Brandon Herrera, an unlikely civilian thrust into the grueling U.S. Army Ranger School, embarks on a chaotic journey through its punishing phases. With no military background and a knack for accidental brilliance, he stumbles through challenges that test even seasoned soldiers. His misadventures, marked by absurd luck and unorthodox flair, unfold across Fort Benning’s forest, Dahlonega’s mountains, and Florida’s alligator-infested waters.

The Texas sun scorched the plains, bathing the mesquite and sagebrush in a fiery glow. Brandon Herrera, "The Most Decorated Man in American History," stood tall on a rocky bluff, his Stetson low over his hawk-sharp eyes. His hands, etched with scars from battles past, cradled the AK-50, a monstrous rifle he’d forged himself. His rapier wit, corny as a county fair, was sharper than ever, ready to skewer any foe. Texas trembled under a new terror, and Brandon was its only salvation.

It was a crisp morning aboard the USS Participation Trophy, a ship known for its impeccable record of doing absolutely nothing noteworthy. The crew gathered on deck for yet another medal ceremony, the third that week. Brandon Herrera, a wiry man with a grin that screamed “I can’t believe this either,” stood at attention as the captain pinned yet another Navy Achievement Medal to his chest—his 27th, to be exact. Beside him, Cody Garrett, a lanky sailor with a single, lonely medal pinned to his uniform, muttered under his breath, “This has to be a glitch in the matrix.”

It was June 6, 1944—or so Brandon Herrera thought as he stumbled out of the landing craft, boots sloshing into the icy surf after a long day drinking and filming “Tiny Guns” in a period-correct WWII uniform. The first soldier off the boats, they’d later call him, though “soldier” might’ve been generous for a man three Bud Lights deep and clutching a half-empty White Claw like it was his last will and testament. The invasion of Normandy was underway, and Private Herrera was ready to liberate France, one .45 slug at a time.