✔ Crusade ✖ a 5SOS one shot

The Interview

...When I joined the Army I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting myself into. I was fully aware of the risk, the mental strain and the physical demands of being a specialized Ranger for the United States Army, but despite the hours and hours of training, once you're immersed in a war zone, you realize that there isn't enough practice that prepares you for this. The fear they talk about and the death that you read in the papers, all of that becomes real.

I was at the top of my class. 

I read, memorized and confidently knew every book thrown at me during training. When it came to the physical stuff, you can bet that I pushed myself past the limit; putting my muscles in such exertion that my drill sergeants literally had to tie me down so I would rest. Training was no cake walk. It was Hell's jealous sister, but I'd greet it like an old friend one hundred times over, because being deployed to Afghanistan was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. 

When you're in Ranger school, if you mess up, slow down or become injured the worst that could happen to you would be getting an ear full of angry testimony and some punishment. Or if you couldn't take the intensity, you could call it quits and go home. But out here, in the hot air and the flying bullets, if you mess up there is no second chance. You die and it won't be pretty. You might be alone and there's a possibility that your body won't be returned to your family. Lucky for me, I had none. All I had was the pack on my back, the helmet on my head and the mindset to stay alive.

"We have to ambush them back," a bellow echoed in the barracks, as perpetual shuffling ensued all around me.

I kept my head down to my soot-covered hands, my fingers twiddling around a silver ring on a delicate chain. I've memorized everything about the piece of jewelry. From the light weight in my hands, to the everlasting cool touch to the skin, and the smoothness of the outer rim that was tainted with tiny scratches and grooves. 

"I agree with you Sergeant Rhodes," a deep voice laced with innocence reverberated in my ears; a warrior-like determination belonging to Private Craig. "Come on Sergeant Hood, what's the plan?"

I lifted my head to meet his gaze from the olive green canvas bed across from mine. In all his devout opulence, Private Craig looked at me with divergence running across his bright green eyes. He was a child. 18-years-old, brimming with rebellion but always with a cause. He reminded me of myself when I first enlisted into the Army, and while I wasn't much of the social butterfly, I took the kid under my wing like a little brother. 

"And what do you expect us to do?" I finally found my voice again. 

It had been exactly 8 hours, 42 minutes, and 28, 29,30… seconds since several of our vehicles were unexpectedly attacked by a religious militant group otherwise known as the Scorpions. We were called for an emergency assistance and extraction when our 6-men reconnaissance team were under attack. However in response to the call, four more of our men were captured and were facing the worst of fates.

"To fight! To go Rambo on their asses and take our men back!" Private Craig stood up, ruffling up his hair in frustration. He clearly was angry, confused, and mostly, he was in love. Private Johnson were among the men clutched by the Scorpions and while he would never admit it out loud or to even himself, I knew that Private Craig's heart was stolen by the man who could be executed in a number of days.

"Look, he's right!" Sergeant Rhodes agreed, marching over to us. "We can't just sit here and wait around for orders or some kind of sign. We gotta bust our guys out or they're all getting their heads chopped off!" 

"You don't think I know that," my deep, husky voice rang in their ears with a chilling sting. I didn't need to yell to get a point across. These men knew I meant business.