to the center of the group, ready to rally his men—until he noticed the Vertibird still circling east, with Team 404 aboard. He frowned.
Nate:"Hey—where are they heading? That's the wrong damn direction."
Sarah exhaled, not surprised."They're reconning Spectacle Island."
Preston turned, confused."Spectacle? Why? That place hasn't had a soul since before the Castle fell. Mirelurks gutted it first."
Sarah folded her arms."Which makes it the perfect staging ground for them to come crawling back from, once you retake the Castle. Better to cut the head off before it grows again."
Nate studied her, then asked cautiously:"So that's your endgame? Setting up on Spectacle?"
Sarah gave a faint nod."After you raise your flag here, yes. The T-Dolls will operate from Spectacle. Remote, defensible, and isolated—ideal for what I need. Starlight was always meant for you, Nate. Once this war swells, it'll be a hub for your people. For me, it's just another supply relay."
She glanced toward the Castle's silhouette, scarred against the horizon."My war is in the shadows. Yours is with banners. We both play to our strengths."
Preston blinked, uneasy."Hold on—you're not gonna help us storm the Castle?"
Sarah's eyes hardened."You don't need me to win it. This has to be the Minutemen's victory—or no one in the Commonwealth will follow you."
The ruined diner filled with the shuffle of boots and the low murmur of nervous voices. The Castle loomed on the horizon like a broken tooth, jagged walls silhouetted against the sea.
General Nate stepped forward, his coat flapping in the salt wind. He looked over the men and women before him—farmers, settlers, volunteers who'd left behind plows and scavenged rifles to wear the armband of the Minutemen.
Nate (raising his voice):"Look at it. Fort Independence. The Castle. Our Castle. For two hundred years it stood as a shield for the people of the Commonwealth. Then the mirelurks came. Then the raiders came. Then silence. Every man and woman who stood there before us thought the Minutemen were gone."
He let the words hang, scanning their eyes.
Nate:"But we're still here. You're still here. And today, we don't fight for ruins. We fight for a future. For a home where every family in the Commonwealth can look east and know someone's watching their back. A place no raider, no mutant, no synth can touch."
He pointed toward the shattered walls of the Castle."That flag goes up today—not for me, not for Preston, not even for the memory of the Minutemen. It goes up for every farmer who wakes wondering if tonight's the night their world burns. For every settler who lost their child to the dark. For everyone who thought no one was coming."
Nate's voice hardened."We are coming. And we'll show them all—when the Minutemen rise, the Commonwealth rises with us!"
A cheer broke out, ragged but growing, echoing against the broken concrete. Even Piper lowered her notepad, watching with a faint smile.
Preston turned to Sarah, almost sheepishly proud of the fire Nate had lit. Sarah allowed herself the faintest smirk.
Sarah (low, to Preston):"He's got the spirit. Now let's make sure they've got the teeth."
Preston blinked."What do you mean?"
Sarah's gaze flicked toward the Castle, then back to the gathered Minutemen."Arm a squad with missile launchers. Mirelurks, mutants, synths—you don't know what's waiting in there. Best to have an answer ready when something bigger than bullets comes crawling."
Preston straightened, nodding grimly."Understood, Commander. We'll be ready."
Sarah's eyes lingered on the Castle one last time."Good. Because when that flag goes up, there's no turning back."