Camp Golf.

2275: December 1st.

I hate Camp Golf. It was a stupid place to put a fort that existed for one reason and one reason only. To control access to the fresh water supply in Lake Mead.

It wasn't a naval base. How could it be when we didn't have any sort of dock or pier to launch boats from, so we couldn't do much to patrol Lake Mead itself.

It wasn't an actual fortification to protect against attacks from the east. We barely had any fortifications, much less the ability to repel a major attack.

No, this "Camp" existed to keep the local population away from the Mojave's clean water supply so it could be directed towards the Sharecropper farms in and around Vegas. And watch a semi nomadic raider nation known as the Khans who were currently based along the lakes northern shore.

The Khans were apparently at war with the NCR. Though you could have fooled me, considering we seemingly did our best to avoid each other. We didn't have the troops on station to go after them, and they were at least smarter than the Fiends, realizing attacking trained soldiers head on was a bad idea, as that would only bring down the Republics wrath. So the conflict we found ourselves in had stagnated into a sort of ersatz cold war.

So my daily monotony set in. I was posted as a sentry in a watch tower on the northeast side of camp. I was given a little .22 caliber rifle and told to take pot shots at random wildlife that got a little too close for comfort, a pair of binoculars to watch for any movement past the perimeter, and a radio to call for help if I did spot anything. Then I was left alone with nothing to do!

The only vaguely interesting thing that ever happened was this was where the Desert Rangers still in Arizona came to surrender themselves before either retiring to civilian life or going to Fort Tandi to join the Republics Rangers.

The whole event, when a group of 10 or 20 of them came through, was only interesting to me because the chance my Father would be among them. I wasn't a child that needed her parent to come save her from the orphanage anymore. But being able to ask him why, just to sate my own curiosity, would have been nice. He hasn't come through yet.

Picking up my binoculars I scanned the horizon and only saw a massive mutant Gecko licking its own eye. With a shiver I looked away and back to the camp, I decided to instead watch the newest group of Rangers that realized being part of civilization was better than fighting a losing war against tribals.

The first thing I saw was that these people were not an organized force. Wearing anything from jeans with a button up shirt, and carrying lever action rifles. To pre-war military fatigues and what looked like a Pre-war version of our own Service rifles, American M16s I vaguely recalled. The only universal item any of these Rangers seemed to have was a leather duster, and a brass star badge.

A thought occurred to me as I watched them hand over their weapons and give their information to the officer handling intake. There were more Rangers coming through in the last few weeks then any time in the last year. Their annexation was years ago, the fact so many were still trying to avoid surrendering was bizarre. The fact so many that were willing to go against their own leaders all that time ago, were now suddenly turning themselves over to NCR authorities now, was even more so.

I supposed that it only made sense that these anarchist militias, no matter how competent, would be overwhelmed by an organized fighting force. This Legion were supposedly tribals and yet they beat the 'Great Nevada Desert Rangers'. I didn't imagine we'd have the same problem when we met this Legion, we had an organized army, industrial backing, artillery, vehicles and even aircraft. How could tribals overcome that sort of obstacle?

Shaking my head to clear it of my runaway thoughts. I turned my eyes back to the desert sands past the perimeter. The Gecko had gotten closer. I raised the little bolt action and steadied my breath, letting out a half breath as I gently squeezed the trigger. With a snap the rifle fired and the Gecko flopped over dead.

"Good shot."

I looked over and met the gaze of Vargas walking up to the tower with her .308 bolt action. "Vargas. Thanks, but it's just a Gecko."

"Yeah. You still got it in the eye." She walks up and sets her rifle down in the tower. "I was sent to relieve you. Go grab some food or whatever."

The air was still tense between us. Or at least she made it tense due to her refusal to get over her embarrassment back in basic training. But now at the very least she wasn't refusing to speak whenever we ran into each other.

"How's life in Third Platoon? Considering you got their marksman's rifle." I said packing my gear to leave. Grabbing my SMG and Grenade rifle.

"We aren't friends, Woodson. You don't need to act like we are." She said, putting her own rifle down as she took the binoculars from me.

