A Young Woman's Childhood

My name is Tanya Woodson, and I'm an orphan. Again. I was born in the year 2259, April 21st, and was abandoned by my mother at three years old. I never met my father, but I suspect it was because he never knew I existed. According to the note left to the orphanage staff, he left to volunteer to fight in an army in Nevada. Oh yeah, and I was born in a post-apocalyptic United States, specifically in a post-war nation-state known as the New California Republic.

I suppose I could have been born in worse places, as I could see paved roads and newly constructed buildings whenever I went outside. Much of the surrounding wasteland was still in anarchy, including the nearby former state of Nevada which was without proper government or law, as it was under the rule of a group known as the Desert Rangers, the same group my supposed father went to fight in. And that caused me no end of grief when I first arrived at the orphanage.

See, it was run by the state. It used to be run by a group called the 'Followers of the Apocalypse', but the Government had taken over when they learned it housed war orphans. They expanded it to care for the children of serving soldiers as well as the fallen. Apparently, it was an incentive for single parents to enlist as they would know their children would be taken care of while they were gone, or should the worst happen, fall in the line of duty.

I feel this system was poorly thought out since it would separate these children into cliques and likely tie their self-worth and social standing to the accomplishments and renown of their parent's regiment.

This was on clear display when I arrived. The other children who had parents in the military or had lost their parents to war would often bully me, exclude me, or even steal what little capital I was able to amass through hard work and chores.

That was until four years after my arrival when my former storage room turned dorm had a plaque put up outside that read, 'NCR-Nevada Foreign Legion'. The whole of the child population of the facility was separated by their parent's Regiment. Children of the Rangers had their own dorm, 1st Recon had their own, same for 1st mechanized, and all of the state Militias. So as soon as I was Identified as the child of an actual soldier and my 'dorm' was reserved for children in the same position I was in, not that more could fit, The children from the other regiments began to leave me alone. Though those from this '1st Recon' continued to harass me. That ended when the children from the 'Ranger Regiment' dorm learned what was going on, labeled me an 'honorary Ranger', and took me under their wing. From there, things finally began to improve for me.

Near as I could tell, the people my estranged father went to fight for were the precursors of the Republic's Rangers, and so they saw me as a kind of kin. Thankfully under their protection, I was finally able to begin saving my pitiful allowance, and while other kids would spend it on candies or sodas in town, I chose to save it, spending what I had only on items of importance such as history or law books I'd need when I became an adult. Sure, the orphanage had a small library and we had basic schooling, and that was fine for factory workers or sharecroppers, but I had higher aspirations.

It was around this time I met David Mosley. I had met him one day when I was chaperoning some of the younger kids to the local Followers pharmacy to get soda and candy, and while his last name made my skin crawl, he was apparently the son of a Colonel in the NCR ordnance department. We had gotten to talking and while his father made it clear he wasn't going to get handouts and had to work for his way in life, something I could respect, he still gave David access to a lot of insider knowledge on the arms industry. something he seemed more than happy to share with a like-minded individual, at least when it came to economics.

Around the same time I met Mosley, only a few weeks after I turned 12, news reached the capital about the Desert Rangers being annexed by the NCR. I wasn't sure how to feel about this at first. I initially decided to submit an information request about my Father, figuring that if he was alive and now a member of the NCR's Rangers it could land me a more stable future, being the daughter of a war hero and all. However, this attempt was in vain as the Desert Rangers weren't known for their in-depth record-keeping. Something only made worse by their apparent war with a raider nation from New Mexico that had slowly been driving the anarchist Rangers back toward the NCR's borders. However as the Desert Rangers were incorporated into the NCRs as the 2nd Ranger Regiment, it still meant my status in the care center went up and I was further taken under the wing of the other Ranger children. Getting moved to their bunk, with all the respect and clout that entailed within the walls of the care center.

