Page 25 of Duty Preserved

Cole held up the list. “Weapon,” he said.

Twelve rifles came up. Thank God they all have their rifles, at least.

“Canteens. You were issued two.”

Most held up a pair. A few held up one. One ranger held up nothing at all and stared at his own palm like the canteens might still materialize.

“First aid kit.”

Nine. Three missing.

“Knife.”

Ten. Two gone.

Cole kept going. Poncho, compass, flashlight, radio battery, rations. The list was long, and the results didn’t improve. By the time he reached the end, he lowered the page.

“Before we started this, I told you something, and I’m going to say it one more time so it’s clear. If you cannot keep track of your own gear, you cannot be trusted to keep track of the animals you are out here to protect.” He looked at the ranger with no canteens. “Where are they?”

“I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember.” Cole glanced down the line at the others standing with empty hands. “Maybe we need something to help you all remember.” He nodded at Andrew. “Take down who’s missing what.”

Andrew walked the line with a notebook, stopping at each ranger who’d come up short. He wrote names and items without comment. When he was done, he tore out the page and handed it to me. Seven rangers. A dozen missing items between them.

Cole nodded at Andrew, who picked up the canvas sack we’d brought and upended it. River stones tumbled across the dirt, heavy, smooth, each one larger than a fist.

“Every missing item gets replaced with one of these,” I said. “Every morning when you ruck up for the march, these go in with the rest of your gear. They stay in your ruck until the missing item is found or replaced, and I don’t care if that takes weeks.”

I picked up two stones and held them out to the ranger who couldn’t remember where his canteens went.

“These are your canteens now. They don’t hold water.”

He took them reluctantly.

Andrew worked down the list, matching rocks to names. By the time he was done, at least a dozen rocks had gone out across seven rangers, and a few of them were reconsidering their life choices.

“This is how every morning starts,” Cole said. “Get used to it.”

I caught Zayn at the edge of my vision, full kit, nothing missing, nothing out of place. “Pack it up,” I said. “Rocks included. Everything in your rucks. You’ve got two minutes.”

They packed.

“Listen up,” Andrew said. “You’re marching to the baobab split on the southeast track. That’s about eight kilometers out. Cole’s driving ahead to meet you there. When you arrive, he inspects your kit again. Then you march back.”

“The sooner you get back, the sooner you eat lunch,” I said. “Chow closes when it closes. If you’re not back in time, you don’t eat.” The rangers looked from one to another. No one wanted to miss a meal, not when the job had so few perks.

“Andrew and I will be following behind in a safety vehicle,” I said. “In case anyone needs medical evacuation.”

“And Donovan is picking the music in the truck,” Andrew added with a chuckle. “So don’t think for a second that riding in the safety vehicle will be more comfortable than ruck marching.”

Cole climbed into his Land Cruiser and pulled out. Zayn started at the front of the pack, and the others fell in behind him, forming two columns of six. They stepped off into the morning heat. Baraka was near the front, his long stride eating ground. Jomo was at the back of the right column, the clubfoot pulling at his gait.

Andrew and I gave them a hundred meters and then followed in the second vehicle, rolling slow, keeping them in sight.

Jomo fell behind within the first kilometer. The gap between him and the man ahead of him opened and kept opening. His bad foot turned his ankle with every stride.

“Do you think he’ll quit?” Andrew said from the passenger seat.