Page 2 of Rangers Last Promise

There are two T-shirts inside, a worn paperback, a deck of cards, and a photograph of six soldiers standing in front of a battered military vehicle.

Grant stands in the middle, grinning at the camera.

He was twenty-seven when he died. Eleven years older than me and convinced his only purpose in life was to annoy, embarrass, and protect his little sister.

I touch his face.

Fifteen years have passed, but I remember the day two uniformed officers came to our door. I remember Mom collapsing in the entryway. I remember Dad standing so still he looked carved from stone.

Most of all, I remember waiting for someone to tell us there had been a mistake.

Grant couldn’t be dead. Grant was stronger than anyone I knew. He was an Army Ranger. He had promised he would come home and teach me to drive his truck.

He never broke his promises.

Until that one.

I study the other men in the photograph.

I know some of those faces too.

Wolf. Trigger. Blaze.

I saw them at Grant’s funeral.

Back then, they were simply some of the Rangers who had come to say goodbye to my brother. Men with grief in their eyes who stood together as though holding one another upright was the only thing keeping them on their feet.

Years later, I would see some of those same men again when they made Eagle River their home.

But they never talked about Grant.

Not to me.

I turn the photograph over.

Five names are written on the back.

Blaze. Wolf. Trigger. Grant. Doc.

The sixth man isn’t identified.

My gaze returns to the photograph.

This isn’t a group of soldiers who happened to know one another.

Look at them.

Grant has one arm slung over Wolf’s shoulder. Trigger is laughing at something Blaze said. The man I assume is Doc stands close to Grant on the other side.

They were friends.

Maybe more than friends.

They were Rangers.

Brothers.

A chill moves down my spine.