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“Yeah, that would be great.”
Oliver opened a small refrigerator, took out a long-neck bottle of an expensive IPA, and handed it to Greg. Halsey took a long drink and sighed with pleasure. “Damn, that stuff is good.”
“Yes, sir; it sure is. A whole lot better than that stuff we get in the PX.”
“I do believe weasel piss is better than the stuff you can buy on base. Don’t ask me how I know what weasel piss tastes like.”
Greg grinned. He had no idea what Halsey wanted, but as long as he was buying, Greg was more than happy to listen.
“How’s the medical corps treating you?”
“Not bad, sir.”
“Greg, you can drop the sir. It’s just you and me. Nobody will ever know we talked unless you agree with what I’m about to offer. And there is no pressure for you to accept.”
“Yes, sir… Oliver.”
Halsey grinned at him. “Better. I don’t know how much you know about my little recruitment detail last year, but I was asked by the Army to try and recruit some guys we could turn into medics to attach to special ops groups. I’m with the Rangers. Do you know who they are?”
“Sure. The Rangers are a lethal, agile, and flexible force capable of conducting joint and special ops missions. They are the Army’s premier direct-action fighting force.”
“You’ve been reading the recruitment posters. While they downplay the danger, they don’t oversell our capabilities.”
“Si… Oliver, I’m not even a regular recruit. They kind of babied us through the abridged version of basic training. I can load a variety of handguns and rifles, but I don’t know that I could hit a target.”
“You wouldn’t have to, although my team would make sure you could defend yourself.”
“Your team?”
“My beer; my team. I’m taking my unit deep into enemy territory, and we won’t be coming out again for a minimum of a year. It’s a special task force whose mission parameters and structure are top secret. I need a medic who can go with us.”
“Whoa, I don’t have what it takes to be a Ranger.” Greg had said, a little ashamed that he felt that way.
“Do you want me to stop? I will, and we can finish our beer and talk about anything you like. Or I can give you a little bit more background before I come to the ‘if I tell you any more I have to kill you’ part of our conversation.”
“I guess it would only be polite to listen to what you have to say.”
Oliver laughed again. “See? You are curious. Curiosity is one of the things I look for in the guys I recruit to my unit. Every single one of them, even those who remain behind the lines, was hand-picked by me. I’ve watched every single person I got to accept the Army’s invitation. Some of them already washed out, but some have gone the distance. I think you may be the guy I was actually hoping to find.”
The weight of Oliver’s words hung in the air.
“Is this the place where if you tell me anymore and I don’t accept your offer, you’ll have to kill me?”
“Yep. This would be the place.”
“You think I could make it?” Greg said, far more intrigued and proud than he probably should have been.
“I wouldn’t be here offering you some of the best IPA ever made if I didn’t.”
Greg stood. “I’m flattered. Can I think about it?”
“You can, but I’ll need to know by midday tomorrow.”
Greg nodded. “Understood.” Greg started to leave the office and then stopped, turned, and shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t need to think about it. If you think I’m a good fit, and I can help you and your unit serve the country. I’m in. Just promise me someone will teach me how to shoot straight.”
Oliver came forward and shook his hand. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know to stay alive. I haven’t lost a man yet, and I don’t mean for you to be the first.”
His CO had been as good as his word. In the next eighteen months, Greg saw more battles than most men would ever see in a twenty-year career. Oliver’s unit was in the thick of it, and Greg had watched as the chaos of firefights played out before him. Often men on both sides darted around with what appeared to be little or no purpose. But not his team. They moved with an easy and determined manner that bespoke years of time and training. To say they were lethal would be putting it mildly, and Greg was proud to be counted among their number. Not once did his comrades treat him like an appendage for which they had no respect. No. They made sure he felt that his contributions were as necessary as their own.
