Three months had passed since the recruits began their grueling physical training. Everyone was fully geared up—helmets, rifles, tactical gloves, and that determined fire in their eyes. Sergeant Tumberwatch had appointed Brian as commander of the Eleventh Squad, while Dan took charge of the Thirteenth.
Brian learned fast—how to survive the desert heat and how to move without leaving a trace. Dan, on the other hand, had a knack for getting his team out of tight spots. They'd been trained for both ground and aerial assault at the Air Force training compound, where the real test awaited.
Today's mission: simulate an assault on an SIZ terrorist outpost in the middle of a blazing desert. The mock stronghold sat at the base of a dune, a small, sand-colored hut that shimmered under the scorching sun. Each soldier wore a high-tech helmet with thermal goggles locked in place, scanning for any sign of movement.
From atop a dune, Sergeant Washe raised his binoculars and spotted a group of thirty soldiers creeping forward below.
"Keep low!" his voice yelled over the comms. Instantly, the troops dropped to the sand, motionless, eyes fixed on the small hut ahead.
"Hold position. Wait for my mark," came his next command through Brian's earpiece. Inside the hut, enemy drones—lifelike combat dummies—patrolled in silence.
"Crawl forward. Nice and quiet." That's an Sergeant ordered.
Sand shifted softly as the soldiers obeyed, moving in synchronized silence. On the far flank, Dan reached for a training grenade, gripping it tight.
"Private Party, prepare to engage," the sergeant instructed Dan.
Dan's visor flashed data—trajectory angles, throwing force, impact radius. He took a breath, adjusted his aim, and hurled the grenade through the hut's window.
A split second later— "GO! GO! MOVE IN!"
The dunes erupted with life. Soldiers surged from cover, sprinting toward the hut from all directions. Brian dove through the shattered window, wrestling one of the robot enemies to the ground and locking it in place. Within moments, every synthetic soldier inside had powered down, standing stiff and silent.
"HOO-RAH!" the triumphant roar echoed across the desert.
Sergeant Washe lowered his binoculars and let out a proud grin. Three months of sweat and discipline had finally paid off. The soldiers gathered on the dune, gulping water from their canteens, their faces dusted with sand and smiles. Dan jogged over to Brian and Matt, tossing his helmet aside.
"Wahoo! Suave, baby!" he yelled, pumping his fist in the air.
Brian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Yeah, we killed it out there, man."
Sergeant Washe just shook his head, still smiling from the ridge. "Not bad for a bunch of rookies," he muttered, the hint of pride impossible to hide.