"Maybe so. But we are in the same company and are expected to fight together. Knowing those expected to fight beside me are at least on speaking terms with me is important."

When she didn't respond I sighed and turned to walk down the ramp and head back to my squad's tent. Only to hear her turn towards me.

"How can you be so calm?"

I turned back over my shoulder at her. "What?"

She turned and looked at the Camps gate. "Your dad's a Ranger. Those are our people. How can you be okay with the NCR just killing their legacy?"

I looked at her for a moment. "Because they didn't do anything worth saving. They don't have a legacy."

Vargas' eyes went wide with a sudden swell of anger, she marched down the ramp and grabbed my uniform's collar before shoving me towards the edge of the ramp. "TAKE THAT BACK!"

I looked down at her. Giving her the look I'd give a disobedient subordinate from my second life as I spoke. "You had two hundred years to rebuild your territory. To make something that would last. Instead you pretended to be lawmen of the old world. Upholding laws no one knows nor cares about. You had no meaningful support base or population to draw from or monetary incentives to join. You were an organization of fools."

She tried to interrupt me, but I kept using my firm officer's voice and shouted over her. "The NCR is rebuilding, they have cities, roads and trains. Proper civilization. All in half the time. You wasted your human resources, now you lost to tribals because they could organize when you couldn't. Why would I care about an organization that's failed so spectacularly?"

I watched as Vargas froze, her body shaking, her eyes wide, small tears brimming in the corners of her eyes as her face flushed with rage.

"They are my family!" She shouted.

"They were fools!" I shouted back. "What good have you really done? The people you protected are still just surviving. Wondering where their next meal will come from. Face it Vargas, your people wasted their chance and lost!"

She shoved me down the ramp, anger clear in her eyes past the tears that still threatened to spill out, "Bitch."

I looked up at her, thinking how pathetic she was acting, unable to accept she was crying over a lost cause. "They'll do more good in the NCR. Where their skills can actually help people. And not waste away fighting random raiders and doing nothing."

Technical specialist fourth grade, Kylee Vargas:

Vargas continued to glare into the back of that bitche's head as she walked away from the watchtower. Who the hell did she think she was bad mouthing the Desert Rangers like that. We'd been protecting the wasteland since before the NCR was even a concept and she had the gall to say we'd done less for the wasteland? That we didn't have a legacy?!

What did it matter if we were losing to the Legion? It's always easier for a tyrant to send people to die. It didn't change the fact that we were fighting for what's right!

She was probably just some NCR expansionist who didn't see the towns and people of the wastes as anything but things to be annexed and consumed… but she had made a point.

We had guns, we lost to tribals with swords. And my uncle was so scared of them, he sent me away to live in the NCR… could she have a point…

No. Even if she's right that we wasted our opportunity to build a nation for ourselves. We still fought for a just cause and our legacy was ensured through the Republics Rangers and our sister organization all the way out in Texas. We weren't fools, we were protectors.

Tanya was wrong!

Vargas turned back to fade the desert sands, rifle gripped firmly in hand. She wouldn't allow some brainwashed state ward to convince her that her family's legacy was for nothing.

Senior Ranger, Mark Richardson:

Mark watched the distant tower as the two troopers nearly got into a fight before the offending one released their grip and the other walked off. Amateurs, honestly if the NCR actually cared they'd give their soldiers better training. But that wasn't his problem.

Stepping forward as his Sergeant finished filling out his information with the NCR officer handling their asylum applications. Mark looked down at the man sitting comfortably behind his desk.

"Name and rank."

"Mark Richardson, Senior Ranger."

"Mark… Dick… Corporal. Age and occupation?"

"Nineteen, Ranger… Infantry I suppose."

"2256… infantry. Any other experience?"

"No. Been a fighter all my life."

The NCR officer nodded and filled out some other information before asking the key question. "Do you want to enlist in the NCR Rangers or retire to civilian life."

If only your Rangers actually did what the organization they modeled themselves after did, Mark thought. "Retire."

The man nodded. "Do you need help finding employment?"

