You have to be a volunteer, complete advanced infantry training, and you have to be seconded by your current commanding officer, and it helps if you have other well respected folks who think you might have what it takes.
Then your name goes into the stack. Next time a training cycle is being assembled, your stack gets looked at. About half the stack generally gets denied, flat out, and not reconsidered. Of the remaining half, some get told to apply again, and some are simply put on to another stack, to be considered at a later time. When I was at Ft. Bragg, the percentage that was actually chosen was generally in single digits, but not always. (keep in mind, a lot of these folks are already Airborne, and some are combat veterans, and some are even training cadre for infantry training.)
Some of the reason is the need for, and numbers of existing rangers qualified troops. Most of the reason is that even with the stringent qualification reviews, as many as half of these elite trainees will fail to complete the training, for one reason or another. A lot of folks, who pass Airborne Infantry training, which is a cast iron bitch to get through, can’t deal with the physical and mental strain of ranger training. They also have the highest training casualty rate of any military training regimen. Folks have died trying to be a ranger.
Being a ranger is about getting there alive, and still able to do what you went there to do. Getting back is optional, but generally considered desirable. It’s about mission first, and it means not expecting anyone to slow down to help you keep up, no matter what. Rangers are generally on their way somewhere, and they don’t usually have a lot of spare time in their schedule. They also don’t usually have a lot of help, in terms of support units, or even other combat units. Rangers go in early, they go in deep, and they stay late. While they are there, the usually kill people, and break things. They have to be good at that, too.
The best explanation I ever heard about just how badassed the rangers are was a story told to me by a D-day assault veteran. He was trudging up over the final hills at the beach at Normandy, early on the third day of the invasion, and met three guys with rangers tabs, and private first class stripes, walking back the other way. They were coming back after their assignment, somewhere back behind what had been Hitler’s Fortress Europe, only two days ago. He said they looked tired, but other than that, they looked like young boys, on a walk in the country. His Captain asked them who their commanding officer was. One of the privates said, “I guess that’s me, sir.”
They were coming back out, while the rest of the army was going in. Been there, done that. Going back to get reassigned, to a new job.
And in basic training, they made me sing, “I want to be an airborne ranger, I want go to Viet Nam, I want to live a life of danger, I want to fight the Viet Cong.” I was fairly skeptical about the Viet Nam and Viet Cong parts, and not all that keen about the airborne part. But after meeting a few of them, I knew for damned sure I didn’t want to be any sort of ranger at all. But I do have a strong admiration for anyone qualified to wear the tab on his uniform. They certainly earned it.
And having it means that when the “balloon goes up” they will earn it all over again.
Twenty three is old, for a ranger trainee, unless you are already an airborn qualified vetran, with a combat mos, and at least some advanced training to explain what you have been doing all these years.
Tris