Exactly an hour later, Easy Company stood before the entrance to "The Gauntlet." They were fully kitted out now—helmets strapped tight, satchels bouncing against their hips, and training rifles slung across their backs.
The recruits looked at the series of daunting structures stretching into the distance. Some gulped, their faces pale under their helmets, while others—mostly the beastfolk—shifted their weight with eager energy.
Captain Snow, now dressed in his full forest-green fatigues, stood on a wooden platform overlooking the start line. He looked at them with a sharp, toothy grin.
"Now, for the next course, we're going through 'The Gauntlet,'" Snow announced. "This is the standard obstacle course for the entire Republic military. Because of that, there's a tradition. A competition is held across all four regiments of each division. Colonel Sax is hosting the regimental bracket right now between all nine companies."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "The awards go into the company funds. That means better gear, better food, and maybe some luxuries for the barracks. But here's what matters to you: The results are counted at the end of every month. If Easy Company wins the regiment even once, I promise you a party at the end of Phase One where you will literally drown in drinks."
A few smiles broke out. The recruits started to perk up.
"And," Snow added, his voice dropping an octave, "as long as we stay in the top three every month, all 48-hour passes are guaranteed, regardless of minor infractions. You don't have to worry about a loose thread on your tunic if you're the fastest killers in the mountains."
The company erupted into a roar of cheers. The exhaustion from the morning seemed to vanish, replaced by the fire of greed and pride.
"Settle down!" Snow shouted, though he was still smiling. "There are six stages. The rope maze and low crawl you know. Then the ten-foot wall—you'll need to boost each other to get over that one. Then the log balance; it's narrow, it's greased, and there's a mud pit underneath. After that, a twenty-foot vertical cargo net. Finally, the trench leap—a six-foot gap. Miss it, and you take a bath in the slops like a pig. The first men or women that cross the finish line determine the company's average time. Ready!"
"Hey Jack," Kenlil whispered, adjusting his helmet strap. "If I end up in the mud, just tell my parents I died with honor. Don't tell them I slipped on pig grease."
"Just keep your knees up, Ken," Jack muttered back, tightening his grip on his rifle. "Think about the beer."
Snow raised a silver whistle to his lips. TWEEET! "GO!"
The sergeants and platoon leaders began screaming instantly. "Move it, 1st Platoon! Earn that beer!"
Jack sprinted for the rope maze. The added weight of the rifle made his center of gravity wonky. He saw several recruits trip immediately, their helmets clattering against the dirt. Jack focused on his breathing, lifting his knees high. He cleared the ropes and dived into the low crawl, his rifle tucked into the crook of his arm to keep the muzzle out of the dirt.
By the time he reached the ten-foot wall, the beastfolk were already soaring over. Tavros had cleared it but stayed at the base, looking back.
"Jack! Step!" Tavros shouted, cupping his massive paws together.
Jack didn't slow down. He planted a boot in Tavros's hands and felt a massive surge of power as the beastfolk launched him upward. Jack caught the lip of the wall, hauled himself over, and rolled into a landing on the other side, his helmet sliding over his eyes.
Tavros scrambled up behind him, laughing. "Reminds me of running from the law back home, doesn't it? After we 'borrowed' those crates from Mr. Oearmell?"
Jack pushed his helmet back up, grinning. "Now that you mention it, the cops were actually slower than Snow!"
They reached the log balance. A beastfolk ahead of them tried to sprint across, slipped on the grease, and went flying into the mud with a wet thwack. Another beastfolk tried to jump his way over the log. Captain Snow whistled him out immediately.
"Invalid!" Snow shouted from his perch. "That's a balance beam, not a long jump! Back to the start of the log, Private!"
Jack slowed down, watching the poor recruit trudge back to the start, dripping with brown sludge. He saw the grease glistening on the wood. Instead of walking, Jack dropped his weight and hugged the log, shimmying across like a squirrel. Pollux and Jay Rool saw him and immediately copied the move.