"No. I have some friends in a local courier service. I'll go talk to them about getting some work."

"Alright, let me just finish filling out this information and… here." The man quickly filled in the last of the form on two copies of a document. Putting one in a large pile with others, and handing the other to Mark.

"You can head up to the main administrative building and get something to eat and some sleep. Welcome to the New California Republic."

Mark gave a stiff nod and walked off. Following the path he'd seen several of his comrades take up to the old resort building turned military HQ. Once inside he looked to his right and saw a barrack and mess hall past it.

A quick glance to his left caught his interest, however. A smaller, younger-looking, trooper was looking up at something on the wall. Figuring what the hell why not, Mark walked over to see the trooper was a girl with blonde hair. And what she was looking at. Well it was something.

"This guy certainly thought pretty highly of himself." Mark commented, seeing the man in a fancy suit standing under what looked like a giant robot.

"That's Mr. House. He runs Vegas." The trooper commented. Just looking at the picture with a furrowed brow.

"So what's so interesting about this photo?" Mark asked

"Nothing. But House doesn't make sense. He's misusing resources he could use to make a fortune. But he's keeping them to himself. I don't understand why he'd do that."

"Sounds pretty normal to me, kid. No one Wears their heart on their sleeve in this world. Probably just doesn't want your government knowing what he can do." Mark commented off handedly.

"My government?" The girl turned around and saw Mark for the first time. Seemingly surprised to see he was a Ranger. "You're one of those, Desert Rangers. I don't think I've ever met one of you before."

Mark tilted his hat down. "Senior Ranger Mark Richardson. Well former Ranger since you people annexed us."

She seemed to consider what to do before she held out her hand. "Tanya Woodson. Technical specialist fourth grade."

"That's a mouthful." He said, taking her hand firmly. "Woodson, that's an interesting name. I know a Woodson."

"Well that would make sense. Since my father left to join the Desert Rangers before he knew I was even conceived."

Mark looked at Tanya in surprise before giving a more thorough once-over. "You're Woodson's kid? Hell, I didn't think he had a kid."

"So you know my father, huh? Any idea if he's alive?"

"Yeah I think he's taken the title of General and is leading what's left of us against the Legion. Why, you want to meet him?"

"Not really. He doesn't really mean much to me since I grew up without him. All I want with him is to kick him in the shin and ask why he abandoned my mother to go join such a stupid organization."

Mark's eyes narrowed at Tanya's words. "Stupid organization?"

"My apologies. I just have a hard time understanding why people seem so attached to an organization that has existed for so long yet seems to have done so little. People talk about you like you were some pre-war comic book heroes. Yet here you stand, defeated. I've just never been able to understand the fatuation my comrades have."

Mark sighed before reaching out and ruffling Tanya's hair. "Well kid. How much do you know about your people's mythology?" He asked.

Tanya huffed at the childlike treatment, but simply pushed his hand aside and glared up at the man rather than complain and risk egging him on. "I don't know it that well. I know it has something to do with one of the Vaults near the capital and the Super Mutants. But it seemed more like folklore and pseudo-history, rather than any sensible history texts worth reading. Why?"

Marked nodded at my explanation before he continued, "makes sense, even our record keepers didn't have a solid picture of what was going on. And we only got involved after the mutants leader was already dead. But Ranger scouts were in California and helped towns resist the mutant army. Story goes one of our own was even part of the group that took down the mutants leader and scattered their army. And that he was the inspiration for the California Rangers."

Tanya listened to the whole explanation and nodded slowly "And as Seth's Rangers were the precursor to the Modern Rangers, who themselves formed the core of the NCRs regular army, there is a degree of reverence for the organization that helped to defeat the Mutant army and served as the basis for our own military."

"That's part of it kid. But it's also that we helped decimate the mutant armies fleeing east and gave knowledge to the young NCR that allowed them to help build up their cities."

Tanya looked at Mark in confusion "You gave them knowledge? If you have that sort of information why didn't you use it to build your own state here in the Mojave?"

