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!)
...
They both understood what Cambridge meant as the Republic had won its first major offensive, but the war had only just begun.
Then the first thing Preston did after the radio conversation with Sarah ended was look toward the prisoners.
They were gathered beneath the watch of several Republic soldiers near the far side of the courtyard.
Some sat against the walls.
Others stood with their hands restrained.
A few Brotherhood soldiers still wore portions of their Power Armor, though the weapons had been removed and the armor systems disabled wherever possible.
They looked exhausted.
Not defeated in some dramatic, theatrical way.
Just tired.
The kind of tired Preston had seen on Republic soldiers after too many hours without sleep.
He walked toward the nearest group.
"Get them into the jail."
One of his officers looked toward the station entrance.
"The old holding cells?"
"Yes."
"Separate the wounded?"
"Absolutely."
Preston pointed toward two soldiers.
"You two escort them."
Then he addressed the rest of the guards.
"Keep them under watch. Nobody mistreats them. Nobody decides to settle personal scores."
The soldiers nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"If they're wounded, they go to medical. Everyone else goes into the cells."
A Brotherhood soldier looked up at him.
"You're treating our wounded?"
Preston met his eyes.
"Yes."
The man seemed almost surprised.
Preston didn't wait for a response.
"Move them."
The prisoners were escorted through the battered entrance and into the station.
Boots echoed through corridors that, only minutes earlier, had belonged entirely to the Brotherhood.
Now Republic soldiers were occupying them.
The significance wasn't lost on anyone.
But there was no celebration.
There wasn't enough energy left for it.
Preston turned away.
A soldier approached carrying a clipboard.
"General?"
"What's your name?"
"Corporal Hayes."
"You're counting our dead."
Hayes straightened.
"Yes, sir."
"I want confirmed fatalities only."
"Understood."
"No assumptions. No estimates."
Hayes nodded.
"Every body identified if possible. Every report cross-checked with the platoon commanders."
Preston looked him directly in the eyes.
"When you give me that number, I want to know it's right."
"It will be, sir."
Hayes turned away.
"Wait."
The corporal stopped.
Preston's voice softened.
"And make sure nobody gets forgotten."
Hayes nodded.
"Yes, sir."
He disappeared into the courtyard.
Preston then spotted one of the senior medics.
"Corporal."
The medic approached.
"Sir."
"I need the wounded counted."
"We're already treating them."
"I know."
Preston gestured toward the medical teams.
"Separate light and heavy injuries. I want exact numbers."
The medic looked toward the wounded.
"That'll take some time."
"Take the time."
He paused.
"And don't rush someone through because you need a number for my report."
The medic gave him a tired nod.
"They'll be assessed properly."
"Good."
The medic returned to the medical teams.
Preston stood alone for a moment.
Around him, the captured station slowly settled into an uneasy rhythm.
Weapons were being cleared and cleaned.
Spent magazines were gathered.
Engineers walked along cracked walls, examining structural damage and making notes.
A Humvee sat with several bullet impacts across its side.
Another had a damaged windshield.
Power Armor troops stood in small groups, helmets removed, faces streaked with sweat and dust.
The smell of smoke remained everywhere.
So did blood.
Preston looked toward the entrance.
The Republic insignia was still being secured above it.
The fabric shifted gently in the night breeze.
For a moment, it looked almost absurd against the destruction.
Then footsteps approached.
Corporal Hayes returned.
He stopped several feet away.
Preston looked at him.
"Well?"
Hayes swallowed.
"We've finished the first count."
Preston waited.
Hayes glanced down at his clipboard once more.
"Eighty-seven confirmed killed in action."
The courtyard seemed to become quieter.
Preston didn't respond immediately.
Eighty-seven.
The number sat there between them.
Not eighty.
Not approximately eighty.
Eighty-seven people.
Men and women who had climbed into trucks.
Who had checked weapons.
Who had listened to the orders.
Who had followed him toward Cambridge.
