If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Then Briggs climbed up beside him on the shoreline, as the giant power armor suit stood there looking out across the devastated beach.
For a long moment after the last explosion faded, the harbor existed in a strange kind of silence.
Not complete silence.
There were still distant sounds as waves slapping against broken rocks, the low crackle of small fires burning in the sand, and the slow mechanical whine of power armor servos cooling down after the battle.
But compared to the chaos from a few minutes earlier, it felt almost peaceful.
Smoke drifted across the shoreline like morning fog.
The beach itself no longer looked like a battlefield.
It looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster.
Crater after crater scarred the sand where the artillery shells had landed. Some were deep enough to swallow a truck. Others had filled with seawater already, forming strange pools that reflected the pale sky above.
Fragments of shattered Mirelurk shells were scattered everywhere.
Some pieces were small and jagged, like broken pottery.
Others were massive slabs the size of doors, cracked open by artillery blasts and lying half-buried in the sand.
Closer to the surf, the body of one Mirelurk King had washed sideways with the tide. Its enormous armored back was split open from the explosion that had thrown it into the water.
Seawater lapped against it slowly.
Dead.
Albert stood there for a while just looking at it all.
Behind him, sailors were beginning to move again.
The first shock of the artillery barrage had passed, and now training was taking over.
Men climbed down from watchtowers.
Others left the safety of sandbag walls and slowly stepped onto the beach.
Weapons were still raised, but the urgency had faded.
Because the threat was gone.
Albert exhaled slowly.
Then the commander in him returned.
He turned toward the nearest group of sailors.
"Alright!" he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the shoreline. "Let's get moving!"
Heads turned immediately.
Orders meant structure.
Structure meant the battle was truly over.
Albert pointed toward several wounded sailors who were sitting or lying along the sandbag line.
"Medics!"
Two corpsmen already moving through the area looked up.
"Sir!"
Albert gestured toward the injured.
"Start triage. Anyone hurt gets looked at immediately."
The medics nodded and moved quickly.
They were already opening medical kits as they jogged across the sand.
One sailor had a bandage pressed tightly against his forearm where a Mirelurk claw had sliced through his sleeve. Blood soaked the cloth, but he was still sitting upright and talking with the man beside him.
Another sailor was leaning against a sandbag wall with a badly twisted ankle.
Further down the line, one man lay flat on the sand while a fellow sailor knelt beside him trying to keep him conscious.
"Stay with me, Carter," the sailor was saying urgently. "You're fine. Just breathe."
The medics arrived seconds later.
Albert watched them for a moment.
Fast.
Professional.
No panic.
Good.
He turned his attention to the rest of the beach.
Dozens of Mirelurk bodies littered the shoreline.
Some had been obliterated completely by artillery blasts, reduced to scattered fragments of shell and meat.
But others were surprisingly intact.
Albert's eyes lingered on one large Mirelurk lying on its side about thirty meters away.
Its shell was cracked from a missile strike, but most of the body looked untouched.
In the wasteland, that meant something very important.
Food.
Albert turned toward another group of sailors standing near the supply trucks.
"Logistics team!"
One of them raised a hand.
"Here, Commander!"
Albert pointed toward the beach.
"Start gathering the Mirelurk bodies."
The man blinked once.
Then realization hit.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"The ones that are still good?"
Albert nodded.
"Exactly."
He gestured across the battlefield.
"Anything that isn't completely destroyed. Bring it in."
Several sailors nearby exchanged looks.
One of them laughed.
"Well boys," he said, grabbing a rope from the truck bed, "looks like we're having seafood tonight."
Another sailor chuckled.
"Probably for the next month."
Albert allowed himself a faint smile.
Mirelurk meat was tough to prepare, but it was nutritious and more importantly, it was plentiful when creatures this large died.
One Mirelurk Queen alone could feed an entire settlement for weeks.
And there were two of them out there.
Albert turned slightly and looked back toward the shattered crater where the last Queen had died.
Even from here, he could see pieces of its massive shell scattered across the sand.
That was a lot of food.
If they could salvage it.
"Bring cutting tools," Albert added. "And carts."
"Yes sir!"
The logistics sailors immediately got to work.
Within minutes, several utility trucks began rolling toward the shoreline. Men jumped out carrying ropes, hooks, and heavy-duty saws used for breaking down large creatures.