When I finally turned 15 in 2274 and was able to set out on my own with a hefty 20,000 dollars In my pocket, ready to use my friends' knowledge to get ahead and secure a comfortable life. I was greeted by the news that the Boneyard gold reserve had been effectively destroyed by Brotherhood of Steel Saboteurs, a radical quasi-religious cult that deemed all others undeserving of advanced technology. The NCR dollar was now in free fall as the government stopped issuing gold coins. While at least a quarter of my wealth at the time had been in coins, the rest were in dollars that were now effectively useless.

Thankfully my time spent reading history and newspapers gave me something. The hub, specifically water merchants and the old water-backed currency, Caps. While I didn't wholly like the idea of using pre-war bottle caps as currency or backing it with a commodity that could be inflated by someone with rain collectors and a simple purifier. It was likely these merchants would be the only ones to remain stable. And so that same day as news of the crash was made public, I went down to the Shady Sands stock exchange and bought every share in Hub Trading Co. stocks I could, a joint stock with every major merchant company in the Hub. While prices were low, I bought my way in cheap.

However, that left me penniless and with few connections to rely on. Well except for the one option every cleaned-out destitute orphan had. The Army.

2274: May

Which is how I found myself carrying forty pounds of rocks as I rucked through the desert. These guys were a joke, basic only lasted four weeks, and there wasn't even advanced infantry training. Uh sure there was Sniper school, or Power armor training, even the mechanized warfare theory school. But the infantry? Unless we were going into a special role we only got four weeks.

I had questioned this at first, it went against everything from my second life, how can you expect soldiers to fight when you barely train them? These men would only be good for garrison troops. Then I got my first range day, they wanted to teach us how to safely hold and clean our equipment before rucking began. Once we'd been taught how to hold our M1 Service rifles, I'd seen this kid, about my age at fifteen, take his rifle, assume a firing stance and after getting some basic corrections on his stance, he hit three bulls eyes at three hundred yards with iron sights.

That's when it hit me, that despite my adolescent years spent in the Capital of Shady Sands, I was still in a post-apocalyptic America. I may have grown up surrounded by newly paved roads, new buildings, street lights, and even an ice cream parlor or the occasional car, but most of these recruits came from the rural states where shooting physical strength and endurance were important to daily survival. They were already capable fighters in their own right. Now all the drill instructors had to do was make them soldiers. In that regard. I was probably one of the best recruits.

Which is what made the physical training so humiliating. Women were weaker, women were smaller, had less stamina, less endurance, worse soldiers. Yes, the NCR had equality between the sexes, including both voluntary service and the draft, though from what I heard women weren't preferred. The harsh conditions did mean that women were often more capable than in my first two lives, but I was also fifteen and hadn't had the hard life or drive to serve like my fellow recruits did.

So I kept falling behind, tripping up, and getting yelled at. Forty pounds doesn't sound like a lot, but when your small, naturally weaker, underdeveloped body is forced to march almost from dawn to dusk with that weight, under the hot sun with only so much water for the whole day. I was struggling to stay upright, to keep moving, to not flunk out. I hated it.

I also kept going.

Sure it helped that I had nowhere else to go until my investments paid off, but I'd enlisted, I had a term of two years to serve out, unless they drummed me out prematurely. It also came down to my own standards. I made a promise when I signed on that line, it would show nothing but a terrible work ethic if I flunked out, and in any nation with a voluntary military culture, failed soldiers were almost always ridiculed. Especially in this world, such weakness would likely exclude me from many forms of employment.

So I kept going. From rucks, to formations, to how to move and act, all In a four-week course. I excelled at these. My second life taught me exactly how to be a soldier, once I unlearned certain habits and relearned the Californians versions, it was smooth sailing as far as parade grounds went. My only major concern was qualifying on my rifle without being too good and getting singled out for Sniper school. I didn't want to be the top brass' personal attack dog, I wanted a rear line posting damn it!

In the end, the biggest problem was probably my fellow recruits.

2274: May 21st.

Last day of ruck before we began combat drills in earnest. We were going all the way to Junk Town and back. And Sheridan wouldn't shut up!

"This is bullshit. Completely insane… the Brotherhood has power armor and Gatling lasers, and they're training us to use varmint rifles. What the fuck is .223 even going to do to a suit of T-51?!"