Some had probably joked before the assault.
Some had been afraid.
Some had written messages home.
Some had believed they would return before sunrise.
Preston slowly looked across the courtyard.
He could still remember the assault beginning.
The first soldiers moving through the breach.
The engineers at the gate.
The Power Armor pushing forward.
The medic dragging a wounded man behind cover.
The voices over the radio.
Now eighty-seven of those voices were gone.
He lowered his eyes.
"Eighty-seven."
Hayes nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Preston took a slow breath.
"Thank you for checking it."
Hayes hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Make sure their names stay with the report."
"They will."
"No anonymous numbers."
Hayes nodded.
"Understood."
"Get the logistics officer."
Hayes left.
Preston remained where he was.
A medic approached several minutes later.
"General?"
Preston turned.
"Report."
The medic held a small field tablet against his chest.
"Lightly wounded: sixty-three."
Preston nodded.
"Heavily wounded: thirty-one."
His expression tightened.
"Thirty-one?"
"Yes, sir."
"Evacuation?"
"Some can be moved immediately. Others need stabilization first."
"Do whatever the medical teams need."
"Yes, sir."
"Get the heavy cases out as soon as it's safe."
"We'll prioritize them."
Preston looked across the courtyard again.
Eighty-seven dead.
Ninety-four wounded.
The victory suddenly seemed much heavier.
He rubbed a hand across his face.
Then straightened.
"Corporal Hayes."
Hayes returned.
"Yes, sir?"
"I need body bags."
"Yes."
"Enough for all eighty-seven."
Hayes nodded.
"And identification tags."
"Already requested."
"Good."
Preston looked toward the covered remains being gathered in one section of the courtyard.
"Each one is identified. Name, unit, identification number, everything we have."
"Yes, sir."
"And nobody handles them carelessly."
Hayes looked at the bodies.
"We'll treat them properly."
Preston nodded.
"They're going home."
The words came quietly.
"But not here."
He turned toward the logistics area.
"Get three transport trucks."
A logistics officer approached.
"Three, sir?"
"Three."
"For supplies?"
"No."
The officer understood.
His expression changed.
"For the fallen."
"Yes."
"We can have them ready."
"Make sure they're clean and secured."
"Yes, sir."
"And covered."
The officer nodded.
"They'll be treated with respect."
Preston looked toward the remains again.
"They earned that much."
The trucks were prepared.
As the work continued, the station remained strangely subdued.
Nobody celebrated.
A few soldiers sat on the steps with their helmets beside them, staring into nothing.
Others cleaned rifles mechanically, wiping away dust and checking magazines even though their hands were shaking slightly from exhaustion.
One engineer stood beneath a cracked ceiling while another inspected the supporting structure.
"Could be worse," the engineer muttered.
His partner looked around.
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
Nearby, medics continued working.
The wounded were separated according to severity.
Those who could walk were moved toward temporary treatment areas.
The more seriously injured were stabilized carefully, monitored, and prepared for evacuation.
Inside the jail, Republic guards checked each prisoner before placing them into separate holding areas.
The Brotherhood wounded remained under medical supervision.
The Republic flag continued to hang above the entrance.
It was their position now.
Their responsibility.
Their problem.
And that last thought mattered.
Because capturing Cambridge had been one thing.
Holding it was going to be another.
Then Preston heard engines.
He turned toward the entrance.
The sound grew louder.
Multiple vehicles.
Heavy engines.
Tracked movement.
A familiar mechanical rhythm.
Someone called from outside.
"Convoy approaching!"
Preston walked toward the gate.
Headlights appeared through the smoke.
The first Humvee rolled into view.
Then another.
Five in total.
Behind them came transport trucks.
And farther back, the unmistakable silhouettes of two Sentinels moved through the darkness.
Preston recognized the formation immediately.
Sarah.
Her force had arrived.
Sarah Lyons climbed out of the lead Humvee before it had fully stopped.
She removed her helmet and walked toward him.
