If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
The ground beneath their boots seemed to hum with the life of the base, with the energy of men and women preparing to fight for more than themselves. Sanctuary's survival, maybe the survival of the whole stretch of the Commonwealth, balanced on this thin, dusty line they had carved from the earth.
Morning came slow.
It wasn't the kind of sunrise that painted the sky in warmth; no, this dawn was gray, heavy with clouds that crawled across the horizon like bruises spreading through the sky. The base stirred awake in uneven ripples—some soldiers already moving through their drills, others hunched over tin cups of weak coffee, eyes heavy from a night spent on watch. The scent of burnt rations and campfire smoke clung to the air, mixing with the iron tang of gun oil and the faint, almost metallic smell of freshly dug earth from the trenches.
Sico hadn't slept much. He rarely did on nights like this. He had sat in the command tent for hours, poring over the maps, thinking through contingencies, playing out battles in his mind like a grim game of chess. Outside, he heard the muffled thud of boots, the distant grind of tank treads as mechanics checked the Sentinels again, and the low murmur of soldiers trading words to fight off the unease.
Then, just as the sky turned from steel gray to the pale wash of morning, the sound came—the low, steady growl of engines in the distance.
It wasn't mutants. Not raiders. This was heavier, disciplined, mechanical. Reinforcements.
Preston was the first to reach him, his musket slung and his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hat. "Convoy approaching from the north road," he said, voice carrying a note of relief that he didn't bother to hide.
Sico was already moving out of the tent, his boots crunching against dirt as he strode toward the north perimeter. Soldiers who'd been hunched over breakfast scrambled to their feet, weapons lifted just in case—but then, through the haze, the convoy appeared.
First came the armored personnel carriers—three Humvee, their metal sides scarred from past battles but still intact, their wheels grinding against the broken road. Behind them rolled two supply trucks, tarps stretched tight over the cargo beds. Flanking the line, a Sentinel tank rolled with the slow inevitability of thunder, its turret swinging left and right, scanning the treeline as though daring anything to try.
The column came to a halt just outside the base's wire, dust pluming into the air around them. Hatches opened, doors slammed, and boots hit the ground in unison.
One hundred soldiers, armored and armed, stepped out like a wave. They wore combat fatigues in muted greens and browns, their rifles gleaming clean and oiled. Field medics dismounted from the second Humvee, their packs already brimming with supplies. A supply sergeant barked orders at the truck drivers, who began unloading crates—ammo, rations, medical stock, fuel cells. The air buzzed with the kind of disciplined efficiency that told Sico Sarah had sent him her best.
Sico stood with Preston at his side, helmet tucked under his arm. He let the men and women file in, their faces marked by travel fatigue but their movements sharp. When the last of them had stepped through the gates and into the safety of the forward base, Sico raised his voice.
"Soldiers!"
The word cracked across the air like a whip. One by one, heads turned, conversations stilled, and the new arrivals faced him. Even the veterans who'd been working since yesterday stopped what they were doing. There was something in Sico's voice—an authority that wasn't loud for the sake of noise, but loud because it carried the weight of every life here.
"You've traveled far," he said, his gaze sweeping the crowd. "You've brought supplies, weapons, and most importantly, yourselves. You'll find rest here, you'll eat, and you'll prepare—but your mission is clear: you are the shield of this base. You will hold this ground. Whatever comes through those ruins, whatever claws its way out of C.I.T., you will not break. Because this—" he swept a hand toward the fortifications, the trenches, the tanks "—this is the line. And if it falls, Sanctuary falls."
A murmur rippled through the ranks—not fear, but the sound of men and women straightening their backs, squaring their shoulders.
Sico's tone shifted, harder now. "Rest while you can. Eat while you can. Sharpen your weapons and clear your minds. You are not the hammer—we are. Tomorrow, we strike. And when we do, you'll keep this fortress standing until we return. That is your duty."
A chorus of voices answered, rough and strong: "Yes, Commander!"
Sico gave a curt nod, then turned to Preston. For a long moment, the two men simply looked at one another. Preston's hat shadowed his eyes, but there was no mistaking the steel there.
"You'll lead them," Sico said quietly, though the authority in his words was iron. "One hundred soldiers, plus the supplies. Your mission is to defend this base. Reinforce the trenches. Rotate the watch. And if we call for you…" His jaw tightened. "You bring the hammer down."
Preston gave a short, firm nod. "I'll hold it. You can count on that."
"I know," Sico said simply.
He turned back toward the heart of the base, his mind already shifting gears. Because the next part wasn't defense—it was attack.