He was ahead of me, and despite his cowardly remarks, he was barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I was practically drenched in it. Damn you, Being X for putting me in this body! I didn't even have my magic, yet here I was, managing to just barely keep pace with the ruck, not saying a damn word. And then here was this mountain of a farm kid who could easily pick me up and carry me on his back, with both our kits, complaining about fighting that stupid cult of techno-fetishists.

"We are fighting them in bunkers now! What the fuck do they think is going to happen when they send us down into them with plinking rifles and nothing but a steel plate for protection!?"

"Sheridan shut up!" I shouted at the back of his big head. I could see him making the other trainees around us starting to sag due to his naysaying.

"What do you know, brat, you've lived in the capital your whole damn life. You don't know what it's like living in the Hub or Maxson, where Brotherhood Paladins march up and demand whatever broken piece of tech you got your hands on to sell, or else they'll cave your skull in!"

I ground my teeth in frustration before lashing out with my tongue again. "I know the Brotherhood's losing, that they are desperate enough to shatter the entire California economy rather than admit defeat. I know their main bunker is under siege now and their smaller ones are being systematically raided and destroyed by the assault regiment. And I know all you're doing is sowing dissent in the ranks before any of us even see the battlefield. So why don't you shut up and focus on the ruck!"

"The Brotherhood beat the master and did most of the heavy lifting against the Enclave. How are we meant to defeat them?" He basically begged me to answer as we kept marching. Damn him.

"Because they've been in decline for decades. I lost count of how many teenagers I saw walking around the capital like they were lost because they were bunker kids who were allowed to see the world and decide if they wanted to stay in their order or leave. And most of the ones I talked to said they weren't going back after experiencing the surface properly."

I remembered one young boy who was surprised we had real buildings and cars in the capital. He apparently came from an outlying bunker with few resources, and I refuse to believe that was normal for the Brotherhood's youth to be completely oblivious to the NCR's progress. But the fact any of them were that unaware of life outside the Brotherhood, spoke volumes.

"But their technology-?"

"I don't care about their technology. Without the people to use it, it's useless junk. They are dying out, all we have to do is outlast them while their own stupid ideology kills them for us."

There was a moment of silence as we continued marching.

"Yeah… I guess you're right."

He stood a little taller and the subject was thankfully dropped for the rest of the ruck. Just in time too as I could see a drill instructor was starting to drift closer to us. The last thing I needed was to earn their ire this late into our training.

2274: May 22.

Hand-to-hand was incredibly basic. All they taught was basic strikes and blocks with our arms, protect our centers, and strike at openings. Arms up, close to center, protect the head, find an opening, and punch.

So when I grappled the poor girl they put me up against, she wasn't ready for it.

"Yaaah!" I screamed as I grabbed her arm and flipped her over onto her front, wrenching her arm back and pressing my knee into her shoulder blade, pinning her to the ground.

"Tanya, Tanya, please! I give up!" She was pounding the ground with her free hand to further signal she had given up.

I looked down at the girl struggling under me, wondering why all they were teaching us were these useless boxing techniques and not any actual grappling and takedowns.

"Private Woodson! Private Vargas!"

I whipped my head around to see the drill sergeant marching over. I got off Vargas and stood at attention, the girl following my example as best she could as she worked the arm I'd grappled.

"Privates, care to explain why I heard one of you screaming for the other to stop?" He growled out as his eyes bore into me.

"Sergeant" I started, before immediately pausing as I tried to explain what I was doing. Fuck, just saying I knew better was a great way to end up on his shit list. But how else do I explain what I was doing… this fist-fighting stuff is useless in a real fight and grappling is far better. What the fuck do I say now…?

"Well private? I'm waiting."

"Right, sorry, Sergeant. I grew up with the children of Rangers, they taught me how to defend myself, and they taught me how to grapple over basic fist-fighting. It's been ingrained into me and when Private Vargas attempted to jab at me, I reacted and took her down. It won't happen again, Sergeant."

