Scout Bradley
"There are people in uniform who do nothing but practice the fine art of visiting death on their fellowman. People sleep peacably in thier beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on thier behalf. You meet violence with greater violence. You end it swiftly and as efficiently as possible...."
He'd taken up the call-to-arms early in life, enlisting at age 17. He knew he'd become a Warrior early on, his grandfather having been a navy man, and his great grandfather an army man. Some families breed doctors, some lawyers. Scout's bred warriors. He could trace every male on his mothers side having served in the military all the way back to the 1600's, where that ancestor had served in the Queens Highlanders of Scotland. He'd had no problems at Ft. Benning, for basic, infantry training or Airborne. It was at Benning that he'd first been exposed to Rangers, since the Ranger training brigade was nearby the Airborne School.
He sat on the edge of his rack, applying kiwi to his newly earned Cochoran's, and found himself thinking about the Rangers he'd seen, how they seemed untouched by the bleakness and oppression of the base. He wanted to find out whatever it was that THEY knew. Find out. It wasn't that he wanted to become one of them, whatever that really was. But they had something he thought he wanted. He did not want to go to war with the bullies and sadists and cowards around him.
He didn't know that he'd decided to do exactly what the Army hoped some of it's men would do, what the best ones do-try to beat them at their own game. The game was war, and if you get too close to war, if you look it in the eyes, it will take you; muscle, brain, and blood, into it's heart and you will never find joy anywhere else. Outside it, love and work and friendship are all disappointments.
The God of War was pleased that night. He had gotten another initiate into the priesthood. He loved the common soldier, the battles of massed infantry. Not much had changed from the times they had gone at each other, drunk and terrified, with pikes and farm tools. He loved then all. But the priests, the sorcerers, the ones who met his eyes were the ones he loved the most and Rangers was where they were. He didn't realize it that night, but he would realize one day that it is not possible to soldier with an Army's free men and best killers without becoming one yourself.
He'd been assigned to the illustrious 10th Mountain, learning the fascinating art of how to kill his nation's enemies in a mountainous environment, and getting free skiing lessons as part of the deal. He'd served as a company sniper for a while during this time.
He'd been transferred from there to the island paradise of Hawaii, home of the 25th Infantry Division...the Tropic Lightning. there he'd learned how to kill his nations enemies in a jungle environment, and had the added pleasure of getting a tan while doing it. While there, he'd attended Air Assault, learning how to unass a helicopter in the strangest ways. He also got to attend Pathfinder, earning his torch. From there he'd applied for and gotten a slot in Ranger Training. While there, he'd so impressed the instructors that a few of them called a few of their Ranger Battalion buddies and gotten the young Sergeant transferred to a Long Range Surveillance Platoon in the 75th Ranger bat. What they didn't know was that they'd impressed the young Sergeant.
So, he found himself back in Georgia, only in Savannah this time. His fieldcraft skills were second to none, and by the time part of the Bat wound up in the Bosnia/Serbia region, he'd popped up on the radars of a few Special Forces commanders. He'd been tasked a few times to join the SF-ers and some of the 8Christians In Action on a few "standard training missions", and by the time he'd finished the last one, he'd earned him a promotion, a few new scars, a purple heart and a silver star for gallantry.
Upon his return, he was politely asked to go SF, and declined. He enjoyed the Bat and had a lot of good acquaintances there, so he turned them down. The Christians In Action came a callin', and were politely given the same answer, but didn't take it as well as the SF boys had. They "borrowed" him from the Bat, and utilizing what they called a "wonderful moral ambivalence" in the black arts of warfare. It was through this connection that he'd wound up in the City, accidentally running into Carlos Kerbasi and gaining a job, for now at least...
So now, he's left with only one question:
How do you like your blue eyed boy now, Mister Death?
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