My father served in the Operation Fallen Aguila. He was with the Green Berets inserted a week before the invasion. I was five at the time, I remember my mother watching the news every day as tensions on the border escalated. She never showed it, but I know she must have been terrified. I can still remember the news coverage as the First Infantry Division marched into Mexico City in picture perfect detail. My father wasn't one of the soldiers grinning and waving from the top of the armored personnel carriers, he wasn't on the periphery, he wasn't even in that picture, or any of them. You can go through every press release, all the videos from the embedded reporters, every single bit of news coverage from that campaign, and you'll never find even a mention of my father or any of the men from his unit. They are the shadow warriors, the unknown soldiers, the unsung heroes of our age.

"It's an interesting premise Madison, and I do like your opening. Though I'm not sure if some of your sources are entirely credible. I think that this might just be too difficult of a topic for you to cover." The professor set the sheaf of papers down on his desk and adjusted his glasses. They were fake obviously, and affectation to go with his tweed jacket and pipe.

Madison had worried about her sources, a few had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but their accounts were mostly corroborated by more mentally stable veterans. It would have been so much easier if she had just been granted access to the records that she'd requested from the Army.

The college freshman adjusted her bomber jacket, "I'm sorry professor, but without any of the documents I requested, I had to stick with firsthand accounts."

The Professor put his pipe in his mouth and leaned back, doing his best to look thoughtful. There wasn't even tobacco in his pipe. Something about the level of effort he put into his façade that truly irritated her, but he was the one who got to decide her grade, so she forced that feeling back down. Maybe it was how easily she could see through it.

"I'll tell you what, I'll take this home over the break and give it a good read. I'm sure that I can point out a few tweaks for you that'll make this into a decent final."

It is a decent final, in fact it's a great final you misogynistic prick, Madison thought.

She didn't say that though, instead she smiled and said, "Thank you Professor Emery."

There was that condescending smile again, "No problem Miss Victory, have a good break."

Madison contained her anger as she walked out of the lecture hall. She contained her anger as she walked to her Chryslus Rocket 69 in the C.I.T. parking lot. Once she was safely inside her car, she fumed.

"That dumb condescending misogynistic asshole." She'd been dealing with it since she enrolled, even in 2065, there were still jackasses like Emery who figured that since she was rich and a woman that she must be a dumb socialite who was only in college to get hammered and find a husband.

She turned her car on and maneuvered it into traffic, god she loved her Rocket. The fastest car on the market, the closest thing to a fighter jet on the road. And outfitted with the newest in RobCo tech.

"Emma calling… Emma calling…" The car's onboard computer said.

"Accept call," Madison said as she pulled onto the freeway and pushed the throttle forward. The car lived up to its namesake, if it had wings she would be flying.

"Hey Maddy, how'd it go with Emery?"

"As well as I expected." Madison worked the control stick, weaving through the hundred mile an hour traffic.

"Don't let him get to you, he thinks you're dumb that just because you're dad's the COO of RobCo and that you're hot as hell. You're a total genius, speaking of which, I found the perfec-."

"I'm not all that hot Emma, and I'm not a genius, but otherwise you're preaching to the choir. And the answer to your next question is no, I'm not going on a date with the guy you found." If only she'd stop trying to set me up, Madison thought.

"Come on, he's a great guy, his name is Edward Deegan."

"No Emma, I told you, dating waits until after my degree." Career first, then find someone who lasts more than a night.

"Alright, are we still on for coffee tomorrow? We have to make sure everything's set for our trip to Point Lookout."

"Of course, see you tomorrow Emma."

"Later, and please don't drive that freaking Rocket like you always do. It's dangerous."

Madison grinned, "Emma, when do I ever do anything dangerous."

This is just a little fallout 4 story that struck me after binging on the game over break. It's not connected to my other Fallout story, as if I get to a certain point with that, it's going to contradict Fallout 4.

There's more to this story, in case you didn't notice, this is pre war. Part of my personal explanation for why a former lawyer can clear a room with skill of a professional soldier.

Also, I know the name Rocket 69 implies it was made in 2069, but since there's no specific lore on it, I prefer to think of it as in the Q-35. It took them 35 tries to get that right, and it took them 69 tries to get the Rocket right.

So guys, tell me what you think? good, bad, in between?

R&R people.