He looked at me for an uncomfortably long time with an expression I couldn't quite figure out. Eventually, he began to speak, but slowly.

"You learned how to grapple, Private?"

"Yes Sergeant, will that be a problem?"

"No. In fact, that's a good thing. Continue training with private Vargas."

"Thank you, Sergeant, right away Sergeant."

Like that, he walked off and I retook a fighting stance against my opponent. That was close, the last thing I needed was to get on the Drill Sergeant's bad side.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that."

"Private Woodson. You claim to possess knowledge of at least basic grappling techniques, and judging by the state Drill Sergeant McKay found you and Private Vargas in, it seems that's true. So we'd like for you to spend the last two days of hand-to-hand combat training, at least the unarmed training, and take any other boots you believe could have an aptitude, or at least request to learn from you, how to grapple and take down an opponent."

I looked at the senior drill instructor in shock, the feeling clearly spreading to my face as he continued to speak after I failed to respond.

"It's not an order Private, but the time we have to train all of you means we need to focus on the basics and get all of you out there with something rather than nothing if you can teach at least some of your fellow trainees how to do a proper takedown, it would go a long way to helping them out in the wastes. Not to mention you'd receive a citation for good conduct in training that would be added to your service record."

My eyes went wide at the mention of a mark in my record showing I'd been an asset to my superiors so early on. That was too good to pass up, since something like that would give me a far larger degree of control over whatever posting I ultimately got.

"Of course, failure to fulfill your newfound duties will also accrue a citation and extra duties."

Damn it. I knew it was too good to be true, this is just a thinly veiled punishment for doing something I wasn't ordered to. Stupid stupid! Why didn't I realize sooner?! They probably expect me to fail.

"And if I decline?"

"You'll still receive the extra duties."

Damn it… the smart thing to do would be to take the kitchen duty and peel potatoes for the rest of the week before they ship me out. But the chance to get good marks this early into my career, even if it's only a two-year stint. But I knew how to teach soldiers, I was a Colonel in the Imperial Army. I commanded a combined arms division. I practically wrote the book on it in my last life and trained many of my men personally. I could handle this. And doing this could give me extra weight to throw around in the private sector when my term was up and my investments paid off.

"I'll do it sir. I won't let you down."

"See that you don't: dismissed. Hit the showers and get a hot meal. You have tomorrow to get something beat into the heads of your fellow trainees before we move to bayonet drills on Thursday."

2274: May 23rd.

I'm an idiot. Why did I agree to this?

In front of me stood one of the least promising group of 'soldiers' I'd ever seen. First was that coward Sheridan, a sense of justice as big as the statue of Tandi and the Vault Dweller in the capital mall. Yet he couldn't back it up with action more often then not. He didn't lack drive, just a spine.

Next was Vargas. She was an Arizona expat due to some war the Desert Rangers were fighting. She honestly didn't strike me as the soldiering type, but besides yesterday when I got the drop on her, she was surprisingly good at soldering, just not very good with people, at least without direction.

And about a half dozen other trainees that apparently wanted to spend a day getting their asses kicked in the faint hope they could pick up a skill the Empire took a week to drill into my head.

No matter. I'd get this job done, and then maybe if I did well enough I could get a permanent posting as a hand to hand instructor!

He stood in front of them, giving each a once over before finally asking. "Alright, who here wants to help me demonstrate a basic grapple?"

It took a second but Vargas eventually held up her hand before slowly approaching me. "Alright. Stand in front of me and assume a fighting stance. hands up like yesterday."

The girl slowly complied, settling into the boxing stance we had been taught yesterday.

"Okay, throw a slow punch so I can demonstrate." She did exactly that, throwing a telegraphed and slow punch so the others could watch. I of course began to twist my body and redirect her arm away, moving to grab it and twist it. When she began to fall backwards.

I watched her confused. Not understanding what she was doing, before she seemed to fall and twist around.

The next thing I knew I was on my back staring at the sky with a dour faced Vargas standing over me by my feet. What the hell just happened?