The wasteland had taught humanity many strange skills.
Processing Mirelurks was one of them.
Albert watched them move out across the beach.
Then he turned toward Briggs.
The massive power armor suit still stood beside him, staring out over the battlefield like a silent statue.
The armor's optics glowed faintly inside the helmet visor.
Briggs hadn't moved much since the barrage ended.
Albert walked closer.
"Briggs."
The helmet turned toward him.
"Yeah?"
Albert nodded toward the harbor behind them where sailors were still regrouping.
"I need casualty numbers."
Briggs didn't respond right away.
Instead, he looked back across the beach again.
Toward the bodies.
Toward the wreckage.
Toward the places where sailors had been fighting just minutes earlier.
Finally, he nodded once.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll find out."
Albert placed a hand briefly on the armored shoulder.
"Thank you."
Briggs gave a short grunt.
Then he turned and started walking toward the main defensive line.
Each heavy step of the power armor left deep impressions in the sand.
Albert watched him go.
Casualty reports were never easy.
Even after a victory.
Especially after a victory.
Because that was when you finally had time to count the cost.
Briggs reached the defensive line near the sandbags where several sailors were already regrouping.
The power armor squad that had fought beside him was removing spent ammunition belts and checking weapon systems.
One soldier unclipped the empty drum from a minigun and dropped it into a supply crate.
Another was reloading fresh missiles into a launcher mounted on his shoulder.
Briggs raised one hand slightly.
"Alright," he said through the external speakers of his armor.
Several sailors looked up.
"We need to do a headcount."
A petty officer stepped forward.
"Yes sir."
Briggs nodded.
"Start with your section. I want every squad reporting."
The officer immediately turned and began shouting names.
Nearby, other squad leaders began doing the same.
"Walker!"
"Here!"
"Daniels!"
"Present!"
"Torres!"
"Right here!"
The names echoed across the harbor.
One by one.
Men answering.
Voices calling back.
Sometimes two sailors would answer at once because someone had misheard a name.
Sometimes someone shouted "He's over there!" and pointed toward a man helping a medic.
The process took time.
But eventually the pattern became clear.
Most of the sailors were accounted for.
A few were injured.
Several had been dragged to the medical tent already.
Briggs waited patiently.
Finally the petty officer returned.
He looked tired.
His face was streaked with soot and sweat.
"Commander…"
Briggs tilted his helmet slightly.
"What's the count?"
The officer hesitated for a moment.
Then answered.
"We've got wounded."
Briggs nodded slowly.
"How many?"
"Eleven."
Not great.
But not catastrophic.
Briggs exhaled quietly.
"And the rest?"
The officer looked down briefly before answering.
"Four confirmed KIA."
The words hung in the air.
Briggs closed his eyes inside the helmet for a second.
Four.
It could have been worse.
But that didn't make it better.
"Names?" he asked quietly.
The officer listed them one by one.
Briggs listened carefully.
Memorizing each one.
Because that mattered.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright."
The officer looked up again.
"What should we do about—"
Briggs raised a hand gently.
"I'll report it."
The officer nodded.
Then stepped back to help the others.
Briggs turned and looked across the harbor again.
Albert was still standing near the shoreline watching the cleanup operation begin.
For a moment Briggs just stood there.
Then he started walking back.
Out on the beach, the logistics teams had already begun their work.
Two trucks were parked beside the body of a large Mirelurk.
Sailors had wrapped thick chains around its legs and were attempting to drag it onto a reinforced cargo sled.
"Pull!" one of them shouted.
The winch motor on the truck groaned as it tried to haul the massive creature across the sand.
The sled moved a few inches.
Then a few more.
Another sailor wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Damn thing weighs a ton."
His partner laughed.
"Good thing we're not carrying it."
Further down the shoreline, another team was examining one of the Mirelurk Kings.
Its shell was cracked open from the artillery blast, but the meat inside looked mostly intact.
One sailor poked it cautiously with a metal rod.
"Still warm."
Another nodded.
"Means it's fresh."
A third sailor lifted a heavy saw from the truck bed.
"Alright," he said with a grin.
"Let's get to work."
Albert watched the operation with quiet satisfaction.
This was how wasteland survival worked.
