Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I’d be worried if you didn’t, buddy.” I sat down in one of the chairs. “You’re not that old.”
He smacked a kiss at me. “Thanks.”
I smiled.
“Since it’s your birthday, I’m giving you first pick,” he said. He pointed at three tall stacks of files and applications. “The first one—government guard dogs in need of the regular shit. Riot control, de-escalation, and communication. Second pile, first-round interviews with applicants—it’s our last batch for the year. Third pile, advancement classes for junior operators.”
I made a face. Where was the fourth option?
I reached forward and reluctantly went with the interviews. At least they’d be over soon. The other two would require committing to months of training.
“Good choice.” Danny leaned back in his seat and threaded his fingers across his stomach. “So, I talked to Em…”
Oh, here we fucking go. I rolled my eyes and slumped back in the chair. That guy—he needed to retire. Emerson fucking Payne had earned his last name. I’d been the last operator he’d mentored before retreating to “consulting,” but he came in an awful lot and always had his nose in other people’s business. He was turning into the resident daddy who worried about everyone.
“I’m here for my schedule, not therapy,” I reminded him.
I cared for Emerson a whole lot, and I’d looked up to him from the moment I’d met him. He had roughly twenty years on me, give or take—definitely give—a few years, and the life he’d led… Fuck. He was a hero. Former operator with the British SAS, senior operator here, experience in training Green Berets—the list went on. But he was done. He should stay at home on the farm he shared with Danny, cuddle their fucking rescue dogs, and wait for the hubby to come home. I couldn’t handle another “friendly reminder” about my mental health from Em.
“They’re not mutually exclusive in your case,” Danny said. “What do you think Doc’s gonna say tomorrow? Be real, Bo.”
I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face.
Honestly? He’d green-light me for ops again, but he’d probably want me to start off easy. Besides, I couldn’t take on a longer assignment while my old one remained unsolved and collected dust.
“I know I’m good to go,” I said firmly. “But I’m guessing he’ll recommend shorter stints for a while first. And considering I’ll be stuck here full-time with recruits…”
He nodded and opened a drawer. “So what you’re saying is, you’ll be home often enough to take on three…four…classes?”
“With orientation and mentoring, three,” I replied.
“Fair enough.” He had two printouts for me. “I want you to teach your survival class again, with emphasis on wildlife in South America. It looks like we’re sending a lot of operators down there this year too.”
No wonder. A large cartel had practically imploded last year, resulting in power vacuums and gang wars.
I’d found out some of our guys had been involved in the unraveling when the Tenleys had made the evening news. No more undercover work for them.
I checked the second printout and nodded to myself. I’d be in charge of water qual too. That was fine. I was qualified to teach four classes, and I’d taken on the two I liked the most.
“Was there anything else? Otherwise, I’ll get started on the interviews.”
“You’re free to go,” he replied. “Wouldn’t hurt if you brought Alex over for dinner sometime. It’s been a while since we saw her.”
Yeah, I’d get right on that.
I found a quiet corner in the library on the second floor, an area that wouldn’t be quiet for much longer. This year, we were taking on a whopping sixteen recruits, and they’d spend much of their time in here come August.
Sixteen didn’t sound like a lot based on the number that applied to join us every year, but this would be one of our biggest recruiting years since the early 2000s. War was on the horizon again, and we didn’t have any time to waste.
Wanting to get it over with, I started by removing applications with zero military experience. Step two, remove those who had four or more years left of Reserve commitment. A year or two was no problem; service members who were no longer on active duty weren’t likely to get called back in at this point, aside from a training rotation about once a year—
I grimaced as I spotted one guy’s birth date. Born in 2002? Fuck no, kid. You can wait another couple of years.
Four of the applicants had only checked domestic work as their preference, so I made a special pile just for them.
After that, I had approximately twenty applications left, and now I could actually start reading them properly. At least their MOS, expertise, and experiences. About ninety percent of our recruits were former Army or USMC, but infantry—despite being the most common type of service member—was not as common among those who wanted to join Hillcroft. And we needed infantry now. Everyone applying for something within intelligence, tech, or logistics was wait-listed.