The first crack of rifle fire ca just after dawn.
It wasn’t loud enough to wake the camp—the JLTV engines had already seen to that. But to the recruits now seated inside the vehicles, it was the beginning of their next lesson. The day of mounted drills had arrived.
Inigo stood beside one of the JLTVs, motioning for the others to gather.
"You’ve learned to drive," he said, his voice cutting clearly through the crisp morning air. "So better than others. But driving isn’t enough."
He patted the reinforced side of the vehicle. "These are not just for movent. They’re firing platforms. They move. You shoot. At the sa ti."
Several of the recruits exchanged uneasy glances.
Sark, rubbing his shoulder from yesterday’s bumpy ride, grinned. "So we shoot while flying over bumps? Sounds fun."
Inigo didn’t smile. "Sounds like how people lose fingers if they don’t listen."
He turned to the wooden crates arranged neatly by the edge of the field. Lyra had helped set them up just an hour ago—one filled with magazines, the others stacked with paper dummies and padded training targets shaped like humanoids. The targets were set on tall stakes and arranged along a winding dirt path marked with rope. So were standing still. Others, tied to pivots, would spin when hit. It was a moving gauntlet.
"You’ll be in pairs," Inigo said. "One driver. One gunner. Your job is to move through the course and eliminate every target. You will not stop. You will not fire unless your seatbelt is on and your barrel is steady."
Lyra stepped forward, holding up a slate board. "We’ll be scoring each pair. Accuracy. Movent. Control. Communication."
Brenna raised an eyebrow. "Communication?"
Inigo nodded. "Driver needs to listen. Gunner needs to call what they see. You don’t work together, soone dies. Simulated today. Real tomorrow."
That silenced the murmurs.
Inigo walked toward the first JLTV and opened the rear hatch.
"Today, you’ll fire from these rear seats," he said. "We’ve mounted a brace just below the window. Use it to stabilize your weapon. One foot braced, barrel forward, sights steady."
He pulled a modified M4 from the back seat—fitted with a recoil damper and low-powered optic.
"This is your tool. It will kick more when the vehicle’s moving. So you compensate. Exhale. Squeeze. Adjust. Anyone who sprays randomly will walk the course instead."
Lio gave a nervous chuckle. "No pressure."
Inigo locked eyes with him. "All pressure."
The trainees lined up in pairs. Brenna and Hal were first—Hal at the wheel, Brenna in the rear left seat. She double-checked her rifle, inserting a mag of paint rounds. Inigo walked alongside the vehicle, checking her stance.
"Rest the barrel on the brace. Don’t lean too far out. If you lose your grip, your shot’s wasted. Keep your trigger discipline tight."
Brenna nodded, jaw clenched.
Hal gave her a sideways glance. "You good?"
"Better than you," she replied.
Inigo smacked the side panel. "Go!"
The JLTV surged forward, tires crunching over the dirt path. As it rounded the first bend, the first target popped into view—a straw-stuffed humanoid painted with crude red features.
Brenna took a breath.
Bang.
The paint round struck center mass.
They passed the second target—this one partially obscured behind a bush. She adjusted quickly and fired again. The round struck wide.
Hal braked too suddenly to correct the line. "Sorry!"
"Stop weaving!" Brenna snapped. "You’re giving sea legs!"
At the final curve, the last target spun around from behind a tree. Brenna barely saw it—just a flash of red paint and burlap.
Bang.
It dropped, red paint across its chest.
They slowed to a halt at the finish.
Inigo raised an eyebrow. "Two hits. One miss. Rough cornering. Better communication needed."
Hal sighed. "Noted."
Brenna reloaded. "We can do better."
Lyra marked the score and motioned to the next pair.
Sark and ryl.
"You drive," ryl muttered to him.
"You sure?" Sark asked. "I don’t mind if you want to—"
"You drive."
Sark shrugged and hopped in.
From the very start, the JLTV rocked with his heavy-handed driving. ryl, who wasn’t used to vehicles at all, gritted her teeth and braced her rifle against the door brace. The sights danced with every bump.
The first shot missed.
The second round flew high into the trees.
"Slow down!" ryl shouted.
"I thought you wanted to keep moving!"
"Moving and jumping across roots are different things!"
They clipped a marker cone on the final turn, then stopped short.
Lyra made a face as she scribbled their score.
"Not the worst," she offered, "but definitely not good."
ryl slid out of the back seat with a scowl. "Next ti, I’m driving."
Inigo pulled her aside for a quick debrief, gesturing to her elbow placent and grip. He didn’t speak loudly. Just enough for her to hear. She nodded by the end.
One by one, the pairs rotated through.
Feron and Lio were thodical. Lio’s driving was surprisingly smooth this ti, and Feron hit all three targets clean. His last shot even clipped the pivot, causing the dummy to spin wildly on its stake.
Brenna clapped as they parked. "Best run so far."
Inigo nodded. "That’s more like it."
He stepped up onto the platform again.
"You’re improving. Slowly. But this isn’t about perfect runs. It’s about building instinct. Your bodies need to know how to move when your minds are screaming. When demons appear, there’s no countdown. No instructor. Only action."
He looked to Lyra. She gave him a quick nod. The final pair had completed their run.
Inigo pointed to the targets still standing—those that had been missed or grazed.
"Everyone. Reload your weapons. You’re going to dismount. Move on foot. Clean up your mistakes."
There was no groaning. No hesitation.
They obeyed.
The trainees moved as a group, fanning out across the field. Brenna signaled left. Hal took rear watch. Sark moved up the right flank, covering for ryl. They approached the targets just as they’d been taught—barrels raised, angles covered.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The final targets dropped, paint spreading across burlap.
When it was done, they returned to the clearing.
Inigo stood at the edge, arms folded. "Now imagine those weren’t paint bags. Imagine they moved. Roared. Bit. Imagine your first shot missed, and the second never ca."
He let that hang in the air.
"That’s why you train."
That evening, the recruits gathered around the fire. The mood was different. There was no laughter this ti. Only quiet reflection. So cleaned their rifles. Others leaned back and stared at the stars.
Lyra sat near Inigo, arms resting on her knees. "They’re getting there."
"They are," he said, watching Sark oil his magazine springs. "Faster than expected."
"But still not fast enough," she said.
"No," he agreed. "Not yet."
Silence passed between them.
Then Lyra said, "You think they’ll survive the real thing?"
Inigo looked toward the edge of the camp, where the JLTVs stood silent under the moonlight like sleeping wolves.
"They’ll survive if they don’t stop learning," he said. "And if they keep listening."
He leaned back against the crate and closed his eyes for a mont.
Because tomorrow would be harder.
And the enemy wouldn’t be made of straw.
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