527. Brotherhood Take Action

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Sico stood a little longer, listening to the wind shift through the broken bones of Greenetech, and wondered if the woman he trusted most was still fighting for the same future he was. Or if she'd already made peace with letting it go.

Then the scene change to Prydwen aho loomed like a thundercloud over the war-scarred Commonwealth, its engines thrumming with slow, steady menace. Beneath the dirigible's hull, rows of vertibirds clung to their bays like vultures roosting before a feast. Inside, steel rang against steel, and boots thudded on grated walkways. Brotherhood scribes, knights, and paladins moved with brisk purpose, the tension of recent news clinging to the air like gunpowder after a firefight.

Elder Arthur Maxson stood at the head of the command room, gloved hands braced on the circular table that dominated the space. The room was darkened save for the holographic projection in the center: a flickering, top-down map of downtown Boston. A red beacon pulsed over Greenetech Genetics.

He didn't speak immediately. He let the weight of the silence settle.

Around him stood a select group of senior officers—Paladin Danse, Head Scribe Neriah, Lancer-Captain Kells, Knight-Commander Rhaelyn, and several others—all summoned the moment confirmation of the Institute's failed counter-assault had arrived. Maxson had reviewed the intel three times already. Each time, it confirmed the same thing:

The Minutemen hadn't just taken Greenetech.

They'd held it.

Against them.

"Two strikes in under a week," Maxson said finally, his voice a low growl, clipped and precise. "The first, an unexpected Minutemen assault. Successful. The second, a counterstrike by the Institute—teleportation-based, direct infiltration. Repelled."

He looked up. His eyes, storm-gray and hard as adamant, swept over the assembled officers.

"They didn't just survive it. They beat it."

Danse stepped forward, arms crossed. "Our recon confirms it. Synth signatures were recorded all over the site—some of the newer models, too. Courser-grade. The Institute didn't send a probing force. They committed."

"And still lost," Maxson muttered.

He turned and walked a slow arc around the table. "For two hundred years, the Brotherhood of Steel has stood between mankind and its own self-destruction. We've watched governments fall, armies scatter, entire cities burn to ash. Through it all, we remained. Because we understood the truth: that technology without control is chaos. Death. Extinction."

He gestured at the map. "And yet here we are. A backwoods militia with patched-up armor and pipe rifles just humiliated the most advanced scientific force in the known world. And we weren't even invited to the party."

There was a pause. Then Knight-Commander Rhaelyn said cautiously, "With respect, Elder, the Minutemen have been growing more capable. Since Sico took command—"

"I know who leads them," Maxson snapped. "I've read the briefings. Sico—former a Vault Dweller, reportedly from Vault 81. Strategic mind, unusual loyalty patterns, rising charisma. He rebuilt the Castle. Negotiated peace with fringe settlements. And now, somehow, he's outwitting the Institute's best."

He leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of the table.

"We've tolerated them. Even cooperated, in a limited fashion. But that was when they were just another group playing soldier in the ruins."

He stabbed a finger toward the pulsing red light over Greenetech.

"This? This is power. And power, unchecked, is dangerous."

Kells spoke up then, voice even but firm. "Elder, there is the possibility that their victory benefits us. We've long struggled to map the Institute's teleportation capabilities. If the Minutemen have compromised a major node—"

"Then we take it," Maxson cut in. "Before it slips through our fingers."

There was a pause, heavy with the weight of what that would mean. The Brotherhood didn't ask. They took. That was their nature—cold, decisive, unyielding.

But this time, it wouldn't be a forgotten bunker or isolated tech cache.

It would be a siege. A clash not only with the Institute…but possibly the Minutemen themselves.

Danse stepped forward again. "If I may, Elder… Sico is not an enemy. At least, not yet. He's shown willingness to cooperate in the past. He's no fan of the Institute. We may still have a chance to forge an alliance. Or at the very least, share intel."

Maxson looked at him. "And what? Let them grow stronger? Let the people of the Commonwealth start believing they are the sword and shield? That they are the protectors?"

His voice rose now, carried by conviction sharpened into steel.

"The Brotherhood of Steel is not a second-string military. We are not a side note in someone else's revolution. If we allow them to rise unchecked, we may wake one day to find ourselves obsolete in the very world we were sworn to save."

He let the silence hang a beat too long.

Maxson's voice rang through the command room now, heavy with thunder and iron, the very walls of the Prydwen seeming to vibrate with its weight.

"Then it's time," he said, standing straighter, shoulders like carved granite beneath the black and red of his Elder's coat. "If we weren't invited to the party, then we crash it. No more waiting. No more watching."

He turned, the holographic glow painting his face in pale blue fire as he looked from one officer to the next.