Dust covered her uniform.
There was a shallow cut along one cheek.
Nothing dramatic.
Just another reminder of the night.
Preston looked past her.
Fifteen Power Armor troops were dismounting and repositioning around the station.
Her 150 soldiers followed.
The seven trucks rolled into the courtyard.
The two Sentinels stopped outside the main entrance, their crews remaining alert.
Sarah walked toward Preston.
"Cambridge is yours."
Preston nodded.
"Because you kept the road closed."
Sarah gave him a tired smile.
"We had some arguments about that."
Preston almost laughed.
"Casualties?"
Sarah's expression changed.
"Not ready to give you an exact number."
"Fair."
"We took losses."
"How bad?"
"Bad enough."
She glanced toward the wounded.
"Some of ours are being treated now."
Preston nodded.
Sarah studied him.
"How badly did you get hit?"
He didn't soften it.
"Eighty-seven killed."
Sarah stopped.
Her eyes moved toward him.
"Eighty-seven?"
"Yes."
"And wounded?"
"Sixty-three light."
He paused.
"Thirty-one heavy."
Sarah looked down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"That's a lot of people."
"Yes."
"I knew the station was fortified."
"So did I."
"But not enough."
Preston shook his head.
"No."
Sarah looked around the courtyard.
The damaged vehicles.
The blood.
The medics.
The soldiers sitting against walls.
She finally said,
"Was it worth it?"
Preston's eyes moved toward the Republic insignia above the entrance.
"Cambridge was worth taking."
Sarah waited.
Preston continued.
"But the building doesn't matter more than the people we lost."
Sarah nodded.
"I agree."
They stood silently for a moment.
Then Sarah looked toward the road.
"They're gone."
"The reinforcement force?"
"Yes."
"How far?"
"Pulling away from Cambridge."
"Any chance they'll come back tonight?"
"Maybe."
Preston glanced toward the Sentinels.
Sarah followed his gaze.
"I told the crews to conserve ammunition."
"Good."
"We could have chased them."
"But you didn't."
"No."
Sarah looked at him.
"Our mission was to keep them away from you."
She paused.
"If we'd chased them, we would've abandoned the roads."
"And they could have turned around."
"Exactly."
Preston nodded.
"You made the right call."
Sarah gave him a tired look.
"Glad you agree."
He smiled faintly.
"Don't get used to it."
Sarah laughed quietly.
For a few seconds, the weight lifted.
Then reality returned.
"We need to reinforce this place," she said.
"Immediately."
"Engineers are already inspecting the walls."
"We'll need ammunition."
"Already being calculated."
"Fuel."
"Yes."
"More medical supplies."
"Definitely."
Sarah looked toward the station.
"And we'll need to assume they'll come back."
"They will."
"Probably harder next time."
Preston nodded.
The Brotherhood had lost a stronghold.
They wouldn't simply forget it.
Sarah glanced toward the jail.
"Prisoners?"
"Secured."
"Wounded?"
"Being treated."
"Theirs too?"
"Yes."
Sarah nodded approvingly.
"Good."
Preston looked toward the trucks being prepared.
"The dead are going home."
Sarah followed his gaze.
"How many trucks?"
"Three."
She nodded.
"Families?"
"Will be notified."
"Burial?"
"Republic cemetery."
Sarah looked down.
"They should be there."
"They will be."
A distant explosion rolled across Cambridge.
Both commanders turned toward the sound.
Neither moved for a moment.
Sarah raised her binoculars.
Nothing immediately followed.
Preston looked at the dark horizon.
"Could be a stray shot."
"Could be."
They both knew better than to assume.
The war had not paused simply because Cambridge had fallen.
A soldier approached Preston.
"Sir."
Preston turned.
"The first truck is ready."
"Good."
"Bodies are being loaded now."
Preston nodded.
"Carefully."
"Yes, sir."
Another soldier approached Sarah.
"General Lyons."
"Yes?"