Nothing was wasted.
Even a battlefield could become a resource.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Report?" Albert asked.
Briggs stopped beside him.
The power armor towered over him slightly.
"Got the numbers."
Albert nodded once.
"How bad?"
Briggs paused.
Then answered plainly.
"Eleven wounded."
Albert exhaled slowly.
"And?"
Briggs's voice lowered slightly.
"Four dead."
Albert closed his eyes for a moment.
Four sailors.
Four families who would get the news.
Four empty bunks tonight.
The wind coming off the harbor blew quietly across the sand.
Albert opened his eyes again.
"Names?"
Briggs listed them.
Albert listened carefully.
He repeated each name quietly after Briggs said it.
Committing them to memory.
Because commanders didn't forget the people under them.
Not the ones who survived.
And not the ones who didn't.
When Briggs finished, neither man spoke for a moment.
They simply stood there looking out across the devastated beach.
Finally Albert nodded slowly.
"We'll honor them tonight."
Briggs gave a quiet grunt of agreement.
"Yeah."
Albert glanced back toward the logistics crews hauling Mirelurk carcasses toward the trucks.
"At least their sacrifice kept this place standing."
Briggs followed his gaze.
Ships still floated safely in the harbor.
The docks were intact.
The base still stood.
"Yeah," Briggs said again.
"It did."
The wind carried the smell of saltwater and smoke across the battlefield.
Behind them, medics continued tending the wounded.
Ahead of them, sailors dragged enormous Mirelurk bodies across the sand.
The wind continued to drift across the harbor, carrying with it the smell of smoke, saltwater and now something else.
Mirelurk.
A strange, sharp scent that anyone living in the wasteland learned to recognize quickly.
Behind Albert and Briggs, the shoreline was no longer a battlefield.
It had become a worksite.
Sailors moved steadily across the sand in organized teams, ropes stretched tight around massive crustacean legs while truck winches strained under the weight of the creatures.
The dead Mirelurks were enormous up close.
When they had been charging across the beach earlier, they had looked like monsters.
Now, lying motionless in the sand, they looked like something different.
Food.
Albert watched as one of the cargo sleds creaked across the beach, dragged slowly by a military utility truck. Chains wrapped around the corpse of a large Mirelurk scraped against the sand with a grinding sound.
The creature's armored shell was cracked down the middle from a missile strike.
Inside, the pale meat beneath the shell was already visible.
A sailor walking beside the sled whistled quietly.
"Look at the size of this thing."
Another sailor nodded while gripping the rope.
"Yeah… that's gonna feed a lot of people."
"Assuming the cooks don't screw it up."
The first sailor laughed.
"You ever had Mirelurk chowder from Navarro's kitchen?"
"Once."
"And?"
"Best thing I've eaten in six months."
The sled jerked forward again as the truck pulled harder.
Albert allowed himself a faint smile as he watched them work.
This was one of the strange realities of wasteland warfare.
Even victory had practical consequences.
Food was always scarce.
Every settlement struggled to keep people fed.
But today, the harbor had been attacked by an army of walking seafood.
And the harbor had won.
Now they would eat well for weeks.
Nearby, another team had finally succeeded in dragging the body of a Mirelurk King onto a reinforced cargo platform.
The King was far larger than the regular Mirelurks.
Its broken shell looked like the shattered hull of a boat.
Three sailors stood beside it staring upward.
"Jesus…"
One of them shook his head.
"That thing almost tore through the docks."
Another sailor slapped the side of the shell with his palm.
"Yeah well… now it's dinner."
A third sailor grinned.
"Biggest crab boil in history."
Laughter rolled across the group.
Even the exhaustion from the battle couldn't suppress that.
Morale mattered.
And food helped morale.
Albert watched a moment longer.
Then he turned slightly toward Briggs.
"Looks like logistics has it handled."
The massive power armor helmet tilted down toward the teams dragging carcasses across the beach.
"Yeah," Briggs said.
"Never seen so many happy sailors after a monster attack."
Albert chuckled quietly.
"Food has that effect."
They stood there for another minute.
The medics were still working behind the sandbag lines.
One wounded sailor was being carefully lifted onto a stretcher while another had his arm wrapped tightly in fresh bandages.
But things were under control.
The chaos had passed.