"We attack."

A hush fell over the room, stunned but electric. Paladin Danse shifted his stance slightly, not surprised but not entirely at ease. Lancer-Captain Kells simply inclined his head, the beginnings of a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Head Scribe Neriah's fingers hovered near her datapad, as if already preparing notes for field deployments, tech recovery operations, logistics.

Maxson didn't give them time to question.

"We start with the periphery. No deep strikes yet. But any synth patrol within our claimed airspace? Eliminated. Any Institute outpost, relay station, or supply route within our range? Dismantled. We draw a line around Brotherhood territory so bold and so clear that even a Courser won't cross it without thinking twice."

He stalked around the table again, each step echoing in the metal-floored war room like a war drum.

"The Commonwealth is watching. After the Institute's defeat at Greenetech, eyes are turning to the Minutemen. Settlers, traders, even former Gunners are whispering about them now, like they're the new power. The new law. That ends here. That ends now."

Danse spoke, not confrontational but careful. "With respect, Elder… if we push too hard, too fast, we risk making enemies on two fronts. The Minutemen may see our actions as an encroachment. A threat. Especially if we start hitting Institute sites near their territory."

Maxson nodded, acknowledging the point but not conceding it.

"They might. And if they do, we'll be ready. But they've already declared themselves. Whether they meant to or not. By winning at Greenetech, they made their move. And we will answer in kind."

He stopped before the holotable again and jabbed a finger into the map. Small white dots—Brotherhood patrol routes, outposts, comms towers—formed a wide crescent across the north and west of the city. Greenetech sat to the southeast, near what had once been Cambridge.

"There's a relay station here," he said, drawing a rough circle with his finger, "just south of Back Street Apparel. One of the Institute's field data hubs. We've seen Gen-2 synths there. Possibly even a Courser running signals. It's close to Minutemen patrols, but outside their stronghold perimeter. We hit it fast, clean, no civilian casualties. We send a message: the Brotherhood's reach is long, and we don't tolerate trespassers."

He turned to Kells. "Mobilize a strike team. Paladins only. No initiates."

"Yes, Elder."

"Danse, you'll lead them."

Danse gave a short, crisp nod. "Understood."

Maxson continued. "After that, we launch coordinated sweeps. Sky-Lancer units will fly recon routes deeper into known Institute transit zones. I want patterns, routes, behaviors. And I want telemetry intercepted from any remaining active relay beacons. Neriah, get your scribes ready to decrypt and analyze anything we pull out of those black boxes."

"Already in progress," the Head Scribe said, voice smooth as silk but laced with fire.

Maxson's voice dropped slightly, not softer, but more dangerous—quiet like a blade unsheathing.

"The Commonwealth must see us fight. Not just to protect ourselves. But to protect them. We must remind them that the Brotherhood has not forgotten them. We didn't retreat to the skies. We didn't vanish into bunkers. We are here. On the ground. In the air. And now, in the fight."

He looked again at the projection of Boston, war-scarred and broken, stitched together by ragged blue veins of Brotherhood presence, the crimson pulse of Greenetech defiant in the dark.

"We fly over them every day. They hear our engines. See our vertibirds. Now they will see what it means when the Brotherhood decides to act."

Knight-Commander Rhaelyn, who had until now been silent, spoke up. Her voice was measured, thoughtful. "There will be public reaction. The people may be grateful. But some will be frightened. Especially if synths start fighting back in populated zones. This won't be a quiet war."

Maxson nodded. "Then let them see our resolve. Fear is a weapon. So is awe. We carry both. And we wield them with precision."

He paused, then added with deliberate clarity, "We do not become monsters. This is not a purge. We do not shoot farmers for having a salvaged laser musket. We do not storm clinics looking for Gen-1 implants. But if a synth patrol marches through our lands, we break them. If an Institute outpost fires at one of our birds, we level it."

Maxson's boots rang against the deck as he stepped forward once more, fire in his eyes now—not just command fire, but righteous fury—the kind that only a man raised in war and doctrine could wear like a second skin.

He planted both gloved hands on the edge of the holotable, knuckles whitening as he leaned in, gaze scanning the war map. "Before we begin the larger campaign," he said, voice lowering just enough to force everyone in the room to lean in, "we will reclaim Fort Strong."

A beat passed. Several heads turned. Paladin Danse furrowed his brow, while Kells' fingers tightened behind his back. Even Rhaelyn straightened, clearly not expecting that particular name.

Maxson didn't wait for their reactions to coalesce.

"We need that armory. The Institute isn't our only enemy in this war. The Super Mutants that have infested Fort Strong are a festering wound—an insult to what that site once stood for. Soldiers trained there. Patriots. It housed munitions meant to protect this nation. Now? It's overrun by green-skinned mockeries of humanity."

