Outside the town, the recruits gathered once more. Mercer stood in line beside Elliot and Asher, his rifle hanging at his side. He stared ahead, jaw tight, but his mind wasn't on the formation.
It was back on that street. The spacing. The lack of cover. The timing. All of it.
'You saw the risk and moved anyway. You didn't think, you just wanted to finish it.'
Beside him, Elliot shifted slightly, quieter than usual. Asher stood still, his usual ease gone, replaced with something more focused.
Silas returned last, stepping into formation without drawing attention to himself.
The drill sergeant stepped forward.
"As you can see…" he began, his voice carrying easily across the group, "this wasn't clean. It wasn't controlled. And for most of you, it wasn't successful."
His gaze moved across the line, lingering just long enough on certain faces.
"That's what happens when pressure hits and discipline slips. You start rushing. You stop thinking. And then you get taken out before you even understand what went wrong."
A few recruits shifted where they stood, but no one spoke.
"This wasn't combat," he continued. "Not really. This was controlled, predictable, limited."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Out there, you won't get that luxury. The people shooting at you won't hesitate. They won't panic. And they won't miss just because you got lucky once."
His eyes hardened.
"And when you make a mistake, you don't get to stand back up and try again."
The weight of that settled over the group, heavier than anything they had carried all day.
"So fix it now," he said. "Fix your thinking. Fix your movement. Fix the way you rely on each other."
A brief pause.
"Or you won't last long enough for it to matter."
He stepped back.
"Get to chow. You move again at 0500."
Mercer spotted Silas through the crowd as they made their way toward the mess hall. Recruits pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices low, the usual post-training noise dulled by exhaustion.
He pushed through until he was close enough.
"…Thanks… and… sorry," Mercer said. The words felt heavier than they should have, like they didn't belong in his mouth.
Silas stopped. He turned just enough to face him, his eyes settling on Mercer's for a second longer than necessary. There was nothing in them. No anger, no frustration. Just a quiet, cutting clarity.
"…Useless."
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't linger on it. He just said it. Then he walked past him.
Mercer turned sharply, the reaction immediate, something heated already rising in his chest. For a split second, he almost called after him, something sharp and defensive ready to come out.
But it never did, because the word stuck. Not because of how it was said… but because it felt true.
'He's not wrong. I saw the problem and still pushed forward. I didn't slow it down. I didn't think past the first move.'
His jaw tightened as he exhaled through his nose.
'I didn't lead. I just moved—and they followed me into it.'
That thought sat heavier than anything Silas could've said. Mercer lowered his head slightly and kept walking, letting himself fall back into the flow of bodies around him.
"That was pitiful…!"
The drill sergeant's voice cut through the room before anyone even noticed he had stepped inside.
Conversations died instantly. Recruits straightened, some slower than others, but no one dared keep talking.
"In a real fight," he continued, his tone steady but carrying across the entire space, "most of you wouldn't be standing here right now. You'd be lying where you fell."
A few shifted subtly, but no one spoke.
"An entire unit wiped out in minutes. Not because the enemy was better, but because you rushed, hesitated, and stopped thinking the moment things got loud."
His eyes moved across the room, pausing just long enough on certain faces to make it clear he was paying attention.
"Your awareness is weak. Your decision-making is worse. And some of you panic the second things don't go according to plan."
Mercer stared straight ahead, but every word landed. Beside him, Elliot stood unusually still, his usual energy gone. His eyes stayed forward, but his shoulders were tighter than normal. Asher stood on Mercer's other side, arms relaxed at his sides, though his expression had lost its usual ease. They had all felt it.
"I don't care how tired you are," the drill sergeant went on. "I don't care how stressed you feel. Out there, none of that matters."
He stepped forward, boots echoing faintly.
"What matters is whether you can think under pressure. Whether you can move without freezing. Whether the people next to you can trust you not to get them killed."
That lingered in the air. Mercer felt it settle in his chest.
'That's it. That's exactly it.'
"If any of you think you can coast through this," the sergeant continued, his voice sharpening slightly, "you're wrong. You won't pass in this company unless you earn it every single day."
Silence followed. The feeling heavy and still.
"If that's a problem," he added, "leave now."
No one moved. After a moment, he gave a small nod.
"Good. Get to your rooms."
The walk back was quieter than usual. Boots scraped against the ground, gear shifted, but the usual chatter was gone. Even the ones who liked to joke kept it to themselves tonight.
Mercer barely noticed the path. His mind was still on that street. The spacing, the exposure. The moment he felt something was off and ignored it anyway.
'You knew there wasn't cover. You felt it, and you still moved like it didn't matter.'
He ran it back again in his head, slower this time.
'If I'd stopped us five seconds earlier… if I'd cleared it properly… if I'd just taken a second to think instead of rushing to finish…'
He let out a slow breath.
'If I'm leading, I don't get to guess. I don't get to hope it works. Every step they take is because I told them to take it.'
That realization settled deeper than the frustration. It wasn't about him messing up. It was about what that mistake meant.
Mercer lifted his head slightly, eyes focusing forward again.
'Next time… I don't move until I understand what I'm walking into. And if I'm not sure, I make sure we have a way out before we take a step.'
It didn't erase the failure, but instead gave it weight, purpose.