Briggs shifted slightly inside the armor.
"You heading back to HQ?"
Albert nodded.
"Soon."
Briggs looked out toward the harbor again.
Ships floated calmly now, the water rippling gently around their hulls as if nothing had happened.
Hard to believe only an hour earlier the entire shoreline had been under siege.
"Well," Briggs said, "I'll stay here a while. Make sure cleanup doesn't turn into a circus."
Albert smirked slightly.
"Probably a good idea."
He gave the armored soldier a firm pat on the shoulder plating.
"Good work today."
Briggs shrugged slightly.
"Team effort."
Albert nodded.
Then he turned and began walking toward the main harbor road that led back toward the Naval Headquarters building.
Behind him, the sounds of recovery continued.
Winches pulling.
Chains rattling.
Sailors shouting instructions as the Mirelurk bodies were hauled toward waiting trucks.
By the time Albert reached the main dock road, the first transport convoy had already begun moving toward the base kitchens.
The trucks rolled slowly over the cracked pavement, suspension groaning under the weight of their cargo.
Albert walked alongside them for a while.
Curiosity kept him there.
He wanted to see the next stage.
The harbor base kitchen was located near the central supply warehouse.
The building itself had once been part of the old naval infrastructure before the war.
Now it had been reinforced with scavenged metal plating and concrete barricades.
The large steel doors were already open as the first truck arrived.
Inside, cooks and kitchen staff were waiting.
And they were not small operations.
Feeding a naval garrison required serious preparation.
The head chef, a broad-shouldered man named Navarro, stood near the doorway with his arms folded.
He was already wearing a heavy butcher's apron.
When the truck pulled up, Navarro's eyes widened slightly.
"Well I'll be damned," he muttered.
Several cooks behind him leaned forward to look at the cargo.
One of them let out a low whistle.
"Look at that haul."
The truck driver leaned out the window.
"Fresh delivery."
Navarro walked closer to inspect the first Mirelurk carcass being unloaded.
Two sailors jumped down and began releasing the chains.
The enormous body thudded onto a reinforced cutting platform that had clearly been prepared in advance.
Navarro circled it slowly.
His experienced eyes examined the cracked shell.
"Good condition," he muttered.
He tapped the shell with the handle of a knife.
"Mostly intact."
Then he looked up at Albert, who had stepped inside the building.
"Commander."
Albert nodded.
"Chef."
Navarro gestured toward the carcass.
"You just solved our food supply problem."
Albert crossed his arms.
"How long can you preserve it?"
Navarro grinned.
"With what you brought me today?"
He glanced toward the large industrial freezer units lining the back wall of the kitchen.
"Months."
Behind him, cooks were already preparing their tools.
Heavy butcher knives.
Bone saws.
Metal hooks and chains used for lifting sections of meat.
Navarro clapped his hands loudly.
"Alright people! Let's break this thing down!"
The kitchen staff moved instantly.
Two cooks used crowbars to pry open sections of the cracked shell.
Another climbed onto the platform with a massive cleaver.
CRACK.
The shell split further with a sharp snap.
Inside, thick pale meat was exposed.
One of the younger cooks leaned closer.
"Smells fresh."
Navarro nodded approvingly.
"Because it is."
He pointed toward the cutting table.
"Separate the leg meat first."
Another cook grabbed a hook and pulled one of the enormous limbs into position.
The saw started cutting.
RRRRRRRRR.
Albert watched as the team worked with impressive efficiency.
They moved like surgeons.
Within minutes, enormous slabs of Mirelurk meat were being removed and placed into steel trays.
Other staff carried those trays directly to the large freezer units.
The freezer doors opened with a heavy metallic groan.
Cold vapor rolled out across the kitchen floor.
One by one, the trays were stacked inside.
Another truck arrived outside.
More sailors dragged another carcass through the doors.
Navarro wiped sweat from his forehead.
"This is going to be a long day."
One of the cooks grinned.
"Good problem to have."
Albert watched quietly for several minutes.
The system was working perfectly.
Dead Mirelurks were brought in.
Butchered quickly.
Sorted.
Then stored inside the freezers.
Nothing wasted.
Navarro glanced toward Albert again.
"You planning to stay and watch all day, Commander?"
Albert smiled slightly.
"No."
He turned toward the door.