He gathered his officers around the command table inside the tent: MacCready, Robert, a handful of squad leaders, and the tank commander. Maps lay spread across the wood, marked with charcoal notations of the ruins' layout and estimated mutant positions.
Sico pointed with his gloved hand. "We go in with two hundred soldiers. Ten men in power armor at the spear, two Humvees for mobility and fire support, and one Sentinel for heavy punch. We cut straight into their position at C.I.T. and break their strength before they can gather enough to march on us."
Robert frowned, his scarred face tightening. "Two hundred against what seventy or right Super Mutants? You're asking a lot, Commander."
Sico's eyes didn't waver. "I'm asking exactly what's needed. Robert, your hunter-killer squads have already bled their numbers. MacCready, your men know how to hit and vanish—do that here, inside the ruins. Pin them down, create chaos. The power armor will lead the breach, the tank follows to crack anything heavy they bring. We're not here to wipe them all out in a single sweep—we're here to break their spine. Once they're disorganized, scattered, they'll be easier prey on the roads."
MacCready gave a half-smirk, though there was no humor in it. "Chaos, huh? That, I can do."
The tank commander leaned forward. "Sentinel's fueled and ready, but if we go into those ruins, sight lines will be tight. We'll have to keep her moving or risk ambush."
"Then we keep her moving," Sico said.
Silence hung for a moment as everyone absorbed the plan. It wasn't a plan of comfort—it was risk and steel, but it was the only path forward. Finally, Robert gave a curt nod. "Alright. Then we bleed them."
Sico straightened, his eyes sweeping the room. "Tomorrow morning, we move. Tonight, we prepare. Preston has the base. We have the ruins."
When the meeting broke, Sico stepped outside once more. The camp was alive with motion—the new arrivals settling in, the veterans checking their weapons, mechanics tuning the Humvees. Over by the tanks, sparks flew as engineers welded reinforcement plates. The air hummed with energy, not just of fear but of anticipation.
The morning broke like a drumbeat.
The sky was low and heavy, clouds bruised and swollen with the promise of rain, though none yet fell. The forward base stirred earlier than usual. Men and women moved with a deliberate purpose, their boots crunching against gravel, their breaths steaming in the cold air. Weapons were checked and rechecked; ammo was loaded into bandoliers and stacked in Humvees; medics packed their bags with trembling but steady hands.
It wasn't quiet—not the silence of fear—but there was a heaviness to the sound, the way a room goes quiet before a verdict is spoken.
Sico had been awake long before the dawn. He stood outside the command tent, helmet under one arm, eyes on the horizon where the jagged skeleton of the C.I.T. ruins clawed against the sky. He didn't move when Preston approached, his musket resting against his shoulder.
"They're ready," Preston said, his voice low but sure. "Nervous, but ready."
"They should be nervous," Sico replied, his tone even, eyes never leaving the ruins. "A nervous soldier stays alive. Overconfidence is what gets you killed."
Preston gave a faint grunt of agreement, then tilted his head toward the movement inside the base. "Your army's waiting."
Sico drew in a slow breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the men and women who had gathered.
Two hundred soldiers stood in rows before him. Ten in power armor stood at the fore, their visors gleaming faintly in the weak light, servos whirring as they shifted their weight. Behind them, the Sentinel tank rumbled, its engine idling like a growl waiting to be unleashed. The Humvees were parked at the flanks, machine guns mounted, crews at the ready.
Faces turned toward him, some hardened veterans, others younger, eyes sharp but not yet dulled by years of blood. All of them waiting.
Sico stepped forward, his voice cutting across the chill morning air.
"Today, we carry the fight to them."
The murmur of soldiers stilled entirely.
"For weeks, these ruins have crawled with mutants. For weeks, they've been gathering their strength, waiting for their moment. They thought they could march on Sanctuary, tear down everything we've built, and leave nothing but ash. They thought wrong."
His hand swept toward the looming outline of C.I.T., black and broken against the horizon.
"Today, we take that strength from them. Today, we break their spine. Two hundred of us will march into their den, with steel, fire, and the will to live. Behind us, one hundred more will hold this base, this fortress, so no matter what happens, the line stands."
He paused, letting the weight of the words hang. His gaze found Preston in the crowd, then Robert, then MacCready standing at the edges, the Commandos' faces grim.
"Robert. MacCready. You'll bring your Commandos with us. You've been bleeding their numbers, cutting at their edges. Now it's time to strike the heart."
Both men nodded, almost in unison. MacCready smirked faintly, but the set of his jaw betrayed the seriousness. Robert simply tightened his grip on his rifle.
