In the tent, Major Rudder and Lieutenant Taylor sat on campstools behind a field desk. Clay removed his garrison cap, halted in front of the desk, and saluted. “Sir, Private Paxton reports to the battalion commander.”

Lombardi stood to the side of the desk. “Clay Paxton from my section, sir.”

“At ease, Private.” Rudder had fair hair, light eyes, and a big old Texas smile. “Where are you from?”

Clay clenched his cap behind his back. No getting around that nugget of information. “Kerrville, Texas, sir.”

That grin grew. “Kerrville. I’ve been there. Beautiful country.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say . . .” His eyes turned down at the corners. “What was your name again? Clay Paxton?”

Oh no. He did remember. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The major slapped his knee. “Kerrville High, class of ’39, am I right?”

“Yes, sir.” Maybe his memory would stop right there.

“I tried to recruit you. You were a fine linebacker.”

Clay forced a smile. “I’m honored you remember, sir.”

Rudder wagged a finger. “I also remember you turned me down. What was it again?”

That reason had disappeared. “I needed to work in the family business.”

The major frowned. “Top of your class, wanted to study medicine at the University of Texas. As an Aggie, I’d never forget that.”

“Medicine?” Lieutenant Taylor asked.

No, no, no. Not that. Somehow Clay kept his face impassive.

Rudder swung his grin to Taylor. “Took a war to do it, but I finally got this kid on my team.”

Taylor glanced at Lombardi. “Actually, we were talking about transferring him out.”

Clay fought the sagging in his shoulders. Had it gotten that bad? He’d started so well.

“Why is that?” Rudder asked the platoon commander.

Taylor shrugged. “Does great in conditioning, he’s a good shot and knows his material. But he overanalyzes, and he’s bound by rules. He’s a good soldier, but not a good Ranger.”

“He lacks the killer instinct,” Lombardi said.

Rudder studied Clay, but without the grin this time. “What do you have to say?”

Clay couldn’t mention his recurring dream and how it drove him, so he turned his gaze hard and sharp. “Sir, I want to be a Ranger more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. I can learn. I can do this.”

“There’s another option, Paxton.” Taylor leaned his elbows on the field desk. “Become a medic.”

“Sir, I—”

The lieutenant raised a hand to silence him. “You obviously have an interest in medicine. Our medics have to meet the same physical standards as the rest of the Rangers, but they don’t have to kill. It’s perfect for you.”

“Great idea,” Rudder said.

“No.” Clay sucked in a breath at his breach of military etiquette. “Sir, medics don’t fight. I volunteered for the Rangers because I want to fight. I need to fight. Please give me a chance, sir. I can do this.”