"Looks like you've got it under control."
Navarro laughed.
"Oh we do."
Albert stepped back outside into the cool harbor air.
The sounds of the kitchen continued behind him.
Saw blades.
Metal trays.
Voices calling instructions.
He took a deep breath.
The harbor smelled different now.
Less like battle.
More like industry.
Work.
Survival.
Albert began walking again, heading toward the tall reinforced structure that served as Naval Headquarters.
The building overlooked the harbor from a slight rise.
Guard towers stood at the corners.
Armed sailors stood watch along the perimeter.
As Albert approached, one of the guards straightened.
"Commander."
Albert nodded.
"Everything quiet here?"
"Yes sir."
Good.
He stepped inside.
The interior of Naval HQ was cooler and darker than outside.
Thick concrete walls muffled the distant noise of the harbor.
Maps covered most of the walls in the operations room.
Radio equipment hummed softly on a long communications table.
Albert walked past the operations center and down the hallway toward his office.
The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open.
Inside, the room was simple.
A heavy desk.
Several filing cabinets.
A large map of the Boston coastline pinned to the wall.
Albert closed the door behind him.
For a moment he simply stood there.
The battle was over.
The base was safe.
But one thing remained.
He walked over to the communications radio sitting on the desk.
The device was old but well maintained.
A long antenna wire ran out through the wall toward the roof.
Albert sat down slowly in the chair.
Then he picked up the radio microphone.
He turned the frequency dial carefully.
Searching.
Finally he found the correct channel.
The signal crackled softly.
Albert pressed the transmit switch.
"Sico, this is Naval Command."
Static filled the speaker for a moment.
Then the connection clicked.
A familiar voice came through the radio.
"Naval Command, this is Sico."
Albert leaned back slightly in his chair.
"We just had a situation here."
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"What kind of situation?"
Albert glanced toward the harbor through the office window.
Smoke still drifted faintly above the distant shoreline.
"Mirelurks."
Another pause.
"How many?"
Albert let out a slow breath.
"Enough to bring two Queens and several Kings."
The radio remained silent for a second.
Then Sico's voice returned, more serious now.
"That's not a patrol."
"No," Albert said.
"It wasn't."
He tapped the desk lightly with his finger.
"They came straight for the harbor."
Sico's voice came through again.
"And?"
Albert allowed a small smile to form.
"We managed to defend the Naval HQ."
There was a faint exhale on the other end of the radio.
"Good."
Albert leaned back slightly in his chair again.
"Castle artillery helped."
Sico chuckled faintly through the speaker.
"I figured Ronnie would enjoy that."
Albert glanced toward the map on the wall.
"She definitely did."
After that they talk for a while before the communication end, then Albert remained seated in his office chair for a moment after the radio exchange ended.
The faint hum of the communication equipment filled the quiet room while the last echoes of Sico's voice faded into static.
Outside the office window, the harbor was still alive with movement.
Trucks crawled along the dock roads.
Teams of sailors continued hauling the remaining Mirelurk carcasses from the shoreline.
From this distance the creatures looked smaller, but Albert knew better.
Up close they were massive.
Enough meat to feed hundreds.
Albert slowly released the transmit switch on the radio and set the microphone back in its cradle.
His fingers rested on the desk for a moment.
The tension that had been coiled inside him during the battle had finally begun to loosen.
The base was safe.
The harbor still stood.
The ships were intact.
But victory never came without a cost.
Four men.
The names Briggs had given him still lingered in his mind.
Albert leaned back slightly in the chair and looked up at the ceiling.
For a moment he simply breathed.
Then the commander in him returned again.
There was still work to do.
Tonight, the base needed something more than logistics reports and patrol schedules.
It needed closure.
And maybe something resembling celebration.
Albert pushed himself up from the chair.
His boots thudded softly against the concrete floor as he crossed the office.
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and slung it over one shoulder before stepping back into the hallway.
The headquarters building felt calmer than it had earlier.
The frantic energy of the battle had faded.
Now sailors walked through the corridors with a tired, satisfied sort of pace.
One group of radio operators sat around a table drinking coffee from metal mugs while discussing the artillery barrage with animated gestures.
"…you should've seen the size of that Queen when the third shell hit it," one of them was saying.
Another whistled low.