I lay there for a few seconds, processing what had just happened. She had to have done some kind of takedown, but it wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. She clearly seemed used to the movement since she executed it perfectly. Or perfectly enough that I couldn't defend against it. Slowly sitting up I looked at the girl who was slightly smaller than myself.

"What was that?" I growled out at her.

"You got lucky yesterday." She muttered before holding her hand out for me. "Father's Desert Rangers fame… or he was before the unification treaty. He taught me how to do the Ranger takedown before sending me west to avoid the legion."

I took her hand and listened to her explanation, though I was confused when she talked about the unification treaty and a 'legion' like it somehow excused her from seeking petty revenge for me embarrassing her yesterday. I couldn't show that confusion though. It would only make those under my instruction lose faith in my abilities… well more than Vargas putting me in the dirt had done.

"So you know how to fight. Good, that means you can help me." I said as I stood back up to my full height.

She however immediately seemed to shrink down. Cowardness, after such a display of her abilities? Pathetic.

"Private Vargas, if you are unable to take part as an instructor, I would recommend you don't attempt to show me up for petty self-interest. Just because you can fight, does not mean the others who came here today can." I put on my best officer's voice from my second life, perfectly giving off the aura of authority I needed to both put the troublesome girl back in her place and restore my image in front of the other trainees.

She continued to shrink away from my words before giving a pitiful nod. What a waste, with skills like hers she'd make for an excellent soldier if she wasn't so socially inept. "Well then, since you seem to know what you're doing and are unwilling to assist me as an instructor, you'll be my punching bag instead! Resume the combat stance and this time do it properly!"

She seemed to jump at my suddenly harsh words before retaking the basic combat stance we'd been taught yesterday. This time she actually threw the slow punch as she should have, allowing me to slowly go through the movements of a redirection and grapple. Though perhaps putting the strength into it needed to actually put her on the ground wasn't necessary.

After helping her back up, doing the move a few more times, and showing off how to redirect blocks into punches, I began splitting up the other trainees and running them through the motions with each other.

At this point I simply had to walk between the lines, giving advice or adjusting how someone held their body or moved their arms or legs. And when I felt most of them had gotten the movement downs I'd show them a few more and we'd restart, always starting slow and then moving to full-speed moves before going over a new set.

And through the whole thing, I was quite pleased to find that every single trainee with me had a concentrated look on their face. It appeared I didn't lose as much face after Vargas' little stunt as I thought I did. Motivated employees are always nice to have. Now all I had to do was get through bayonet training tomorrow then two days of firearms training and I'd be on my way to a nice safe posting on the Republic's border.

"Staff Sergeant Gadson, your report on your company? Any promising cadets before tomorrow's graduation ceremony?"

Gadson looked up from his report, going over the information given to him by the instructor assistants under him, before standing up with a salute to his superior. "Captain, sir. I have a couple. One Farson'O Sheridan. Reports say he's motivated and capable, if not understandably nervous due to the war with the brotherhood spilling over into the Mojave three years ago. But his skill with a rifle and ability to 'embrace the suck' could get him far, I recommend he be promoted to PFC right away before he's sent to the 9th Infantry Regiment."

"Good, that's very good Sergeant. Who else?"

"Kylee Vargas. She's a refugee from Arizona and was the niece of the Rangers last General, before he was killed and the Rangers were forced to accept annexation by the republic. She's also skilled, demonstrating both skill with a rifle and hand-to-hand, I could see a future in either First Recon or the Rangers. If she could get her social problems under control that is."

"Social problems?"

"Sorry, Captain. She grew up under constant threat from the legion, she lost a lot of friends and always had to follow orders or risk dying on a cross or being enslaved. She won't stand up to authority, and not in the way we want, and has trouble building relationships with her fellow trainees. I still think she should either get promoted to PFC or even technical specialist grade five."

"Technical specialist? Why would you say that sergeant?"

"She's a crack shot, issuing her an M2 rifle as a squad or even platoon marksman wouldn't go amiss sir."

"Very well, she'll get PFC, with a recommendation for technical specialist if her social issues clear up. Who else in your platoon?"