Mark sighed. "Because that wasn't our place. The Rangers were founded to fight lawlessness. We helped any people that came to be. But we wouldn't force a nation into existence for our own gain. That was for the people to decide."

"Did you ever consider that by eliminating existential threats, you also removed any motive for the people to band together to form a state?

Mark looked at Tanya in confusion. Not really understanding what she could mean by them protecting people preventing civilization re-emerging. "Explain that to me, kid. I don't think I get it."

"Think about it." Tanya started. "By keeping any threats to the people of the Mojave at bay you made sure they didn't have an overwhelming call to unify like the mutant army gave us in California. But people still suffered under raiders and famine and more day to day and benign threats. So while the people never unified due to an existential need. They were happy to fall in line under a tyrant saying he would end these small daily threats. Hence this Legion quickly gained followers."

Mark's expression darkened. "So you're saying the Legion was our fault?"

"That wasn't my intention but from a certain point of view you could certainly interpret it that way. If you had built an actual nation in your lands the Legion either wouldn't have formed or wouldn't be as strong as you claim it is. That is certainly a valid way to take my point."

"So you're saying people naturally prefer authoritarian rule?" Mark asked, his voice taking on a hard edge.

"No. I think people will struggle and chafe under authoritarian rule. What I'm saying is people will take safety and security over fear and insecurity. I won't deny your noble mission, but it's simple economic incentives. The people of Arizona had more to gain from Legion security than your freedom." Tanya stated like it was the simplest concept in the world.

"They had more to gain from a slaver empire? That treats women like objects and forces young men to fight and die for their Caeser?!" Mark states, his voice steadily growing more and more tense as the conversation went on.

Tanya picked up on the Ranger's tone of voice and decided to back track slightly. "Obviously I think that in the long run the people you used to protect would do better under a system such as the NCR, that would allow them freedom of opportunity and action. But on an individual level, if you were starving and someone said he would give you food as long as you did physical labor, and couldn't leave unless they let you, you would likely prefer said labor to starving on the street. Right?"

Mark looked at the girl, trying to decide if she was heartless or just crazy. Seeing the world in such stark light with seemingly no room for basic morality. He wanted to lash out, to shout and tell her she was a disgrace to her father's legacy for even daring to say the Legion, and all its horrors, could ever be a preferable option to freedom and independence. But no one on this side of the Colorado knew, not yet at least.

Mark took a deep breath and turned to walk away. "If that's what helps you sleep at night, kid, It's not my problem. Just don't go crying to whatever god you worship when the legion meets you at the Dam and you find they aren't what you think they are."

Tanya watches Mark walk off, honestly he was acting like authoritarian rule wasn't the norm for humanity for thousands of years. If this legion had grown so big it had to be better than the small inept raider bands like the Khans or Fiends she had dealt with up to this point. Some tribals with improvised firearms and swords wouldn't be a challenge for an industrialized nation with machine guns. Tanya thought back to her history lessons and the "scramble for Africa" and the partitioning of China by the western nations. This would be another example of that. Surely these Rangers were over selling what they had faced out east to justify their loss in the face of their legendary reputation.

Regardless, it wasn't her place to care. Tanya turned back to the painting of Mr House. Finding the enigmatic man far more interesting to think about now that she was alone once again.

2275, December 25.

The base was different today I thought as I walked through the lines of tents. A general order had gone out that drunkenness and other such rowdy behaviors weren't to be punished, and fresh meat and produce from the northern regions of the republic had been shipped out here.

Of course I shouldn't have expected anything less on Christmas.

Yes the holiday was still alive and well, I guess a large part of the New California Republic's population was Christian, and the holiday had lookalikes all over the world as a fall harvest celebration. But that high command would go this far? It made me happy to see humanity still able to celebrate something in this twisted wasteland.

Even if I didn't, and still refused to believe in the entity that claimed to be God, I could understand the importance of allowing soldiers days like this, when they are allowed to be human and weren't bound by rules of military conduct. Or at least not as strictly.

Walking near the front gate I even saw a goodwill mission with clean water from the lake and mirelurk chowder being dished out to some locals. The giant mutant crustatuons are still being used as a source of food as their ancestors had.