"Wish I'd been on the tower for that."
Albert passed them with a small nod.
They straightened immediately.
"Commander."
"At ease," Albert replied calmly.
He continued down the hallway and stepped back outside.
The late afternoon sun had begun drifting toward the horizon.
Warm orange light stretched across the harbor water.
The air was cooler now.
But the smell of Mirelurk meat still drifted faintly from the kitchen warehouse nearby.
Albert followed the sound of saws and voices.
The base kitchen was even busier now than it had been earlier.
The large doors stood wide open to help vent the heat and smell.
Inside, the operation looked like something between a butcher shop and a factory.
Hooks dangled from reinforced metal beams.
Massive pieces of Mirelurk meat hung from chains while cooks carved them apart with practiced skill.
Navarro stood near the center of the chaos like a battlefield general directing troops.
"Careful with that leg section!" he barked.
"That one's going into the brine barrels!"
A cook carrying a tray glanced toward Albert and nudged the man beside him.
"Commander's back."
Navarro turned and immediately wiped his hands on a thick apron.
"Commander," he said, stepping forward.
Albert glanced around the kitchen.
Large stacks of steel trays already sat inside open freezer units.
Cold vapor drifted across the floor every time someone opened the heavy doors.
"How's it going?" Albert asked.
Navarro grinned proudly.
"We've processed three full Mirelurks already."
He pointed toward a massive slab of shell resting near the wall.
"That King took longer, but we're getting through it."
Albert nodded.
"You'll have plenty stored?"
Navarro laughed.
"Commander, with this haul?"
He gestured toward the freezers.
"You could feed this base for months."
Albert crossed his arms for a moment, watching two cooks wrestle a heavy chunk of leg meat onto a cutting table.
Then he spoke.
"Good."
Navarro raised an eyebrow.
Albert continued.
"But tonight, I want some of it cooked."
The chef tilted his head.
"How much?"
Albert looked around the kitchen again.
"Enough for everyone."
Navarro blinked.
Albert's voice softened slightly.
"We defended the base today."
A few nearby cooks paused their work just long enough to listen.
Albert continued.
"For the first time since we took control of the harbor… the place was tested."
He glanced toward the open doorway where the sunset glow spilled into the kitchen.
"And it held."
Navarro's expression slowly shifted into a wide grin.
"A feast."
Albert nodded.
"A real one."
Navarro clapped his hands loudly.
"YOU HEARD THE COMMANDER!"
The kitchen erupted with renewed energy.
"Tonight we eat!"
A younger cook raised a cleaver triumphantly.
"Mirelurk feast!"
Laughter rippled through the room.
Navarro began pointing around the kitchen.
"You! Start prepping chowder!"
"You two, get the leg meat marinating!"
"And somebody get the spice crate from storage!"
Albert watched the sudden surge of enthusiasm for a moment.
Then Navarro turned back to him.
"We'll make it something worth remembering."
Albert nodded once.
"I know you will."
With that, he stepped back out of the kitchen and began walking toward the barracks district.
The news spread through the base faster than any official announcement.
A feast.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, sailors across the harbor were already talking about it.
Some of them were still cleaning weapons or repairing damaged barricades.
Others were helping medics restock supplies.
But everywhere Albert walked, he heard the same conversation.
"Mirelurk stew tonight?"
"Navarro's cooking?"
"Hell yes."
The base needed this.
Not just food.
But the sense that they had survived something together.
Night fell slowly across the harbor.
By the time the stars began appearing above the ocean, the main canteen building was alive with noise.
The structure itself had once been an old naval mess hall before the war.
Now it had been patched together with scrap metal, reinforced beams, and salvaged lights.
Inside, long rows of wooden tables stretched across the hall.
Lanterns and hanging bulbs cast warm yellow light across the room.
The smell of cooked Mirelurk filled the air.
It was rich.
Savory.
Almost sweet.
Huge cooking pots lined one side of the room.
Steam rose from bowls of Mirelurk chowder.
Large trays held roasted leg meat coated in spices.
Another table held fried Mirelurk cakes crisped to golden brown.
Sailors filled the hall quickly.
Some still wore partial armor or combat gear.
Others had cleaned up slightly but still carried the exhaustion of the day.
Briggs stood near one wall, his power armor removed for once.