"It's working!" Rool shouted, though his face was inches from the foul-smelling mud. "I feel like a very athletic worm!"
Jack reached the vertical net. He realized his rifle was swinging wildly, threatening to snag. He quickly looped the sling of his rifle through the strap of his satchel, cinching it tight against his back so it wouldn't move.
"Smart move, Sterling!" Mary Poppings called out as she watched from the sidelines. "Hollister, look at your Corporal. At least one of them has a brain!"
Hollister grunted, watching Kenlil struggle with his gear. "I'm looking, Lieutenant. The rest of them are still trying to figure out which way the net goes."
Jack climbed the unstable netting, feeling it sway with every move. Tavros followed, his claws snagging the rope for extra grip. They reached the top, swung over the beam, and scrambled down the other side. Natalia was already there, clearing the net with a graceful drop that barely made a sound.
The final hurdle was the trench leap. Six feet of open air over a pit of brown sludge. Jack looked at his gear. He was tempted to throw his rifle across first, but he saw a recruit from 3rd Platoon get sent back to the start for jumping over the greased log earlier and he didn't want to risk a technicality.
Protect the gear, he thought. He hugged his rifle and satchel to his chest to absorb the impact and sprinted.
He leaped. For a second, he was airborne, watching the muddy edge rush toward him. He slammed into the far bank, his boots sliding. He began to slip backward.
A massive, furred hand shot out and grabbed his collar. Tavros hauled him up onto solid ground.
"Gotcha, brother," Tavros panted.
They sprinted past the finish line together. Snow clicked his stopwatch.
"Nice job. 5 minutes and 23 seconds," Snow said, checking the time.
"How did we do, Captain?" Jack asked, doubled over and clutching his knees.
"Not the worst. Higher than the battalion average, but you're not breaking records yet," Snow said, gesturing to a staff member who was writing E-Company: 5:23 on a large wooden board. "That's the time to beat. Now, what are you waiting for? Get back to the start! No rest for the weary!"
Jack looked at his clothes. He was covered in grease, mud, and sweat. He looked at Tavros, whose gray-colored fur was now a mottled grey-brown.
"You look like you've been swimming in an oil vat," Tavros chuckled.
"Well," Jack said, starting to jog back toward the beginning, "at least the oil makes us faster, right?"
"I don't know," Tavros replied, "but I'm starting to think the police hounds back home were easier to deal with. At least they didn't have whistles."
The next 45 minutes became a blur of repetition. The initial fear of the course evaporated, replaced by a strange sense of play. Jack fell off the log twice, once landing face-first in the mud, but he just laughed it off and started again.
"Looking good!" Jay Rool yelled as he zipped past. "The mud suits your complexion!"
"Shut up and run, Jay!" Jack laughed, wiping a streak of sludge from his forehead.
He managed to shave the average time down to 5:18. The beastfolk, having figured out how to use their claws on the grease, dropped the company record to 5:11. Then Natalia, moving with a silent, focused intensity, broke it again at 5:10.
Suddenly, the "slackers" weren't slacking anymore. Jay Rool and Kenlil had started a private rivalry, screaming at each other as they raced through the rope maze.
"I'm beating a human! I'm actually beating a human!" Kenlil shouted, his legs pumping with newfound desperation.
Snow watched from his platform, a rare look of genuine satisfaction on his face. It didn't matter who was the fastest; the whole company was moving faster, pushing through the exhaustion because they wanted to win.
40 minutes later, Snow finally blew the whistle to end the session. "Easy Company, fall in!"
They lined up, panting, covered in the filth of the Gauntlet. But for the first time, they weren't looking at the ground. They were looking at the board.
"5:10 is our mark for the night," Snow said. "It's a start. Tomorrow, we go for 5:00. Dismissed to the wash racks. You still have fourty-five more minutes before the technicals. You can wash yourselves and rest for a while before then."
Jack looked at his squad. They were a mess, but they were smiling. Easy Company's first day wasn't over yet, but they were already starting to look like soldiers.