Page 14 of Duty Preserved

“It was four hours.”

Cole grinned. “Come on. Let me show you what we’ve got.”

He walked us through the camp. Most of the buildings were cinder block with metal roofs, they were the kind of construction that went up fast but at least stayed standing through weather that would flatten anything less. There was a dining tent with a canvas roof that held mismatched tables and chairs, open on three sides. A ranger bunkhouse set apart from the rest. Someone had pinned a hand-drawn map of the reserve to a post in the dining tent with outpost positions marked in red.

“Generator runs about sixteen hours a day,” Cole said, pointing to the housing we’d seen from the road. “Diesel. They’ve got enough fuel for about three weeks if nobody does anything stupid, which is optimistic.”

“Backup?” Andrew asked.

“Solar on a couple buildings. Enough to keep the radios charged and the lights on. Everything else goes dark.”

We reached the cabins. Cole nodded at them as we passed through the cluster. “You’re in these. Running water, actual beds. Just enough to be comfortable.”

Past the cabins, a concrete block building stood apart from the rest, larger than anything else in camp, the one structure that looked like it had been built to last.

“Vet facility,” Cole said. “Examination area, supply storage, recovery space for animals. There’s an American vet team here on fellowship. Three of them. They work with the animals on the reserve. You’ll see them around, but they do their thing and we do ours.”

“How long have they been here?” Andrew asked.

“About a year. They know the animals better than anyone.”

We passed a vehicle bay—really just a lean-to with a concrete slab—where a Land Cruiser sat with its hood up, tools on the ground next to it, nobody working on it.

He kept walking and we followed.

We ended up back at the dining tent. Cole pulled out a chair, sat down, and crossed his arms.

“All right. Let me tell you about the rangers.”

“How bad?” Andrew asked.

“Not great.” Cole leaned back in his chair. “So, you know Ethan and Mel came through here on their honeymoon last year. They spent a few days on the reserve, and Ethan saw what was going on. The Kenyan government set up a ranger program about five years ago. Good idea, no follow-through. They recruited a bunch of local kids, gave them uniforms and weapons, pointed at the bush, and told them to protect it.”

“How many rangers are there?” I asked.

“Twelve. Most of them are teenagers. A few are barely twenty. And they don’t do much.” He shrugged. “Can’t blame them, really. Nobody trained them. Nobody gave them a mission. Nobody checks in. So they sit around, they sleep, they let their gear fall apart. They were handed a title and nothing else.”

Teenagers. With weapons. And no one watching.

“And Ethan saw all this?” Andrew said.

“Ethan saw a problem he could do something about. So he sent us.”

I sat with that for a second. This wasn’t a contract. Ethan had stood where we were sitting, looked at the same picture, and decided it mattered enough to send his own people. Ethan’s judgement call meant something.

Cole kept going. “The program was supposed to cover a lot of ground. Deterring poaching, monitoring wildlife, basic first aid, and even helping establish some stability in communities out here that don’t have regular government presence or law enforcement. In some areas, poaching’s been a real issue. Here, not so much. It’s been quiet.” He shrugged. “But the intent was good. These guys signed up because they wanted to do something that mattered. They just don’t know how to do it.”

“So what can they do?” I asked.

“They know the animals. They can herd them between zones, manage grazing patterns, keep species separated when they need to be. The wildlife-management side, they’ve picked up on their own.” He paused. “What they don’t have is any idea how to run patrols, maintain security, or protect those animals from people. A poacher walks onto this reserve tomorrow and these guys wouldn’t know how to spot him, track him, or stop him.”

That was the gap. They could manage wildlife. They couldn’t defend it. Two completely different skill sets, and they only had one.

But they had guns.

Andrew leaned forward. “So we’ve got a dozen teenagers who can move a herd of zebras across a valley but can’t clear a room or run a two-man patrol.”

“That’s a pretty accurate take.” Cole said.