We spend the next week touching up on our endurance, strength, and physical combat, just to show Captain Kjellberg what we're capable of. It's safe to say he's impressed with us and how well we've trained thus far, and the members of Serpent Company aren't hesitant to tell us they're intimidated by our skills.
It's always good to put a little bit of healthy fear in people.
The weeks to come, however, are going to be far from easy. Soon we'll start weapons training. Knives, guns, anything we can think of. More and more strength training. More and more physical combat lessons. They're turning us into soldiers, battle-hardened machines, and one of these days, we'll have no choice but to put our skills to use.
That will also be the day where I quite literally shit my pants. And I'm not kidding about that.
Two weeks after our arrival in Shivering Sands, Captain Kjellberg wakes us early in the morning, even before the birds start their daily singing. It's dark and cold in our barracks, for the bright sunlight hasn't yet appeared to warm the earth around us. We've never woken up this early in Shivering Sands before.
"Good fucking morning, soldiers," Captain Kjellberg bellows, his voice startling us awake. "Happy April Fools Day. You're all fucking jokes. Some of you are probably adopted. When your dog went missing, it didn't go off to some farm. It's probably buried in your backyard."
It's difficult to stifle a laugh at Patrick's painfully shocked reaction.
"And now that that's out of the way," Captain Kjellberg goes on with a grin, eagerly clapping his hands together, "it's time to get to training. Can you guess what we're doing today? I'll give you a hint: one of you dumbasses might die if you're not careful."
"I'm gonna guess it has something to do with shooty bangers, then," Mark pipes up.
"You are absolutely correct, Fischbach."
Ah, so today's the day we finally pick up and learn how to use guns. What could possibly go wrong?
The sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon as we march to the firing range on the outskirts of camp. The morning wind chills me to the bone, still damp and littered with the scent of oncoming rain. One part of me almost hopes it starts to rain before we have a chance to start our lesson. I've been dreading this moment since the very day we stepped foot in Fort Monmouth, and now, much to my dismay, it's actually happening.
I'm not prepared to handle something as violent and deadly as guns.
The firing range is silent and devoid of activity, the targets glistening with morning dew. There are definitely more bullet holes punctured through the targets since the last time I was here, and as we approach the bench line, it's difficult to miss the numerous assortment of weapons displayed for us to view. I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.
"Welcome to Target Practice 101, day one," Captain Kjellberg announces with a grand flourish as we come to a stop before him. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it, boys? The birds are singing. The flowers are starting to bloom. Won't it be fun to desecrate this peaceful April morning with the deafening sound of gunfire?"
Involuntarily, everyone instantly replies, "Yes, sir." It's drilled into our brains by this point.
"That's what I like to hear." Captain Kjellberg meanders over to the bench, carefully eyeing the large assortment of dangerous weaponry. "Now, before you gentlemen even think about firing one of these bad boys, you have to know the ins and outs of how they work. I'm gonna need a volunteer."
YOU ARE READING
The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|
Fanfiction"You are never coming home." * * * There are some days in life you'll never forget. Your first date, perhaps, or even your first kiss. Maybe even your first experience with death, because not all of these days have to be good. Some of these day...
