"Enough to have gotten out alive." He watched Rylee's posture ease, glad to see the barb had found its mark but caused no lasting damage. After numerous run-ins with far thinner-skinned tenants, it was a pleasure to meet one made of sterner stuff. Samuel found himself liking the boy more and more.
"Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment," he explained. "Served seven years. I wasn't a career guy - couldn't stick it out til retirement, since I'd rather be in the box twenty-four seven than chained somewhere to a desk or working some motor pool or third shift post patrol bullshit - but I wouldn't trade what I did for anything. Most of my family's military; my big brother's a Marine, too." Left unmentioned were the behavioral problems and issues with authority that had played no small part in his decision to quit the G.I. life; those were stories for other, more heavily beer-laden times. He gave a quiet laugh. "Maybe it's genetic."