The Streets of Boston - Chapter 15: Olivia

  • November 12, 2287

    We buried the bodies, or what was left of them, in a common grave behind the two massive grain silos on the north side of the settlement. I would have preferred burning them but these days you never know what the smoke or the light might attract.

    While further investigating the remaining cabins I came across some logs from one of the citizens who had been observing the Gunner Sniper post up on the nearby highway. He described as the main reason behind their fatal strategy; better hide and wait out the storm than run and be shot in the head, or in this case, worse in the leg to be left behind with a horde of ferals on your tail.

    It was hard not to just go up to them and kill them all, the gunners. But with just Preston and I that would most likely be a suicide mission. And killing ourselves wouldn’t help anybody, even if executing some gunners would really help with my morale. The bastards were nothing but fancily dressed raiders.

    One day, we’ll wipe them off the map.

    Captain Eric Asher, signing off.

    November 14, 2287

    We decided to return to Sanctuary.

    After the co-op, I’ll admit that my morale wasn’t all that great. And clearly the same could be said of Preston who has grown increasingly aggressive. He still doesn’t want to talk about his relationship to the abernathy girl but it is clear he wants justice. For her, for the co-op and for Quincy.

    Don’t we all?

    I’ll have to keep an eye on him though. Preston is a good man, it is in the commonwealth’s best interest he remains exactly that.

    Captain Eric Asher, signing off.

    November 20, 2287

    Coming back to Sanctuary seems to have been a good idea so far. Preston and I helped Sturges setting up a perimeter wall, and we soon discovered it was a great way to get our minds off of what we had seen. Preston is still impatient for justice. No, not justice. He is looking for revenge. And I have an increasing amount of trouble keeping him from just going to Olivia on his own. Something dark is eating at the man.

    In the meantime I’m still having some issues with the Pride. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the help they have given us, but that Thompson fellow just keeps giving without asking for anything in return. I don’t trust it. It feels like I’m slowly being indebted to the guy.


    Therefore Preston and I have decided that we are going to Olivia by ourselves. This is a matter for the minutemen, not for the pride.

    Captain Eric Asher, signing off.

    November 21, 2287

    We set out for Olivia this morning. The survivors were still fast asleep when we snuck out, I didn’t like it; to leave them behind undefended. Now that the wall had been completed, Thompson had insisted on having his men back. Can’t say I blame him for it. So far we have offered nothing in return for the services the pride offered. I’m hoping I can change that sometime soon.

    However, as they were still sleeping, sanctuary felt rather peaceful. The lack of commotion, Murphy’s jet fueled ramblings, Marcy’s constant complaints, Sturges tinkering or Jun’s desperation, left the neighbourhood almost lonely, as if it’s new inhabitants it had so happily received had abandoned it just as soon. Some say there are ghouls that were alive during the great war. I wonder how they see the commonwealth. The familiar sights, the welcoming ruins of one’s old life, and the remains of a legion of friends scattered in the wind must be harrowing to retrieve.

    Preston and I moved on after we crossed the bridge. To Concord and then to the north-east. We were ecstatic to discover the deathclaw had apparently been a lone hunter. We would have had some serious problems if a pack had settled in Concord, I doubt even the pride’s fire power would have succeeded in getting rid of them. Concord was a ghost town and looked like it had been since the war, but Preston assures me there used to be a minutemen outpost in the museum. It had only been a minor one though, they weren’t even granted a mechanic to fix up the suit on the roof. Even now it still seems odd to me how it was possible our superiors would leave behind such a useful thing. A waste of ressources was what it was. Preston seemed to agree with me. As soon as we would manage to get a spare fusion core we would ask Sturges to fix the old lady up. He would love that.

    From Concord it was but a short hike north again before we could see the station loom through the barren trees. Would the dishes still be operational? And if they were, would there still be people elsewhere to answer any attempt at communication? Perhaps someday Preston and I will see a day where the coasts will be reunited. USA or not, it would be a great thing to open up trade with the other side of the continent once again. Or maybe even the other continents. Ha, that was if those weren’t a myth to begin with.

    We set up camp under the remains of a crashed vertibird. Yet another mechanical husk awaited us there. Probably from another soldier who had prefered to abandon it after it’s core ran out of fuel. Although when I say camp, I really mean that we hung a tarp over one of the wings, secured it to the ground with a few heavy rocks, slapped down two sleeping bags and a lantern and called it home

    I can’t imagine how people could eat cram before the war, let alone after the stuff has been left to rot on a shelf for 200 years. But a fire this close to Olivia would certainly give away our position, if the lantern had not already.

    Captain Eric Asher, signing off.

    November 25, 2287

    Preston and I have been observing the station for four days now. There is a bunker like structure which probably leads to an underground complex which is always guarded by at least one raider. There is also a sniper up in a structure on the dish itself and there is another raider patrolling the ground with a dog.

    We have noticed there are at least two different dogs though, so I’m pretty sure we will be able to count on another guard dog inside at all times. I don’t know what the raiders have been doing inside but they have a pen outside where they hold mole rat fights and let unsavory characters, be it raiders, or other scum, bet on the outcome.

    There also seems to be a steady stream of gamblers going in and out of the main complex. To my disappointment it seems the dishes are out of service, either that or the raiders do not have the skills to get them to work. The question is of course: do we?

    There was an incident with Preston yesterday however, the man was looking through the scope of his rifle to get a better look at one of the guards, or so I believed, when he started charging up his musket. I jumped at him and grabbed the thing before he could do anything stupid, almost blowing our cover. At first he was angry, but after a stern look the lad calmed down. Apparently his anger got the best of him for a moment there. This is getting out of hand, if he does not confess soon, I’m afraid I’ll have to beat it out of him. I understand that he wants revenge for Quincy, or for this Abernathy girl, whatever his reasons, but he can’t let that get to his head when we’re trying to plan a two man assault on a stronghold that according to our counts holds at least ten heavily armed raiders. Especially since we don’t have a clue as to the layout of the underground space.

    Really, I feel the lad’s pain but I can’t have my men, even if for now it’s just the one, behave like that. Let’s hope it won’t continue.

    Captain Eric Asher, signing off.

    November 26, 2287

    This morning a few of the raiders returned from one of their raids, a group of young women in tow. Not even half an hour later, while the newly arrived slaves were still waiting upstairs, the old watch was hauled upstairs. Dead. All women, some barely old enough to bear children.

    I had to push Preston to the ground and keep him under control, and I’m happy I had to. I’m pretty sure I would have been the one to make the mistake otherwise.

    I hate raiders, but I hate slavers more. The sickening reasoning behind making a person into a property that can be tossed away and replaced like it’s some sick little kid’s toy, is beyond me. I’ll make them pay.

    We noticed a few of the raiders are taking the dead to a clearing in the woods, feed them to the mole rats. This is our opportunity. First we will take care of the group in the woods, and then we’ll press onto the main complex.

    For the minutemen.


3 Comments   |   Karver the Lorc and 5 others like this.
  • Hawkward
    Hawkward   ·  September 17, 2016
    I never liked Preston ever since he got nearly naked and started flirting with my character.
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 17, 2016
    Agreed, Preston has problems but I always like Asher.  :)
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  September 17, 2016
    For the Minutemen! Preston seems he has some serious anger issues.