PRIVATE CONTRACTOR

8- Recruiting

"Anyway, I feel like since you're home with the option to switch to Air Force Reserves or Air National Guard, maybe you could fill the offtime with something else good. You know, helping serve America in a similar way."

"Wait... are you recruiting me or something?" I asked quietly.

"As a private security contractor. And just so you know, any contractors we send over to this particular team aren't just mercenaries. They have a cause other than money. There's a group of covert operators, sometimes working alongside us, who could really use someone like you."

"And who's that? 'Someone like me'?" I repeated. "What's that even mean?"

"Come on, Clayton. We've seen your service record, especially your leadership skills with TRF. As humans, most of us are hardwired to remember fear best. Traumas. Insecurities. But for you? Well, what me and my guys see is a young man who remembers protective instincts a lot better. Someone who knows how much more important it is to protect lives than to take them. That's why you picked Security Forces in the first place, isn't it? To protect and defend. Same with those rubber-bullet arrows you launched at those rioters. You weren't just hitting them randomly. You were there to help protect the people inside by diverting their attention."

"Yeah. To both." I nodded, wincing. "That is why. 'Save America March', my ass."

"Easy, easy. You've got a lot of bruised ribs."

"Yeah, I could tell. Ugh." I groaned. "Great. Now I've got, what? Six weeks before I can put my gear back on?"

"Four to six weeks on medical leave with regular checkups is what I heard. After that, well, the rest is up to you."

'Up to me, huh?' I thought. I wasn't quite sure since I was still angry with a concussion that kept making me lose focus. However, my hesitation only lasted a few seconds before something important occurred to me; if I didn't do this, if I didn't try to help these guys out, then Uncle Kash's suffering would be for nothing. He was almost killed while trying to keep extremists away from the VP, the staff, and keep the Capitol safe. I couldn't just let that slip by.

"Anyway, don't be a stranger." Chief Quentin Beck fished a business card from his uniform pocket and handed it to me. "If you're still interested when you recover, give 'em a call."

"Yes, sir." I said tiredly.

The cop nodded his head slightly and stepped out of the room. I kept the business card in my hand, turning it around my fingers debating on how things could go. 'This is real life, I was just offered a private security position...' I thought.

My thinking was immediately interrupted, though. My emergency contacts, being my parents, came rushing in. I hid the officer's card under my sheets so they wouldn't ask about it and get more protective. My sisters were there, too. They must have just gotten out of their class when they heard about this.

Ok, so maybe I should explain. My stepdad and his twin daughters are from Singapore. Despite Singapore English being their main language, they still have a few others. So I've been learning their variation known as Singlish, plus Mandarin, since I was twelve. I've helped tutor them with communication skills since they're both autistic and often revert to one of those languages when they get shy. After school these days, they have dance class that they attend before focusing on homework and such. Despite being my stepfather, I still call Cheng 'dad.' Especially given how long he's been in America with the girls for.

"CLAYTON-YOU-STUPID-SON-OF-A—!"

"Easy, calm down." said mom.

Only partially ignoring her, he lowered his voice to say angrily, "Thank God you didn't get killed out there! You are so lucky they aren't putting your name on the news. Why couldn't you just drive away and leave it to the cops?"

"I am 'the cops'." I replied plainly. "Look, this was no different than some deployment. I'm at risk anytime I wear my uniform."

"You didn't have backup this time, Clayton! You just ran in there and took on those militias by yourself! No team, no backup, no extract, nothing. Not even a rifle. So I'm gonna ask again, what were you thinking?"

"That I had to do something about it." I replied. "And for the record, I had my pistol. Those officers were being overwhelmed by the mob, and the National Guard wasn't there. I had to help them. My phone was in my car, so I couldn't exactly call my squadron while being charged at. Otherwise I'd have told any security specialist not on duty to get to the building and help me."

Mom held her head in her hand as if she had a headache or something. She knew how stubborn I've always been—the same stubbornness helping get me into TRF before—so she didn't bother objecting. She's smart that way, knowing it wouldn't do any good. It'd just be a waste of time and breath. Let's just say I could never resist doing something when others told me it was impossible, just like Special Forces guys.

"Well, what have the doctors said?" she asked quietly.

"I just woke up a little while ago but I think it's bruised ribs and a mild concussion." I answered. "Apparently I'll need at least a month of medical leave."

"At least you get medical from the Air Force, so they'll know pretty soon anyway." Alycia suggested, looking very optimistic like Averie.

"Well I can't explain how it works but at least it'll happen." I said. "I'll be off duty for a while, probably alternating between my dorm and staying with you guys."

Alycia held her fist out towards me and shook it lightly. I rolled my eyes with amusement and bumped hers and Averie's.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just a bit of time..."