Continuing on I stopped by the kitchen. Peaking my head in the mess tent set up to feed the main body of soldiers stationed at Camp Golf, I saw the base's cooks working on food for the men. Looking to the side I saw bottles of cooking "wine." Really it was just cheap grain alcohol, but I knew none of my squad would care much. I flagged down one of the cooks and offered him a small wad of cash in exchange for one of the bottles

Quickly stashing the bottle under a poncho I'd taken to wearing in the mildly colder winter months, I made my way through the camp until I found the row of tents where my platoon was quartered.

Looking around I saw my fellow soldiers making merry in the cooler air and holiday spirits. Drinks ran freely and food was passed around, and all around morale seemed to be higher than it had in weeks.

Right as I was about to enter my squads tent I heard someone call out "Specialist! A moment of your time?"

Turning I saw my Lieutenant walking towards me. Considering how much even squad sized elements affected warfare and control over the area, and how broken up our platoon tended to be, I rarely saw him. But what I did see didn't impress me, he was slightly overweight and clearly got his position out of nepotism of some sort. His only redeeming quality in my mind was his willingness to refer to his platoon sergeant who seemed far more capable as a leader.

I gave him a salute nonetheless. "Lieutenant. What was it you wanted to ask?"

"At ease lieutenant. I just wanted to quickly ask about a note you left in a report about getting in a fire fight with some khans."

Oh yes, I had been tasked with leading a couple of the newest members of the squad on a march outside the perimeter to beat some discipline into them. While we were returning a couple khans had taken shots at us with pistols. The fight didn't last long as a single shot from my grenade rifle was enough to make it clear they had bitten off more than they could chew. But in the aftermath I had left a report:

'The army cannot be expected to fight a war so far from home in foreign lands while depending on poorly trained conscripts. Many will die before gaining the experience or motivation needed in a soldier, it is my recommendation that such soldiers should never be allowed to make up the bulk of a formation, and should instead be broken up amongst units of volunteers and veterans so that their weaknesses can be mitigated and casualties kept to a minimum compared to throwing such soldiers against the enemy as their own units. And should such an arrangement be untenable, then conscripts should be relegated to garrisons that will likely never see combat so that volunteers and veterans can be sent to the front line instead.'

"I just wanted to confirm that you wrote it Specialist. It reads like something written by a staff officer with years of experience, not an enlisted girl who hasn't even finished her first two years of service."

Crap! I can't allow my second life to influence me too much or else people may start asking questions! I am not staying in the army, I can't make myself completely indispensable or else they may never let me leave! "I just grew up talking to other kids whose parents were soldiers, I suppose the stories they told each other rubbed off on me and seeing my lesser trained squad mates cowering reminded me of those old stories sir."

He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read but I think I saw understanding in his eyes under his plump cheeks.

"Very well Specialist. This looks well written and makes a few good points. I'll include it along with your name in my next report to the company commander. If he sees fit, it may get sent to battalion. Enjoy your Christmas."

Like that he walked off. Allowing me to continue on my way to my squads tent. Pushing open the tent flap I saw my squad sitting around, Sheridan playing cards with his assistant auto rifleman. And Sergeant Sullivan and Corporal Johnson talking about something or another, and the rest of the squad was lounging around either reading books or letters from home.

Then I walked into the middle of the tent and placed the bottle on the table. In a moment all eyes were on me as I sat down and drew my bayonet to pop the cork off. I looked around the tent before smiling and holding the bottle up. "Tis the season!" I said smiling and was immediately swarmed by the whole squad holding out their mess cups.

I poured out the cheap alcohol to each of my squad mates before taking a deep gulp myself. It tasted terrible, but it was sweet sweet alcohol, and unlike my last life, here no one cared that I was only sixteen, and in this world drinking at such an age wasn't seen as abnormal.

It felt good to be able to enjoy one of the joys of life, it also felt nice to be surrounded by people that for all accounts seemed to hate war as much as she did. Sure I couldn't stand the newest members of the squad and their utter lack of motivation. And yes Sheridan still called me a Brat, but he often had a more familiar or jovial tone now.