Gadson hesitated reading the last report before slowly starting. "One Tanya Woodson sir."

"Woodson? You're acting like this trainees the Enclave come to kill your family. What's so special about her?"

"Sir she's… I can only describe her as the perfect soldier. This whole boot camp was a formality as far as I'm concerned, as besides the physical training she already knew how to soldier. Not only that, but she kept Sheridan from having a nervous breakdown on the last day of ruck, thinking we were going to send his platoon into lost hills. She demonstrated excellent hand-to-hand skills far surpassing what we intended to teach during basic, she was then allowed to teach other trainees exceeding expectations but had a snag when Vargas wanted revenge for showing her up the day prior. She managed to not only regain control of the situation but sufficiently subdue Vargas for her insubordination and get the training back on track. And if I may read off the account of one of her fellow cadets sir?"

"You may, Sergeant."

"Sir. Quote, it was like one of you, meaning myself or my assistants, possessed her, she spoke with a voice I didn't know a girl her size could make and scared Kylee into backing down, then spoke like an officer disciplining misbehaving troopers to make sure we all knew who was still in charge. But she was only concerned with making sure we got the training she was offering. End quote sir."

"Well she seems like the perfect soldier as you said, is there any skills she excels at that would justify giving her a technical special grade?"

"Sir where do I begin, she mastered radios in the first hour, aced land navigation, she's a crack shot, good enough at hand to hand to teach her own class, and shows an aptitude for leadership. I could think of a dozen professions that would warrant getting promoted directly to fourth or third grade immediately. Not to mention the possibility of sending her directly to leadership school."

"Well what's the problem then Sergeant, none of that explains the look you had on your face when you opened her file."

"Sir she's… two things. For one she's just fifteen, it's legal but only by technicality due to some old laws from when the republic was first founded. And two, she wants to be a clerk."

The Captain nearly spit out the water he had been sipping at the whole meeting before swallowing and looking at Gadson. "Did I hear that right Sergeant? She wants to be a clerk? With her skills she could join First Recon almost immediately and be well on her way to becoming a Ranger before her first term is up. Why in God's name would she want to be a clerk?!"

"Sir. It's what she wrote on her enlistment papers, she listed regimental HQ clerk as her only preference for duty assignment."

The whole room, filled with drill instructors, was silent, wondering what kind of person could terrify her own comrade so thoroughly, excel in her training, then just ask to be a simple regimental clerk.

"That isn't our call to make gentlemen." The Captain finally said. "She did not list any preference that would help determine where we send her. So she'll go with the rest of her platoon to the 9th. From there it's up to her new commanders."

2274: May 28th

"Today marks the day you are no longer useless maggots, but soldiers! You have completed four weeks of hell and are graduating from my boot camp. You will stand up and approach when your name is called, from there you will receive your rank tabs and duty assignments."

I listened as the Captain in charge of our training company gave his speech before he began to call the platoon ahead of mine up one by one.

I listened as best I could, but most of these people weren't going to be serving with me so I couldn't really bring myself to care as much as I knew I would when it came to my platoon. I was at least happy to hear most of them got Private First Class or at least Private with a commendation. Then again, First platoon was made up entirely of volunteers. Mine had several draftees and the two after mine were all draftees.

The ceremony went on under the hot sun for about an hour before my platoon started to be called on. This time I actually paid attention and was happy to see that even most of the draftees in my unit were getting a Private First Class patch. It meant the people I'd likely be serving with or at least near were competent even if they weren't here of their own free will. Then Sheridan was called up.

"Private Sheridan, for your exemplary conduct and aptitude with automatic weapons, you are receiving the rank of Technical Specialist Fifth Grade."

My brain came to a sudden stop, processing what was just said. THAT WAS A THING?! The NCR made use of a parallel rank structure? I was vaguely aware that the American army around Vietnam had some strange technical rank from movies and other media from my first life, and in my second life, the Imperial army had special ranks specifically for jobs like cooks, doctors, and horse farriers. But for something like that to exist here? It meant I didn't have to work my way up the ranks just to get good pay during my term of service. I could possibly get paid like a senior NCO while doing some mundane safe job that was deemed to require additional pay. YES!

