Two shots echoed from off to the left. Double-tap. His sensors buzzed. A miracle.
I grabbed the cliff and spun myself upright. Pushed off to get my feet set against the chimney rock walls again.
A moment later, Watkins appeared at the top of the hill. Arriving up the ravine Dobbs should've been guarding, Watkins nailed the rifleman in time to save me!
“Nice shooting. Go toss a grenade into that bunker while I climb up there to back you up.”
Watkins tossed a decidedly non-regulation salute, apt to get an officer killed by a sniper during a real battle, but somehow I couldn't hold it against him. “Wilco, sir.” He vanished again from the skyline above me.
Anzo strolled up as Watkins departed. He glanced down at me in the chimney, nodded, and then followed him to the bunker.
One final short climb. Wrist sore, I could make it on the adrenalin of not dying and not getting shot. I reached the top as Watkins' grenade simulator went off inside the bunker. Dobb's heavy weapons dude came out; coughing from the smoke.
Anzo declared him officially dead.
Three to nothing, this time in favor of the good guys.
After taking the psych tests, I submitted my hand-written essay on When Initiative Requires Departure from the Ranger Handbook for the RASP Board's Review. Good thing I was right-handed, my left wrist still hurt. The Board tossed me some rough questions about my FTX actions, but I managed to ride their wave.
The following Friday, at 0900, we were summoned to Freedom Hall at the edge of the Fort Benning airfield. High-speed Ranger training videos flashed from projectors overhead.
The Regimental Special Troops Battalion (RSTB) Commander presided. He'd be who my new bosses in the Military Intelligence (MI) and Ranger Reconnaissance Companies (RRC) reported to.
Sergeant Anzo stood on a raised platform and welcomed our visitors. He introduced an ancient Command Sergeant Major (CSM) to tell us how it was. “The battlespace is always changing. We must prepare to anticipate and deal with those changes. Every deployment is different, but the basics remain the same. Rangers, rigidly enforce our standards. Our success on the battlefield comes from those standards. Never forget that. Never let the Regimental standards slip as you execute the Ranger mission.”
Michelle sat on a folding chair with the families of the RASP 1 and RASP 2 candidates who'd been selected. She'd made it! Hopefully, the CIA picked up her airfare.
Dobbs was nowhere to be seen. Guess he wasn't selected. Probably on his way to the Pentagon next.
The CSM concluded his brief speech, “Never forget that we each earn our scroll every day. Welcome to the Regiment.”
Anzo stepped in front of the Class one last time. Gave his final order, “Don berets!”
Digging around in my left cargo pocket like the rest of the milling candidates, I pulled out a Tan Beret. Set it atop my short hair at a jaunty angle. The cadre made it look simple, but it's tough to wear just right.
Anzo saluted us and then waved our friends and families forward.
Michelle followed everyone else's example and stuck my RSTB 75th Regimental Scroll on the Velcro of my left uniform shoulder. “Congratulations!” Gave me a bear hug. “Thanks for doing this. It's a tough selection process, but we can look forward to Korea together.”
“Wouldn't have even tried it without you.”
Sergeant Anzo guided the audience back to their seats.
We returned to ranks. Recited the Ranger Creed in unison. My voice shook at first, but gathered strength. We proclaimed our final “Rangers lead the way!” loud enough to have been fired from a cannon.
*** The End ***
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