Bonus Content: Brandon Herrera's Ridiculous Ranger School Saga

Brandon Herrera, a scrawny civilian with no military experience, inexplicably found himself enrolled in the U.S. Army’s grueling 62-day Ranger School, a program built to break even the hardiest soldiers. Whether by clerical error or a bet gone awry, there he was at Fort Benning, Georgia, dwarfed by his rucksack and wearing a look of utter bewilderment.

Darby Phase: The Great Map Mishap

The Darby Phase, the first of three punishing stages, tests endurance, patrolling, and leadership under duress. On day one, Brandon was handed a map and compass for land navigation, a make-or-break skill. While most candidates pored over topographic lines like scholars, Brandon treated the map like a doodle pad, squinting as if it held the secret to a hidden snack stash.

“Private Herrera, lead us to Checkpoint Bravo,” growled the Ranger Instructor (RI), a sergeant with no tolerance for tomfoolery. Brandon, drenched in sweat through his ACUs, pointed into a swamp. “That’s the spot, Sarge! Gut feeling!” His squad, already bone-tired, trudged into knee-deep sludge, where Brandon tripped over a root, face-planting into a puddle. His compass spun like a fidget spinner, landing on a random bearing.

By dumb luck, the swamp detour hit an old trail, cutting 20 minutes off their route. The RI, oblivious to Brandon’s blunder, jotted: “Herrera shows unconventional navigation instincts.” His squad, caked in mud and muttering curses, couldn’t fathom their fortune. Through Darby’s land nav tests, Brandon bumbled into three more checkpoints, once because he chased a squirrel he swore “had a plan.” He passed the phase, earning a “Go” and a grudging nod from the RI, who muttered, “Kid’s got something, I suppose.”

Mountain Phase: The Rappel Fiasco

The Mountain Phase in Dahlonega, Georgia, drilled mountaineering and small-unit tactics in brutal terrain. Rappelling down a 60-foot cliff demanded precision and nerve. Brandon, who’d once sworn he’d “rather arm-wrestle a cougar than hang from a rope,” shook as he tied his Swiss seat knot. “This rope’s flimsier than dental floss,” he grumbled, triple-checking it.

When his turn came, Brandon’s descent was a catastrophe. Halfway down, he slipped, swung like a pendulum, and snagged his rope on a branch. Panicking, he yelped, “I ain’t cut out for this!” His flailing dislodged a rock, triggering a small avalanche that exposed a hidden enemy position set up for a later ambush scenario. The RI, floored, radioed: “Herrera neutralized a simulated OPFOR threat via environmental manipulation.” Brandon, hanging upside down, just hollered, “Get me down!”

On a night patrol, Brandon was point man, a role needing stealth. Instead, he stumbled over roots, whispered loudly about “mountain spirits,” and dropped his NVGs into a creek. His noise spooked a herd of wild boars, which stampeded through the woods, flushing out another squad’s ambush team early. The RI noted: “Herrera’s unorthodox noise discipline disrupted enemy plans.” Brandon passed Mountain Phase, with his squad dubbing him “Pig Magnet.”

Florida Phase: The Swamp Shenanigans

The Florida Phase, in the muggy, alligator-ridden swamps of Eglin Air Force Base, tested candidates in wretched conditions. Brandon, who called swamps “nature’s stew pot,” was miserable. During a river crossing, he was tasked with securing a rope bridge. His knot, more scribble than bowline, collapsed, dumping the squad into the water.

As they flailed, an alligator surfaced. Brandon, in a frenzy, hurled his rucksack at it, shouting, “Take my gear, leave my legs!” The 60-pound bag stunned the alligator, giving the squad time to scramble ashore. The RI, watching through binoculars, wrote: “Herrera’s quick thinking neutralized a wildlife threat.” The squad, soaked and livid, still hit their objective—barely.

In a final ambush mission, Brandon was handed the M240 machine gun, a weapon he barely grasped (he’s the “AK Guy”). When the signal came, he yanked the trigger so hard it jammed. Desperate, he lobbed a smoke grenade, which landed in dry grass, sparking a small fire. The blaze lit up the enemy’s position, letting his squad outmaneuver them. The RI, hacking through smoke, scribbled: “Herrera’s improvisation created a tactical advantage.”

Graduation: The Unlikely Hero

By day 62, Brandon was a mess: 20 pounds lighter, speckled with bug bites, and clueless about half the Ranger handbook. Yet, he’d passed every phase through sheer, absurd luck. At the graduation ceremony on Hurley Hill, he stood in his ill-fitting dress uniform, expecting to slink away. Then the commanding officer called him forward.

“Private Herrera,” the CO boomed, “your unorthodox methods—swamp shortcuts, environmental disruptions, and wildlife encounters—show a unique leadership approach. You’ve earned the Ranger Tab and the Distinguished Honor Graduate award!”

The crowd gasped. His squad, now weirdly fond of him, roared. Brandon blinked, whispering, “This a prank? I broke three compasses.” The CO affixed the black-and-gold Ranger Tab to his shoulder, praising his “resilience.” Brandon tripped over a patch of grass leaving formation, nearly bowling over the CO. The crowd laughed, thinking it was on purpose. An RI muttered, “Genius or clown, who knows?”

As Brandon left Fort Benning, the Ranger Tab stark on his shoulder, he grinned at his squad: “Who’s up for Green Beret training next?” They groaned, knowing chaos—and bizarre success—trailed him like a shadow.