Hatch looked away, back down toward the glass that was still three quarters full, picked it up and took another small sip. This silent defiance seemed to only enrage the young soldier further, as a little vein began to bulge in his neck and his pale face started to redden.
"Hey, lady, I'm trying to be real nice here, but this is a special section of the bar that is reserved for a special type of person."
Hatch set the glass down, droplets of condensation already beginning to pool on its outside in the muggy heat of the room. She pushed back ever so slightly in the chair and readied herself to confront the man. She wasn't quite sure how she intended to address this issue. She was a civilian now, and to try to give her backstory might come off wrong, and most likely, this man wouldn't believe her if she told him. Her experience was unique, not only for the army, but for a female in the army. Few had done what Hatch had. Actually, there was only one other female to successfully complete the selection course, and there had been no other, to her knowledge, that had ever done it twice, male or female.
Hatch folded her arms and said, "I think I'm okay. Thank you." This only seemed to further infuriate the ginger-haired soldier.
He looked back at his friends and threw his hands up, as if to question how this girl could be standing up to him. When he turned his attention back to her with his fists balled. Hatch thought for a second that the soldier was angry enough to possibly take a swing at her. Maybe he'd been drinking a little bit too long, and his judgment was skewed. It wouldn't be the first brawl that took place between soldiers.
Hatch had plenty of memories from her time as an MP and the fights she'd broken up. Many times, the reason was petty. Although she did understand the ginger's desire to protect the sanctity of the reserved area, which was set aside for special operators, those who had served not only in a military capacity, but in some of the most dangerous roles imaginable. And Wenk, being a former Green Beret himself, found it was important to designate a space just for them. He always gave them a little bit of extra in their drink, and comped them some food, typically one of his extra spicy wing platters, as a way of thanking them.
But what pissed Hatch off was the way this soldier addressed her from the get-go.
Hatch took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she stood up. Being 5'10", Hatch was nearly eye to eye with the ginger-haired man standing before her. And she could see that when he realized this, that her physical stature was comparable to his, he took a step back. His movement was part fear, but he was also distancing himself and preparing for what might come.
Hatch didn't make a fist, although she readied herself in case this young soldier made the mistake of getting aggressive with her beyond his words. She stepped back with her right foot, just slightly, just enough to give her balance and put her in a better position to counter anything he might throw her way.
All of a sudden, a voice boomed. It was Wenk. "Hey! Why don't you back off and leave her be?"
"But, Ernie, this woman, she's sitting in the reserved section! She's got no business, you know better!" The soldier pleaded, half embarrassed. His face turned a blotchy red.
Wenk leveled a stern gaze at the man and said, "She's done more than you’ve ever done, or ever will do."
Receiving the admonishment, the red in the young soldier’s face deepened. A crease of confusion etched his brow as he looked at Wenk. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Wenk smiled as he pointed toward the bar to a framed article from The Army Times hanging on the wall, surrounded by patches and other memorabilia. The article’s caption in bold black letters, "First female to ever complete Army Special Forces Selection Course Twice."
Wenk let the man process what he was reading, and although there was no picture, the message was clearly sent.
The man looked at the article, and then at the woman who stood before him. His eyes ping-ponged back and forth, until they settled back on Hatch. His face was red, but the vein along his neck no longer bulged. The remnants of red peppering his cheeks were out of sheer embarrassment. "I...I just thought that I just... I've never seen...," he stammered.
Hatch gave him a break and decided in that split second that he was, although aggressive and intoxicated, nothing more than a young soldier overeager to enforce tradition.
"Listen, I get it. Maybe next time don't come off as such a hothead. I understand you were looking out for the sanctity of this space, and I never would've sat here had I not earned the right," Hatch said softly.
The ginger soldier said nothing further and turned as if he'd been reprimanded by a principal or parent. If he had had a tail, it would've been tightly tucked between his legs. He walked back to his friends, who were looking at him with dismay and shock that he had been reprimanded, and the woman had been defended by the bar owner.
Hatch turned her attention to Wenk, who was making his way back to the bar area. "Thanks. I could've handled it myself, ya know," Hatch said.
Wenk shot a glance over his shoulder. "Oh, I know. I just didn't want to clean up blood this early on a Tuesday. His blood.”
They both laughed as Hatch resumed her seat. She checked her watch and saw that it was nearing 11 o'clock. The little dump of adrenaline from the potential skirmish with the young soldier had mixed nicely with the little bit of Captain Morgan in her system, and she felt a slight weight lift from her shoulders.
Hatch always felt that combat, the potential or otherwise, gave her a sense of calm. It was in those moments of chaos she felt most at peace. She was the proverbial calm in the storm, and she realized that about herself. Ever since leaving the army, she’d sought that connection. It had been severed when the army no longer wanted her, particularly her old unit.
A few minutes later, just past 11, the door opened, and the familiar face of Chris Bennett entered. He eyed Hatch, then he surveyed the bar, his operator training, even in a safe environment, was always on point, as was hers. No amount of time could undo the training they'd been through. Entering any confined space, those with their experience always did a quick check of the surroundings, both of the people and the location.
Satisfied, Bennett moved in. He held up two fingers and nodded at Wenk, who immediately set about lining up two shot glasses. He filled each of them with a Glenlivet whiskey, Bennett’s drink of choice.
Bennett didn't hold eye contact with Hatch for long. He walked directly to the bar, grabbed his two shots, and then brought them over to where she was sitting. Before he took his seat, he turned back to Wenk, "I'll grab a Miller Lite too. Thanks, Ernie."
Hatch eyed the two shots in his hands. Ordering a third beverage to wash them down in reverse order meant he was doing whiskey with a beer chaser. Usually it was the other way around.
"I see you're getting a good start to the day. I assume you're not going back to do any range work," Hatch said, eyeing the two shots. Apparently, Bennett was just as nervous about this meeting as she was, as he also was not known for heavy drinking, although on occasion he partook, and this was apparently one of those occasions.
"So, what are we doing here, Hatch?" he asked, downing the first shot and slamming the glass onto the table.
"Well, I have some questions. I told you when we talked that I needed to see you in person, and it's important,” Hatch said.