Chapter 11

The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a cheerful glow over the breakfast nook where Jessica Hart, Principal of Capitol High School, sat picking at her scrambled eggs. The aroma of fresh coffee and buttered toast filled the air, a comforting routine that had anchored her and her husband’s mornings for nearly three decades.

“How’s the search for subs coming along?” her husband Hank asked, spreading strawberry jam on his toast with methodical precision. At fifty-three, his graying beard and laugh lines spoke of a man comfortable in his own skin, the kind of steady presence that had made him a beloved professor of finance at Seattle Pacific University.

Jessica sighed, pushing her eggs around her plate. “It’s slow going.” She rubbed her temples, feeling the familiar tension headache building. “I’m worried about the kids’ test scores. It doesn’t help that we increasingly have classes taught by inexperienced substitutes”

“That rough, huh?”

“But the good news is that I got a guy coming today.” Jessica set down her fork and reached for her coffee mug, wrapping her hands around it like a lifeline. “The bad news is that he’s a grad student and an ex-Green Beret. I mean, I appreciate his service, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable having a sub who’s basically an inexperienced soldier trying to teach history to teenagers.”

Hank nearly choked on his coffee, a laugh bursting out despite his attempt to swallow. “Jessica,” he said, setting down his mug with a gentle clink against the saucer. “I hate to break it to you, but this guy probably has as much teaching experience as you do.”

Jessica’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean? He’s never taught in a classroom.”

“Maybe not in a traditional classroom,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair with the amused expression she’d come to know meant he was about to share some military wisdom. As a Gulf War veteran himself, he often found himself translating the military for his civilian wife. “But Green Berets? Baby, they’re not just soldiers.”

“I know. They’re elite fighters. Special ops guys.”

“They’re warrior-scholars,” Hank corrected gently. “Do you know what Green Berets actually do? Their primary mission isn’t direct combat—it’s what the military calls force multipliers, which means they drop them into strange countries where the language and culture are different and are tasked to teach local people—farmers, shepherds, shopkeepers—how to fight wars. They have to know the local language, understand the social dynamics, figure out how to motivate people and then teach complex military tactics.”

Jessica paused, her coffee mug halfway to her lips. “I ... I didn’t know that.”

“This guy has probably taught eighteen hours a day, year in and year out, in conditions you can’t imagine. He’s had to break down complex concepts for people with completely different learning styles, cultural backgrounds, and educational levels. He’s had to be patient, creative, and adaptable because lives literally depended on whether his ‘students’ understood what he was teaching them.”

Hank buttered another piece of toast, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. “Think about it—he’s had to teach subsistence farmers advanced tactics and strategy. And he’s done it knowing that if he fails as a teacher, people die.”