"West reconnaissance reports no immediate movement."
Sarah nodded.
"Keep watching."
"Yes, ma'am."
She turned back toward Preston.
"Looks like we have a few minutes."
Preston looked around the courtyard.
"A few minutes."
They stood together near the center of the captured station.
Around them, Republic soldiers continued working.
The wounded received treatment.
Engineers reinforced damaged sections.
Guards remained posted around the prisoners.
Power Armor troops stood watch.
The five Humvees were being refueled and checked.
The two Sentinels remained outside the gate.
The seven trucks from Sarah's formation were being positioned around the station.
Three additional trucks prepared to carry the fallen back toward Republic territory.
Above it all, the Republic insignia moved gently in the night wind.
Cambridge Police Station had become the Republic's first major foothold inside Brotherhood-held territory.
Preston looked at Sarah.
"We won."
Sarah nodded.
"We did."
He looked toward the trucks.
"But it doesn't feel like winning."
Sarah understood.
"That's because eighty-seven people aren't standing here with us."
Preston's jaw tightened.
"No."
Sarah rested a hand briefly against his shoulder.
"They won't be forgotten."
Preston nodded.
"They'd better not be."
The first transport truck began moving.
Inside it were the remains of soldiers who had crossed Cambridge with them.
They were going home.
Behind it, the station remained under Republic control.
The wounded were still being treated.
The prisoners were still under guard.
The engineers were already preparing defensive repairs.
And beyond the ruined streets, the Brotherhood was retreating, regrouping, and almost certainly preparing its answer.
Sarah looked toward the darkness.
"Next time they'll come prepared for what we just did."
Preston nodded.
"Then we'll be prepared for them."
Neither commander sounded confident.
Neither sounded afraid.
They simply sounded tired.
The kind of tired that came after surviving something neither would ever completely forget.
Three hundred soldiers had entered Cambridge.
Eighty-seven would not leave it alive.
Ninety-four more would leave wounded.
But the station had fallen.
The road behind them remained secure.
And for the first time since the Republic had declared war, its soldiers were standing inside a Brotherhood stronghold with their own insignia flying above it.
Preston looked once more across the damaged courtyard.
Then he turned toward the command post.
"There'll be work before sunrise."
Sarah followed.
"There's always work before sunrise."
Behind them, another truck carrying the fallen began its journey home, as the gates of Cambridge Police Station closed.
As the three trucks had barely begun rolling toward the gate when Preston and Sarah stopped beside the temporary command post.
The engines rumbled low beneath the ruined station walls.
For a few seconds, neither commander spoke.
The first truck carried the fallen.
That fact alone seemed to quiet everything around them.
Preston watched the vehicle disappear through the damaged entrance, its rear lights glowing red through the smoke.
Sarah folded her arms.
"We should tell Sico."
Preston nodded.
"Agreed."
He reached for the radio.
The operator handed him the secure handset.
"Channel is clear, General."
Preston pressed the transmit switch.
"Sanctuary Command, this is Preston. Secure transmission."
Static answered.
Then a familiar voice.
"Preston, go ahead."
Sico.
Preston glanced at Sarah.
She nodded.
"Cambridge Police Station has fallen," Preston said. "Republic forces have secured the station and the surrounding courtyard. Brotherhood resistance has been broken. Remaining personnel are either in custody or have withdrawn."
There was a brief silence.
Then Sarah leaned toward the radio.
"Sarah Lyons. Rear blocking force also completed its objective. The Brotherhood reinforcement column failed to reach Cambridge. We held them away from the station and forced the remaining formation to withdraw."
At Sanctuary Hills, Sico sat in the war room with one hand resting against the edge of the Commonwealth map.
Markers covered the table.
Cambridge.
Boston Airport.
The Castle.
Institute territory.
Trade routes.
Supply corridors.
Every marker represented people, equipment, or a problem waiting to become larger.
He had been waiting for this particular transmission.
Now Cambridge had changed color on the tactical map.