But my superiors were both competent at their jobs and the rest of the squad were capable soldiers. Even the new blood were slowly shaping up now that they had me and Sullivan hounding them to improve.

As we sat around drinking, one of the new additions to the squad, a girl I think was named Molly, stood up slowly. "To the Republic, and the downfall of the Brotherhood hoarders!"

The rest of the squad cheered at that, even I raised my bottle in the little impromptu toast. My own disdain for the Brotherhood hadn't faded since they had ruined our economy just to spite us in a war. And I imagined many of my fellow troopers still felt the same. Even if it felt sudden and out of place, it showed even the weak links on the squad had some conviction when it came to putting down those techno cultists.

After a few minutes of trading jokes and drinking, I heard what sounded like a dying bird's attempt at singing as what had to be a group of drunken soldiers attempted to sing a rendition of 'god rest ye merry gentlemen'. And they were god awful!

I could see the other members of my squad felt the same as many had moved to cover their ears from the horridus excuse for music.

Before long I saw Corporal Johnson stand up before he marched across the tent towards the entrance. I quickly followed, the rest of the squad close behind me.

Outside we saw as we had suspected, a small group of troopers drunkenly leaning on each other and singing out of tune and different versions of the same song.

While the rest of our platoon seemed to take humbridhe with the terrible singing, their platoon evidently did not, as they were all sitting outside drinking and singing along to the churros or the occasional word here or there. None of them were better.

Corporal Johnson walked right up to the man in the middle of the drunken quartet and hauled him away from his compatriots. Shouting at him "SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO ENJOY THE SEASON! NOT LISTEN TO THE AMAZING SINGING SUPER MUTANTS!"

Immediately I saw our sister platoon go quiet and stare at the man, none of them looking happy. One man stood up and shouted to Johnson. "Yeah? Well we actually like being sociable on the holiday! And I don't see any of you volunteering to sing!"

The whole other platoon mumbled in agreement, several moving to stand up, and in their stand of inebriation I knew who this would go.

Moving quickly to try and defuse this before it turned into a brawl. I ran up next to Johnson before raising my own voice. "You want someone to sing?! Fine, I'll give you one song then you stop being so loud and let us enjoy our day off!"

Johnson looked at me in surprise, as did the rest of both platoons that had slowly arrayed against each other. But he gave me a nod to go on and pushed the four drunken idiots aside for me.

Someone else got me a box to stand on so I could be seen and heard over everyone. Looking over the crowd of troopers I took in a breath before I realized I didn't know any Christmas songs in English. I knew them in Japanese and German. But I'd never sung any in English. And speaking and singing weren't the same skills. Racking my brain I tired to think of a song that I could sing before I remembered one song, even if it wasn't necessarily a Christmas song.

"You'll have to excuse me, I only know one song well enough to sing it. But it's in the spirit of the season so I hope you'll all forgive me."

Taking another deep breath I closed my eyes before letting the first words slip past my lips. "Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind. Should old acquaintance be forgot and auld lang syne. For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne! We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne~."

As I finished the first part of the song I heard the pluck of strings and looked behind me to see someone from my platoon had apparently brought a violin and had started to play the music that went with the song.

Smiling, I started to sing the next part, "we two have paddled in the brook from morning time to dine." I looked to my side to see two more troopers with actual singing voices had joined in singing the old scottish poem.

"But seas between us broad and roared since auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne. We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne~!"

It wasn't long before the rest of the company had joined us, and there, on a 50 degree day in the middle of the Mojave desert, we sang, passed drinks, gifts and stories, and for a time. Most of us forgot we were at war. And ever after I was finished with my song and had stepped down to allow a fellow trooper who could sing as well as I could take over, I was happy to see that even in this post nuclear world. Human kindness had survived. And that those I had made company with weren't fanatic war hawks like those who I had surrounded myself with in my past life.

A bright flash once again surged to the front of my memory along with a burning sensation as I wiped a few stray tears from my eyes. I think times like these were what I enjoyed the most, even with those war maniacs…