He turned and began to walk again, pacing the semicircle behind the holotable like a lion behind the bars of a cage.

"Intelligence confirms the Super Mutants at Fort Strong are heavily entrenched. But they're disorganized. Brutal, yes. Violent. But predictable. We strike with speed and force, we cut the head off, the rest will crumble. Once the fort is secure, we gain full access to the military armory. Reports suggest it's still stocked with crates of 5mm, 10mm, and energy cells. Plasma grenades. Fat Man launchers. And mini nukes."

Danse's jaw tightened. "With those supplies, we could keep an entire battalion equipped for months."

Maxson nodded. "Exactly. We're going to need every round, every charge, every ounce of explosive we can get. If the Institute escalates… if the Minutemen take offense to our presence… we need to be ready to fight two wars at once."

Neriah spoke then, cautious but curious. "And what about the radiation levels? My scribes recorded intermittent spikes. There may be contamination from the pre-war bombings."

Maxson turned to her, voice hard but measured. "Then we wear sealed suits. Use power armor in full lockdown mode. I'm not losing a single soldier to a rad burn if we can help it. We have the tech. We use it."

There was no further protest.

Not that there would've been. Not here. Not with the Elder's gaze boring into them like a laser sight. He was resolved, and when Maxson was resolved, the Brotherhood followed.

"Paladin Danse," Maxson said, snapping his attention back to his most loyal warrior. "You'll coordinate the assault. I want Vertibird teams dropping at dawn, no later. Keep a safe distance from the structure on approach—Super Mutants may have scavenged missile launchers or mini guns. You'll need heavy support."

Danse straightened. "I'll request Sentinel-duty T-60s from the lower deck. And a Knight team with plasma throwers."

"Approved," Maxson said. "Burn the nests. Don't give them a chance to regroup."

Kells stepped in then, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "We'll deploy bird cover in staggered formation. If the mutants open up, we sweep them from the sky with autocannon fire before the boots even hit the ground."

"Good," Maxson replied. "Clean. Decisive."

He turned again to the map, where Fort Strong now blinked with a bright yellow tag—newly designated, newly targeted.

"This is more than just a munitions run," he said, voice simmering. "This is symbolic. We're reclaiming a piece of the old world. Taking back what was ours. Letting the entire region know—Brotherhood territory is not just sky and threat. It's boots on the ground. It's steel in the dirt."

There was a flicker of silence, like the last calm before a bolt of lightning.

Then Maxson said, quieter, more to himself than the room, "We're going to show them what it means to be worthy of this uniform."

He turned back to the officers.

"Once Fort Strong is ours, I want that armory stripped down and catalogued within twenty-four hours. Neriah, your scribes will document every usable asset and reroute anything excessive to our supply bunkers on the southern banks."

Neriah nodded, already thumbing her datapad.

Maxson went on, relentless. "Set up a forward watchpoint there. I want rotating squads stationed for observation—if any remnant Super Mutants try to retake it, they won't live long enough to fire a shot."

Danse stepped forward, voice firm and unwavering. "If I may, Elder—I'd recommend Knight-Captain Colbert lead the hold position team. His unit's been drilling in close-quarter combat scenarios. Perfect for keeping that armory secured."

Maxson nodded without hesitation. "Make it happen."

He swept his eyes across the room one last time. The officers of the Brotherhood—his most trusted minds, his sharpest blades, his iron fists.

"This is the beginning," he said. "The turning point."

"We've let the Institute fester too long. Let their sins echo unchecked. And now the Minutemen—untrained, undisciplined—seek to claim glory as if they've held the line for centuries. They do not understand what is at stake. But we do."

He stepped up to the observation window once again, overlooking the gray-blue pre-dawn gloom that cloaked Boston far below. A gentle mist clung to the ruined skyline. Somewhere, far off, the first signs of life stirred: a flickering light, the faint howl of a wasteland creature.

"First Fort Strong. Then the relay station. And then," he said, voice a whisper now, "we remind the Commonwealth what it means to have protectors who do not flinch… who do not compromise… who do not break."

Behind him, the command room was already moving. Orders being written, encrypted, dispatched. Teams assembling on the flight deck. Armor calibrated. Plasma chambers warmed. Grenades counted by the dozens, mini nukes secured like sleeping giants. And above it all, the Elder stood still, staring into the rising light.

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• Name: Sico

• Stats :

S: 8,44

P: 7,44

E: 8,44

C: 8,44

I: 9,44

A: 7,45

L: 7

• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills

• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.

• Active Quest:-