The Republic had taken it.
Sico absorbed the information.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he pressed the transmitter.
"Good."
The word was quiet.
Firm.
Neither Preston nor Sarah mistook it for celebration.
Sico continued.
"Casualties?"
Preston looked across the courtyard.
His eyes settled briefly on the three trucks.
"Confirmed assault losses are eighty-seven killed in action."
Sarah lowered her gaze.
"Sixty-three lightly wounded," Preston continued, "and thirty-one heavily wounded."
Silence filled the channel.
Sico had expected losses.
He had known Cambridge would not fall cheaply.
But numbers were different when spoken aloud.
Eighty-seven.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Then opened them again.
"Copy that."
His voice remained controlled.
Not cold.
Controlled.
"Sarah?"
"My casualty count is still being compiled," she answered. "We only just finished securing the rear and returning to Cambridge. Every unit is being checked. I'll send the exact figures once we have them."
"Understood."
Sico looked toward the map.
"Both of you, prioritize the wounded. Secure the prisoners. Recover the fallen. Then strengthen the station."
"Yes, sir," Preston answered.
"Tomorrow I'll have a supply shipment moving toward Cambridge. Ammunition, medical stores, fuel, engineering materials, and whatever else the quartermaster can put together."
Sarah nodded.
"Understood."
"Cambridge is going to become a forward position," Sico continued. "I want it stabilized before we start thinking about expanding from it."
Preston looked toward the engineers working beneath the damaged entrance.
"We'll have it ready."
"You don't need to make it perfect tonight," Sico said. "You need to make it defensible."
A faint smile crossed Preston's face.
"That we can do."
"Good."
Sico paused.
"And Preston?"
"Yes?"
"Bring those eighty-seven home."
Preston's expression hardened slightly.
"They're already on their way."
"Then make sure they get there."
The transmission ended.
The radio clicked softly.
Preston lowered it.
Sarah looked at him.
"He heard the number."
"Yeah."
Neither commander said anything more, as they didn't need to.
While at Sanctuary Hills, Sico remained standing beside the map.
Cambridge was now marked with a Republic insignia.
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then he turned away.
The war room was still busy.
Officers were speaking quietly.
Radio operators continued receiving reports.
Maps were being updated.
Supply requests were already beginning to pile up.
But Sico had one more thing to do.
He walked through the headquarters toward the radio building.
The corridors were quieter than usual.
Some personnel looked up as he passed.
They had heard enough fragments of the battle to know something important had happened.
Sico pushed through the radio room doors.
Piper was standing over the main broadcasting console, headphones around her neck while two operators worked beside her.
She looked over.
"Sico?"
"Cambridge fell."
Piper froze.
"The station?"
"The whole position."
Her expression changed immediately.
"And Preston?"
"Alive."
"Sarah?"
"Alive too."
Piper exhaled.
"Casualties?"
Sico's face told her before he answered.
"Eighty-seven killed. Sixty-three lightly wounded. Thirty-one heavily wounded."
Piper's expression fell.
"Oh."
Sico nodded.
"We're sending supplies tomorrow."
Piper looked toward the microphone.
"And you're telling everyone?"
"Yes."
She studied him.
"How much?"
"The truth."
Piper nodded slowly.
"No victory speech?"
"No."
"No exaggerated numbers?"
"No."
"No pretending it was easy?"
Sico shook his head.
"People deserve better than that."
Piper understood.
She moved toward the broadcasting console.
"Then let's tell them what happened."
She adjusted the microphone.
One of the operators gave her a signal.
The red light came on.
Piper leaned forward.
"This is Republic Radio."
Across the Commonwealth, radios crackled to life.
"At approximately the end of the evening's fighting, Republic forces under General Preston Garvey successfully captured Cambridge Police Station from the Brotherhood of Steel."
The words spread through the air.
Piper continued.