Sico turned back to the soldiers. "We are the hammer. Preston and his men will be the shield. When we strike, we strike to cripple. When we fight, we fight together. And when we come back—" his voice rose, iron against the wind, "—we come back alive."
A roar rose from the crowd, not the ragged cry of fear but the unified shout of men and women who had chosen their side, who knew what waited and marched toward it anyway.
Sico gave a single, sharp nod. "Mount up."
The march began with the low rumble of the Sentinel tank rolling out of the gate. The ground shook with each heavy tread, the turret scanning ahead. Behind it, the power armor soldiers clanked forward, each step measured, each movement purposeful.
The two Humvees followed, their engines growling, gunners standing tall behind mounted weapons, scanning the treeline with sharp eyes. And behind them came the mass of soldiers, boots beating a steady rhythm against the earth, rifles slung ready, eyes locked forward.
Robert and MacCready moved with their squads along the flanks, shadowing the main force. They were the knives to Sico's hammer, the hunters ready to peel into side alleys and cut the enemy before they knew where the blade had come from.
The ruins of the campus grew closer with every step. What had once been a proud bastion of science and learning was now a graveyard of stone and twisted steel. Towers leaned like broken teeth, windows gaped empty, vines and rust clawed their way across cracked walls. Fires still smoldered in places where mutants had burned camps or cooked their grisly meals.
And then came the sound.
At first it was faint, a distant thrum like the earth itself growling. But soon it grew clearer—deep voices barking, guttural laughter, the stomp of heavy feet. The mutants knew they were coming.
Sico raised his fist, and the column slowed. The Sentinel rumbled to a halt, its engine humming like a beast restrained. Soldiers crouched, rifles lifted, scanning the shadows.
"Robert," Sico's voice crackled over the comm, calm as stone. "Take your squad right. Flank them through the old lecture hall."
"Copy," Robert replied, already signaling his men to break off.
"MacCready," Sico continued. "Left flank, through the courtyard. Pin them down, keep them guessing."
MacCready's smirk bled through his voice over the comm. "Copy that, Commander. Time to make some noise."
The two Commando teams slipped away like ghosts, disappearing into the rubble.
Sico turned his attention back to the line. "Forward units—advance."
The power armor squad moved first, their heavy boots thudding against the broken pavement. Behind them, infantry spread out in staggered lines, rifles raised, eyes scanning the windows, the alleys, the broken cars.
The first shot cracked across the ruins like a whip.
A mutant, massive and scarred, roared from the shadow of a collapsed building, a jagged rebar club in its hand. It charged, spittle flying, bellowing a sound that rattled bone. Before it could close the distance, rifles barked—half a dozen shots slamming into its chest, head, and legs. The beast toppled with a scream, its body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch.
The silence that followed lasted less than a heartbeat.
Then the ruins erupted.
Roars rose from every direction—dozens of guttural voices bellowing in rage. From the shadows poured mutants, some with crude guns, others with pipes, clubs, and axes. The ground shook under their charge.
Sico's voice was steady, calm, cutting through the chaos. "Hold the line. Power armor—engage!"
The ten armored giants surged forward, plasma rifles and miniguns spitting fire. Green bolts seared through the smoke, tearing mutants apart in sprays of gore. The Sentinel tank's turret swung, a thunderous boom cracking the air as a shell obliterated a knot of charging brutes, leaving nothing but fire and twisted bodies.
But the mutants didn't falter. They charged into the hail of fire, their massive bodies soaking bullets, their sheer momentum terrifying.
Then, from the right, Robert's squad opened up—sharp, precise shots cracking skulls from the shadows of the lecture hall. From the left, MacCready's voice whooped over the comm as his team lobbed grenades into the charging pack, explosions ripping mutants apart and throwing others to the ground.
The ruins trembled with the weight of the battle. The clash of steel and gunfire echoed through the shattered bones of the C.I.T. campus, every blast reverberating like thunder. Smoke clawed at the sky, thick with the smell of cordite, burnt flesh, and stone dust.
Sico's voice cut through it all.
"Robert! MacCready! Take your Commandos, fifty soldiers—inside. Follow the breach. Link up with the power armor unit and drive straight to their leader. Don't stop, don't scatter. Carve a path!"
The two men didn't hesitate. Robert's face was grim, eyes steady under the brim of his helmet. He simply gave a curt nod, signaling his squad forward. MacCready, by contrast, flashed a quick, wolfish grin, though there was no humor in it—only the sharp edge of adrenaline.