"Private Vargas, for your mostly good conduct and aptitude with precision weapons, you are receiving the rank of Technical Specialist Fourth Grade."

I jerked my head back to the stage as I realized how many people had gone since my internal monologue started. In fact, I was behind the next graduate.

Quickly moving to follow them up the stage, I waited as they received the rank of Private with a commendation and was sent back to formation. Meaning it was my turn.

Stepping forward I came face to face with the Captain of my training company. He stood head and shoulders over me, with a body toned by living the life of a career soldier in a harsh wasteland. Looking down at me, he began his speech.

"Private Woodson, for your exemplary conduct, weapon and hand-to-hand aptitudes, leadership, and instructional abilities, and on the recommendation of several of your fellow trainees. You are receiving the rank of Corporal."

Crap! How could this happen? If I'm an NCO right out of boot camp I'd be seen as skipping ahead by my fellow soldiers. Not to mention the fact that I don't want to enter a leadership position this time, just serve my term and retire once I have my feet under me and my investments pay off. What do I do?

"Sir, are you sure that is the right decision?"

He looked down at me like I'd grown a second head, which considering the post-nuclear world I found myself in, wasn't the most outlandish thing. "Yes, your performance at this camp has been far past what is expected of any recruit to know or be capable of doing."

Okay so maybe he believes it, and considering my experience from my second life I can see why I'd come across that way, but just because my instructors think I'm leadership material doesn't mean my comrades in arms will. Not to mention I don't want to be leadership again!

"Sir, I don't have any practical experience, not to mention the issue of respect, or more specifically that I'd be seen as a girl who didn't have to work for her position, especially given my age. Wouldn't it be more prudent to give me the rank of Private First Class with a recommendation for later promotion, or give me a technical specialist rank while I learn from my superiors before assuming a position of authority?"

Yes, give him the idea I'd happily take the rank and position of a Corporal but I have self-doubts due to lack of experience, he'll take pity on me and make me a specialist instead.

I stood there waiting for what felt like hours but was only a minute, as the Captain kept looking down at me, seeming to consider my words before finally relenting with a sigh. "No, of course, promoting someone so young and without any practical experience was probably too hopeful on my part. You'll receive the rank of Technical Specialist Fifth Grade instead."

It took him a second longer but he dug up a pair of rank patches that appeared to be Corporal rockers but with a large T in the middle of them. He handed them to me and gave me a salute. Which I of course returned with all haste before stepping off the stage and rejoining my platoon. Receiving looks from my peers that I could only guess was jealousy for being offered an NCO position right out of basic. exactly why I didn't want the position in the first place.

From that point onwards I just stood in formation at attention until the whole of the ceremony was done, a gun salute was done, and our company flag was removed from the flagpole in the assembly field and folded up as the 15th training company was retired until the next batch of recruits came in for their basic training.

Now I just had to survive without magic for two years…

2274: May 29th

The day after our graduation ceremony we had the day to relax before we were sent off, those who were locals to Shady Sands decided to spend the day off Fort Tandi to visit family, while others spent the day sleeping or reading, otherwise relaxing and preparing themselves to be sent to their units.

I personally spent my time down at the Shady Sands stock exchange. It had been a month since the dollar fully collapsed and while it had stabilized, I'd found out that a single dollar was worth about a fourth of a single Hub script. Meaning one cap could buy you four times as much as an NCR dollar could. Which was good for me personally as it meant my capital was safe and I hadn't lost much wealth. But it also meant the economy was still in a rut with the exception of the Hub trading companies and some of the other big names like the Gun Runners who were government-backed and seen as too big to fail. That never ended well.

The other upside was that as Hub stocks were about the only stable domestic stocks left, the value of the stocks I'd purchased had more than tripled in value. Meaning if things stayed as they were, when my two years were up and I got out of the army I'd have a nice stack of cash to do with as I pleased. It likely wouldn't be enough to retire, especially in a world like this. But it would still give me a nice head start.