Without it he looked slightly smaller — but still massive.
When Albert entered the hall, the room gradually quieted.
People noticed.
Conversations softened.
Some sailors straightened in their seats.
Albert walked slowly toward the front of the hall.
He stopped near the central table where a small platform had been improvised from supply crates.
Navarro stood nearby with a ladle in hand.
He gave Albert a respectful nod.
Albert stepped onto the platform.
For a moment he simply looked across the room.
Dozens of faces looked back.
Tired.
Dirty.
But alive.
Albert cleared his throat slightly.
"Alright," he said calmly.
The hall grew quiet.
"I'm not going to keep anyone waiting long."
A few chuckles rolled through the room.
Albert continued.
"Today… this base faced its first real test."
He paused briefly.
"Two Mirelurk Queens."
A few sailors whistled softly.
"Several Kings."
He gestured toward the harbor outside.
"And more regular Mirelurks than anyone bothered counting."
Some laughter broke the tension.
Albert's expression remained steady.
"They came straight for the harbor."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"And every single one of you stood your ground."
He looked around the hall.
"I saw sailors holding the sandbag line while artillery landed barely fifty meters away."
He nodded toward Briggs.
"I saw power armor units taking on creatures the size of trucks."
Briggs rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as several sailors glanced toward him.
Albert continued.
"I saw medics pulling wounded men out of the surf while Mirelurks were still charging the beach."
The room was silent now.
Albert's voice lowered slightly.
"And because of that…"
He gestured toward the canteen walls around them.
"This place is still standing."
He let the words sit in the air.
"You defended this harbor."
A few sailors began tapping their fists against the tables.
Albert raised one hand gently.
"But…"
The room quieted again.
"Victory always comes with a cost."
Albert looked down briefly.
"Today we lost four sailors."
The hall grew still.
Even the cooks stopped moving behind the serving tables.
Albert spoke the names slowly.
Each one clear.
Each one remembered.
Some sailors bowed their heads.
Others stared at the tables in front of them.
Albert finished the final name and let the silence linger.
"We will honor them," he said quietly.
"Not just tonight… but every day this harbor stands."
He looked up again.
"They died defending this place."
He gestured around the hall again.
"And the people sitting in it."
The room remained silent for several seconds.
Then Briggs stood up slowly.
He raised his metal mug.
"To the fallen."
Around the hall, sailors lifted their cups.
"To the fallen."
The words rolled across the room like a wave.
Albert nodded once.
Then his expression softened slightly.
"And now," he said.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Let's eat."
The tension in the room broke instantly.
Cheers erupted.
Navarro slammed a ladle against a cooking pot.
"LINE UP BEFORE IT GETS COLD!"
Within seconds sailors were forming lines along the serving tables.
Bowls were filled.
Trays passed down the rows.
The feast began.
Steam rose from bowls of thick Mirelurk chowder packed with chunks of tender meat.
Roasted legs were carved into slices and handed out with pieces of hard bread.
Someone passed around bottles of salvaged rum.
Laughter returned to the hall.
Stories began flowing again.
"Did you see the one Briggs punched?"
"Thought that shell was gonna crush the tower."
"I swear that Queen was bigger up close."
At one table, a group of younger sailors tried the fried Mirelurk cakes for the first time.
One of them widened his eyes.
"Okay, this is incredible."
His friend nodded while chewing.
"Worth getting attacked for."
Across the room, Briggs sat with several members of the power armor squad.
He held a massive bowl of chowder in both hands.
One of the soldiers beside him grinned.
"Not bad for a day's work."
Briggs chuckled.
"Yeah."
He glanced around the crowded hall.
Then toward Albert standing near the front.
"Worth it."
Albert didn't eat right away.
Instead he walked slowly through the hall.
Stopping at tables.
Speaking quietly with sailors.
Checking on the wounded who had been brought in on crutches or bandaged arms.
Eventually Navarro shoved a bowl of chowder into his hands.
"Commander, if you don't eat this now I'm confiscating your rank."
Albert laughed quietly.
"Alright."
He sat down at the nearest open table.
For the first time all day, he allowed himself to relax.
The hall buzzed with conversation and laughter.
Outside, the harbor rested quietly beneath the stars and for the first time since the battle began that the base felt like home.
______________________________________________
• 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:-