"The operation was supported by Republic armored units, infantry, engineers, medical personnel, and air support. General Sarah Lyons and her blocking force simultaneously prevented a Brotherhood reinforcement column from reaching the station, forcing the enemy formation to withdraw."
She paused.
Then came the part she refused to hide.
"This victory came at a cost."
In a farmhouse outside Diamond City, a family stopped eating.
In a settlement workshop, a mechanic lowered his wrench.
At a guard post, two sentries leaned closer to the radio.
Piper continued.
"Eighty-seven Republic soldiers have been confirmed killed in action. Sixty-three are lightly wounded, while thirty-one others suffered serious injuries and are receiving medical treatment."
Nobody in the radio room moved.
"The Republic will honor those who died. Their names will be recorded, their remains returned home, and their families informed."
Piper's voice softened.
"Cambridge Police Station is now under Republic control."
The broadcast ended with no triumphant music.
No boast.
Just silence.
Then the Commonwealth reacted.
At Sanctuary, soldiers gathered around radios.
Someone shouted, "Cambridge!"
Another voice answered with a cheer.
Several soldiers embraced.
A mechanic slammed both hands onto a workbench.
"We did it!"
In Diamond City, the news traveled from stall to stall.
Some people smiled.
Others looked nervous.
A woman quietly asked whether the casualty report meant her brother's unit had been there.
At farms along the trade routes, families listened while working.
At caravan stops, guards stopped loading crates.
At Republic barracks, soldiers cheered loudly enough that officers had to tell them to calm down.
But not everyone celebrated.
Some families heard eighty-seven and immediately began worrying.
They knew someone was serving.
A mother turned toward her husband.
"He's stationed near Boston."
He didn't answer.
He simply reached for the radio.
Across the Commonwealth, the reaction became something larger than celebration.
It was relief.
Pride.
Fear.
Grief.
And something the Brotherhood had desperately wanted to prevent.
Confidence.
Only hours after the Republic had formally declared war, its soldiers had seized Brotherhood territory.
The war was no longer theoretical.
The Republic had proven it could attack.
And it could win.
But nobody with military experience believed that meant the war was over.
If anything, Cambridge had just made the next battle more dangerous.
Far from the celebrations, another radio carried the same message.
Inside the Brotherhood command structure, an officer finished listening.
He lowered the receiver.
"Cambridge has fallen."
The room went still.
Then everything moved at once.
Officers rushed toward the command chamber.
Maps were spread across the table.
Reports were thrown down beside them.
"Reinforcement force failed to reach the station."
"How many survivors?"
"We're still confirming."
"What happened to the garrison?"
"Some withdrew. Others surrendered."
"And the Republic armor?"
"Sentinels were confirmed in the engagement."
Maxson entered.
The room quieted immediately.
His expression was already furious.
"How?"
Nobody answered quickly enough.
Maxson stepped toward the table.
"How did Cambridge Police Station fall?"
One officer swallowed.
"The Republic breached the outer defenses after a sustained assault."
"It was reinforced."
"Yes, Elder."
"Then why was it lost?"
The officer looked down at the map.
"Because their assault was coordinated."
Maxson's eyes narrowed.
Danse stood on the opposite side of the table, arms folded.
He had been silent since entering.
Quinlan examined the reports.
Ingram leaned over a technical diagram.
Kells stood near the communications station.
Brandis remained near the rear of the room.
Madison Li studied a report concerning Republic equipment.
Maxson pointed toward Cambridge.
"Explain the reinforcement failure."
An officer answered.
"Sarah Lyons established a blocking formation between the reinforcement column and Cambridge."
"Strength?"
"Approximately one hundred and fifty soldiers. Fifteen Power Armor troops. Two Sentinel tanks. Five Humvees. Seven trucks. Six Vertibirds."
Maxson's jaw tightened.
"And they stopped us?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Danse finally spoke.
"Prepared positions. Armor support. Air coordination."
Maxson turned toward him.
"And the station?"
Danse looked at the map.
"The defenders were gradually isolated."
