Ranger - Prologue. The Oscars

March 2022

“And the Oscar goes to… A Home for Warriors.” Loud applause forced the presenter to raise his voice. “Brad Kennedy, Brett Davenport, Cesar Abelló, Cesar Abelló, Jr., and Owen Liston, producers. Anne Maki, director.”

The audience roared its approval. From the initial private showings, to the documentary’s official premiere in Washington, D.C., through its subsequent airing on Amazon’s Prime, the film had garnered critical acclaim and popular support.

“FUCKING A!” Brad’s exuberant reaction had those around him laughing. Lip readers had no problem hearing his enthusiasm even though the network censored the expletive from the broadcast. He rocketed out of his chair and stood in the aisle, urging his companions to join him. The five men and one woman were showered with praise as they walked down the aisle and climbed on stage to accept their golden statuettes. While Anne and Brad approached the microphone, the others arranged themselves behind the film’s director and star.

Anne had wanted to stay in the background, allowing Brad—he had been named a producer for this eventuality—to speak but was overruled. She had provided the initial spark for the documentary, and the men insisted she be recognized for doing so in public. “I’d like to thank the four individuals behind me and all others involved in making this project possible. Without their support and encouragement, my dream of spotlighting the hardships encountered by returning military men and women would have withered. Most of all, my gratitude to retired Army Sergeant Bradley Kennedy for serving as facilitator and narrator. He exemplifies the best of our armed forces. Brad?” She might have agreed to speak but obviously wanted the spotlight on the tall redhead next to her.

“Thank you, Anne.” Brad kissed the woman’s cheek while hugging her again. “The men with us made it clear they didn’t want to speak tonight, so it’s up to me. Our collective thanks to the Academy and to everyone who had a hand in our adventure.”

He turned his head for a moment to glance at his friends behind him and Anne. “Captain, Mr. A, CJ, Ozzie. I… I don’t have the words to properly thank you. But you already know how much I appreciate your support and your dedication to our cause. Tonight would have been impossible without you.

“For anyone who’s not seen A Home for Warriors”—Brad reached down and pulled up a tuxedo pant leg to reveal a prosthetic—“I lost both when the truck I was driving hit an IED.”

The silence in the room felt oppressive. “Please bear with me. I’m not very comfortable with public speaking.” Brad threw a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s CJ’s department, and I’m trying to channel him right now. I’ve heard enough of his speeches, and I’m hoping I can do half as well as he does.” The self-deprecating line seemed to relax the tension caused by displaying the artificial leg. There was a smattering of applause and chuckles.

“After those bastards tried to kill me and my men, medics stabilized me and flew me to Germany. While still in surgery, my dad and CJ flew over to see me. Their support...” Brad took a deep breath trying to untangle the nervous knot in his stomach. “The love and support I’ve had from that moment, from them, from other family members and friends, at times from strangers, is the reason I’m standing in front of you today. The reason I’ve beaten the odds. The reason I look ahead to a promising future.”

Brad had thought about what he would say if he found himself in this position and decided not to be gentle. He had written lines of thought on his phone and shown them to CJ earlier. Although pundits gave the film a high chance of winning, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences often surprised prognosticators. There was no guarantee the predictions of a win would come true. He had been uncertain those thoughts would be made public until the documentary was announced as the winner.

“War is at times a necessary evil, and I’m proud to have served as a Ranger in the United States Army. However, too often politicians enter unnecessary conflicts without thinking of the consequences. Of what happens to those doing the fighting. I’m here to tell you most of those elected officials are a bunch of lying cowards who deserve to have their asses thrown out of office.”

The obviously liberal crowd endorsed his comments with sustained applause. Brad had to wait until the standing ovation died down. “And if sending young men and women to fight on foreign lands to defend the financial interests of multinational businesses is bad, the way military veterans are treated when they return home is the ultimate betrayal.” Trusting CJ’s eloquence, Brad had been pleased with his friend’s suggestions and approval of what he planned to say.

“There should not be a need for a place like Heroes Haven. As a nation, we should be ashamed so many returning vets end up homeless, on the streets. That twenty of those returning warriors kill themselves every day is shameful.” When music played to indicate his time was over, Brad stopped talking and turned to either side of the stage. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in instant anger.

“Whoever started that stupid music better shut it the fuck down right now. I’m not done. If you want to try and kick me offstage, come try. Go ahead, make my day.” The defiant attitude earned him renewed applause lasting longer than before. “And I better not see the cameras’ lights turn off. What I have to say has to be heard by those here and everyone watching at home.”

“Not all the men riding with me the day I lost my legs came home alive.” A sniffle escaped him. Brad retrieved a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “Sorry. I tend to lose it when I think about my companions who died while I somehow survived. Military brass was quick to award all of us medals—posthumously to the ones who lost their lives—then seemed to forget us.

“I was so damn lucky. Captain Brett Davenport”—Brad turned slightly and bowed in Brett’s direction—“a retired Marine once posted to the Pentagon went to bat for me with his former employers. So did my dad. He’s an Army vet currently with the DC police department. Then there’s CJ. Some of you know who he is; the man’s had his fingers in a lot of pies. He’s a diplomat assigned to our embassy in Mexico City, but his connections span more than politics. He shook a lot of trees on my behalf, introduced me to Heroes Haven, and was the catalyst behind our film project. Thanks, bud!

“Anyway, this award belongs to the residents of that magnificent community and others like it. I hope it motivates everyone watching to remember those who’ve put their lives at risk on behalf of our country’s safety. Donate money. Volunteer. Pressure politicians to do the right thing. Don’t you dare forget me or the rest of us when tonight’s over. Fight for us the way we’ve fought for you.

“Finally, to my mother, my dads, and my brother, Patrick. I love you all!” As he stepped back from the microphone, the music played again, and the audience stood and applauded. Brad caught more than one attendee wiping moist eyes. He offered his arm to Anne and escorted her off the stage, followed by the others. The redheaded Ranger was satisfied with his performance.