"You heard the man!" MacCready shouted to his Commandos and the soldiers clustering nearby. "Time to kick in the teeth of whatever ugly bastard's running this circus. Move!"
The fifty chosen soldiers surged from the line, following the Commandos like a tide of steel. Their boots pounded across the cracked pavement as they moved toward the broken doors where the power armor squad had vanished.
"Inside, now!" Robert barked, waving them on with a sweep of his rifle. "Keep tight! Watch your corners! Don't get separated!"
The breach gaped like a wound in the old building, smoke and fire pouring from its mouth. The roar of battle inside was louder now—echoing screams, the grind of miniguns, the crash of bodies and armor. As Robert, MacCready, and their force disappeared into the breach, the air itself seemed to swallow them whole.
Sico turned back to the chaos outside. His face was carved from stone, his voice ringing across the battlefield.
"The rest with me! We hold this ground! Nobody gets through!"
The soldiers answered with a roar.
The mutants outside were still pouring in, endless waves of them charging over the rubble. Gunfire shredded the air, mutants with rifles firing from broken windows, others rushing with crude weapons, and more hounds baying for blood. It was a storm of bodies and bullets.
Sico raised his rifle and fired, dropping a charging brute in mid-stride. He didn't pause to watch it fall—he was already turning, already barking new orders.
"Sentinel! Left flank! Crush that barricade!"
The tank's turret swiveled and fired, the explosion sending up a tower of flame and dirt, obliterating the mutants who had tried to form a firing nest near a collapsed bus. Screams tore through the smoke, then silence.
"First platoon, keep your fire steady! Don't waste your rounds—aim for the ones with guns!"
The line responded, rifles cracking in rhythm. A mutant with a scavenged assault rifle jerked as three rounds hit his chest, stumbling back into the rubble. Another, swinging a rusted sledge, took a round to the head and crumpled.
Sico stalked the line like a predator, his voice everywhere at once, pulling the formation tighter, steadier. He wasn't just holding the line—he was binding them together, one iron word at a time.
Inside the ruins, Robert led the way with his squad moving with surgical precision. The interior was a maze of collapsed walls and twisted metal, corridors half-buried under the weight of years and war. Fires burned in piles of scrap and bone, casting monstrous shadows across graffiti-stained walls. The air was thick with the stink of rot and blood.
And the mutants were waiting.
The first ambush came from above. A balcony collapsed as two massive brutes leapt down, clubs swinging. Robert's rifle barked twice, precise shots slamming into the nearest mutant's throat, but the second plowed into the line, scattering soldiers.
MacCready was already moving. "Grenade!" he shouted, pulling the pin and tossing it underhand into the brute's legs. The explosion tore one of them off at the knee, spraying the corridor with gore. Soldiers finished the job with a burst of bullets.
"Keep moving!" Robert growled. "Don't get bogged down!"
The power armor squad was ahead somewhere, carving the path, but the ruins were vast. Every step forward was another battle, another hallway crawling with mutants, another shadow that could hold death.
One soldier screamed as a mutant grabbed him by the throat, lifting him like a rag doll. His comrades opened fire, the rounds stitching the beast's chest until it dropped, but the man was left gasping, clutching his bleeding neck as the medics dragged him back.
MacCready reloaded, his voice sharp, cutting above the chaos. "You want out of here alive? Then keep your goddamn barrels hot and your feet moving! Their boss is in here somewhere, and the sooner we cut his ugly head off, the sooner this nightmare's over!"
Outside the courtyard had become a furnace.
The mutants pressed hard now, desperate to crush the humans before their leader could be reached. Their gunfire poured from every window, every rooftop, their hounds snapping and lunging. The line was bleeding, but it held.
Sico moved like a man possessed. His rifle spat fire, his voice never faltering. He caught a mutant mid-charge with three rounds to the gut, then swung his gaze down the line.
A cluster of soldiers had been pinned by a mutant with a minigun, its barrels spinning as it shredded the ground around them.
"Cover me!" Sico shouted. He broke into a run, sliding behind a rusted car. The minigun tore through the metal, sparks showering, but Sico leaned out, aimed, and fired a single, controlled burst. The rounds punched into the mutant's face, dropping it like a puppet with its strings cut.
He stood, raised his rifle overhead, and shouted: "Hold your ground! Every breath you take is another second closer to victory!"
The soldiers roared, their fire redoubling.
The Sentinel tank roared again, blowing apart another cluster of mutants. The battlefield was still a storm, but the line was no longer bending. It was steel now, forged by fire, unyielding.
________________________________________________
• 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:-