Madison Li placed a report on the table.
"The Republic's Sentinels were particularly effective against the outer defensive positions."
Ingram frowned.
"Which means they have enough armored support to sustain an offensive rather than simply conduct raids."
"That was already obvious," Maxson snapped.
Madison met his stare.
"Not on this scale."
Silence.
She continued.
"Cambridge proves they can coordinate infantry, armor, engineers, air support, and logistics in the same operation."
Quinlan looked up from his report.
"And they're willing to absorb heavy casualties to achieve an objective."
Maxson's eyes moved toward him.
"How heavy?"
"Exact enemy losses are still being compiled."
"Give me what we know."
The officer beside him read from the report.
"Republic assault force reports eighty-seven killed in action. Sixty-three lightly wounded. Thirty-one heavily wounded."
The room became quiet.
Even Maxson didn't immediately respond.
Eighty-seven dead.
The Republic had paid dearly.
But it had still taken the station.
Maxson stared at Cambridge on the map.
"And our survivors?"
"Some surrendered."
His expression hardened.
"How many?"
"Unknown."
"Then find out."
"Yes, Elder."
Brandis spoke quietly.
"The reinforcement force is withdrawing."
Maxson looked at him.
"Pursued?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Lyons held her position."
Danse answered before anyone else.
"She made the correct decision."
Maxson looked at him sharply.
Danse remained composed.
"If she pursued, she would have opened the road behind her and risked another Brotherhood maneuver."
Maxson said nothing.
Danse pointed toward Cambridge.
"The important point is that she didn't need to pursue us."
His finger remained over the map.
"Her mission was accomplished."
That was what made the room uncomfortable.
The Republic had not merely defeated the Brotherhood in a battle.
It had coordinated two separate formations.
Preston had taken Cambridge.
Sarah had prevented reinforcements from arriving.
And Sico had gained a permanent position inside Brotherhood-held territory.
Kells finally spoke.
"The communications failure also mattered."
Maxson turned.
"How badly?"
"We lost coordination between the station and the reinforcement column during the fighting."
Maxson stared at him.
"Repair it."
"We're already working on—"
"Repair it."
"Yes, Elder."
Madison looked toward the map.
"If the Republic fortifies Cambridge, it becomes a staging area."
Quinlan nodded.
"For attacks toward Boston."
"And potentially toward the airport," Danse added.
The room grew heavier.
Maxson looked around at the officers.
"This cannot be treated as an isolated loss."
Nobody disagreed.
He placed both hands on the table.
"Sico declared war only hours ago."
His voice was quieter now.
"And already he's forced us to fight on another front."
Danse looked at Cambridge.
"That was likely the intention."
Maxson's eyes remained fixed on the Republic marker.
The radio outside the chamber suddenly carried another fragment of the Republic broadcast.
Cheers.
People celebrating.
The sound drifted faintly through the walls.
Maxson heard it.
So did everyone else.
Across the Commonwealth, Cambridge meant victory.
Inside the Brotherhood command structure, it meant something entirely different.
A warning.
Maxson slowly straightened.
"Prepare the response."
The officers looked at him.
He pointed toward Cambridge.
"We are not leaving that position uncontested."
Danse nodded.
"We'll need time."
Maxson looked at him.
"Then use it."
He turned back toward the map.
Cambridge had been lost.
The Republic flag was flying where the Brotherhood's had stood only hours earlier.
Far away, Republic soldiers were celebrating.
Families were embracing.
Radios were carrying Piper's announcement into homes and settlements.
But inside the Brotherhood command room, nobody celebrated.
Maxson stared at the Cambridge marker for a long moment.
His anger remained.
But beneath it was something more dangerous.
Understanding.
The Republic had made its first move.
And now the Brotherhood had to prepare for the second.
Outside, the Commonwealth continued to celebrate its first major victory of the war.
Inside the command chamber, the Brotherhood began preparing for what would come next.
______________________________________________
• 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:-