That was when I heard someone call my name.

"Tanya!"

Turning around I was met by the sight of David Mosly making his way through the crowd towards me. Someone I was happy to see before I shipped off as he was the closest person to a friend I had in this world so far.

"Mosley? I wasn't expecting to see you today?" I said as he got within earshot for a normal conversation.

"Yeah well, I came here looking for investors for a project of mine. But it's not going well."

That was unfortunate, Mosley may be a bit too much of what I'd consider a Progressive, and what could best be called here as a Murphyist. But he had a good head on his shoulders and any idea he had was probably a safe investment for anyone he could get to listen.

"That's too bad Mosley. If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me what you were trying to find investors for?"

He seemed to immediately get excited at the idea of talking about a business idea with me. Which was part of why I liked him, he was smart and had a good ear for what was going on in the economy. Motivated and competent, two traits I loved in a colleague.

"Well, one of the biggest problems facing the NCR right now is the lack of secondary producers. Sure companies like the Gun Runners are making guns, or the Hub making some electronics. But who's making the materials to make those? The big companies rely on either scavenged or substituted materials. Rubber is a big one holding back the automotive industry. It's why you only see those small flatbeds or motorbikes. There just isn't enough for tires!" He excitedly explained.

"So you want to set up a rubber factory?" That would be nearly impossible. I know my education on the subject was suppressed, but a large part of the war from my first life was Japan and the US fighting over resources like rubber, and synthetic rubber needed oil, which I was fairly certain wasn't found in California. Not to mention that most deposits were supposedly used up before the war.

He shakes his head. "Not right away no, I know that the Followers and OSI have some research about using starches to make synthetic rubber. But I'd start small, something simple that could make a steady income to expand with later, like ammunition or machine tools."

His idea wasn't bad. Especially ammunition, as the Gun Runners had concerned themselves mainly with government contracts, selling limited numbers to the civilian market to keep prices high from what I'd read in papers. "How much do you need?"

He looked at me surprised. "You wouldn't have enough. I'd need a building and the tools and-"

"How much?" I repeated.

"Maybe… sixty thousand?" He hesitantly said.

That was a lot but… it was only about one and a half times what I had when I left the care center before the big crash in terms of value after the government started minting millions to try and keep the economy float…

"That's about two-thirds of what I have in stocks. Give me a controlling share in your company, say… forty percent, and I'll sell my stocks right now and give you the money."

It was risky but he was right that not many companies were making the smaller components needed for the larger machinery right now, getting in on the ground floor could make me very wealthy. Given time that is.

He looked shocked but slowly nodded. "Okay. But that's too much, especially since I'll be doing the work while you're in the army. How about twenty?"

Smart… he was right after all, it is his idea and his work. But it was still my money. "I'm still paying for everything. Make it thirty-five percent."

He hesitated but eventually smiled "You drive a hard bargain, Tanya. I guess this makes us partners?" He held out his hand. Which I happily took.

"So what's this company going to be called?" I asked.

"Originally? Just Mosley Supply Corporation. But now? Mosley and Woodson corporation sound's better."

"Putting my name on it? I'll take it."

Within the hour I'd sold the necessary stocks and wrote up a contract with Mosley giving me thirty-five percent of his company. He had his money, and I had a long-term retirement plan. All I had to do was survive two years in a backwater posting. As long as this General Oliver is a competent commander I'm sure I'll be alright.

So this is the first time I've uploaded anything on this site. So mods please tell me if I did anything wrong.

Next, this is largely based on the Anime as that was my first introduction to Tanya the Evil. I am reading the Manga and may read the LN later. But for now, its largely based on the Anime.

The show and Bugthesda Fallout aren't canon to this unless I say so. The only part of their lore anyone should concern themselves with as far as this story is concerned is FO3 since its events are directly mentioned in New Vegas. If people tell me to add things or ask about the timeline with Shady Sands not getting Nuked in 2277 or 2281 or whatever Todd says the date is now. I will not answer you past a request for you to leave.