A new story for a new year...this takes place after Take a Chance and references events in that story. The Math Teacher takes place just before this story too, or about the same time. This is a Mercenary Ranger fic, it takes place in my Plum world/ story arc, tho it may be a smidge off continuity-wise.

Ranger and Stephanie are a couple. I don't think Morelli is in this at all, or just passes thru, maybe. Babe, HEA implied.

Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

Mercenaries R Us

Prolog/ Backstory ~ Smile and Wave, Boys!

.

Ranger

Let me just say this—we did exactly what we were paid to do.

I'm not a man who makes excuses, but I am going to go on the record here. Rangeman took a job, a tough job. It was offered to me because the regular military groups' commanders all said, Sorry, Mr. President, we don't do suicide missions. And when the man in charge looked perplexed, they probably handed him my card. They told him, Call Ranger. He gets paid to do this shit.

So, yeah. I took the contract. And we did it all and we did it well; we extracted the American hostages—civilian aid workers, no less. We exfiltrated without further incident—because you know, the tangos [targets, terrorists] were all—um—dead—and we flew the rescuees to an undisclosed US military encampment where they were transferred to medivac choppers and flown first to an Air Force aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf, then on to be treated medically and debriefed in Germany. After that they're not my problem, but let's assume the US government will fly them home for free in a day or two.

So, okay—all went well. Not a single American hostage, rescuer, or innocent bystander died or was even hurt.

Now we were flying in another helicopter, along with General XXXX whom we picked up when we dropped off the former hostages. The general acts as liaison for our regular ARMY covert ops; he is the man we refer to as That Jerkoff or That Jackass. Sometimes we call him the weasel, for short. Hah! General Weasel.

Anyway, he got in our Rangeman chopper, said not much, and we did our best to ignore him in return. The days when I jump up and salute these guys is long gone. And of course Weasel is scared shitless of me. Of us.

So we closed our eyes and went to sleep, the first real downtime we'd had since beginning this op three days ago. Yes I said three days. Time is money; I like things fast and efficient, get in / get out. I have a life now, you know. Hey I'm a married man! And I have a new baby daughter! The thought of my girls made me smile a little and I drifted off to sleep, only wakening a few hours later when the big chopper landed at the US military base in XXXX-istan. The sound of the rotors powering down to land woke me and my guys and we stretched and yawned, peering aimlessly out of the small tinted windows. Tank was closer to a window than me and suddenly his body went all stiff. He said, "Uh. Ranger. Rangeman, check this out." The other guys grabbed their rifles, while I leaned over Tank's bulk and took a better look.

What the fuck? Crowds. Of civilians….

The general cleared his throat and said, "As you may know the President is here in the Middle East visiting the troops."

It is an election year….

I said, "And."

"And he is here at the base now! With his staff of course! To thank you!"

"Uh huh."

I don't want thanks; I want money, lots of money. I'm the guy who gets paid to do this shit, remember?

I silently eyed the general with disapproval.

Weasel stammered, "The President—ah—thought it would be a great—ah—press scene. Public relations coup. Um, ah—photo op. For him to greet you all…."

"The press is here?" I interrupted.

The President called the foreign press corps? To take pictures Of Me?

Shit, I told Steph I was gonna be in Atlanta. This desert hellhole didn't look at all like Atlanta to me. And it won't fool Steph for a second.

My entire crew was staring the general with displeasure. The Rangeman menace was palpable, you could feel the intimidation vibes. The Weasel paled but spread his hands and passed the buck. He said, "Look, Ranger, it's what the President wants, what his press advisor told him to do….Probably he doesn't understand…"

The man was babbling.

I said, "What part of covert black ops does the man not understand? I don't want my fucking face plastered all over CNN again, general."

He shrugged.

"What do you suggest, sir? Are you gonna fix this or what?" I pressured him icily.

Weasel said, "Just smile and wave, boys, just smile and wave."

Tank said, "Did he just call us boys?"

sigh

…

I ducked under the slowing rotors of my chopper and headed towards the President. He was nattily attired in a navy blue golf jacket with the Presidential seal embroidered on the chest, khakis, desert toned sneakers. Hairspray. Make-up. For the cameras.

I was dressed in faded light desert cammo cargoes, black boots and a long-sleeved black t-shirt with RMPMC-USA stenciled across my chest in big dark grey block letters. Underneath was a 4 inch by 5 inch grey on black USA flag. RMPMC means Rangeman Private Military Corporation and it is there, on our shirts and body armor, along with the American flag, so my guys on the field in these 'stan places are not killed by friendly fire. I also was dirty and sweaty and had a 3-day beard going.

Need I add, no make-up?

So of course the entire press corps—reporters, photographers, cameramen, on-location talking heads—everyone instantly swung away from the President of the United Sates and focused on—me.

Eyes alert behind my black mirrored sunglasses I found the CNN live feed camera. And as directed, I smiled and waved. And I mouthed to the camera, "I love you, babe."

I hope Steph can read my lips because otherwise I'm in deep shit. I quit smiling and shook the President's hand.

…

"I thought you were in Atlanta, Ranger."

"I was there." For half a day, on my way to….um.

"I came home from a hard day chasing skips, Ranger. Said hi to our little girl and Ella. Fed Rex, got a beer and some chips and some leftover guacamole…."

"Babe."

"…..turned on the TV. And there you were. Shaking the President's hand, Ranger. In Nowhere-istan, I guess."

"Steph…"

"Because it sure as hell was NOT ATLANTA GEORGIA, WAS IT!"

"…no…."

silence on both cell phones for a few beats…

I wasn't sorry. And I didn't exactly lie to her either..

I refuse to apologize, this is what I do, it's my job. She knows it's my job, she does, even though we pretend I'm just a regular guy now. A daddy, even, huh? So was I supposed to just let those people die? Be tortured? Murdered by religious crazies? I don't think so, I thought.

"Ranger?"

"Yeah."

"You looked—amazing. You looked—um—really hot. On CNN."

"Excuse me?"

"Will you be home soon?"

"….sure."

"Don't shower or shave."

… ... ...

Stephanie

Grubby, ARMY Ranger—yum.

She could feel his smile through the phone, over the thousands of miles separating them, his ESP as sharp as ever.

"Babe."

tbc

Reviews are great, thanks for taking the time.

a/n General Jackass, The Weasel, Jackson is NOT the good general, General XXX, who liaises Rangman's deep covert, commando ops.