The forest floor was scattered with dummies, their limp bodies caught between roots and patches of thick brush. Each one was meant to represent a fallen soldier, but up close, there was nothing symbolic about the weight of them. They looked heavy, awkward, and unforgiving.
A few recruits ahead had already started dragging theirs. Some moved steadily, but most struggled, their pace uneven as they fought to pull the weight forward. The air was filled with strained breathing, boots dragging through dirt, and the low sound of effort that no one could hide anymore.
"See you at the end," Asher said, a confident smirk on his face.
There was no hesitation in him. He stepped forward, grabbed a dummy by the shoulders, and started dragging it without breaking stride. The weight didn't seem to slow him much. Within seconds, he was already moving past other recruits, his pace steady and controlled while others fought just to keep going.
Mercer watched him for a moment, feeling a mix of respect and pressure settle in his chest. Asher made it look manageable, almost simple, and that only made Mercer more aware of what was coming.
He exhaled slowly and turned toward a dummy nearby. It lay face down, partially pressed into the dirt. Mercer crouched and slid his hands under its shoulders, adjusting his grip before lifting.
The moment he pulled, the weight hit him in full. It wasn't just heavy, it was overwhelming. The kind of weight that didn't cooperate, that didn't shift or balance in any helpful way. Combined with the pack already digging into his shoulders, it felt like his entire body was being forced downward.
His arms tightened instinctively as he tried to stabilize it.
'This is worse than I thought. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but this… this feels like too much.'
He planted his boots more firmly and pulled again. The dummy moved, but only slightly. That small movement was enough to tell him one thing, this wasn't going to be quick, and it wasn't going to be clean.
Mercer leaned back and started dragging it forward, forcing his legs to move even as the strain spread through his body. Each step sank slightly into the ground, the uneven terrain making it harder to keep any kind of rhythm.
Around him, more recruits reached the area and grabbed their own dummies. The scene quickly turned chaotic, with people slipping, stopping, or cursing under their breath as they struggled to get moving.
Mercer kept his focus forward. At first, he could manage it. The weight was brutal, but his body still responded when he pushed it. Then the strain started to build.
His shoulders burned where the straps pressed into them. His grip began to weaken, forcing him to readjust constantly just to keep hold of the dummy. His breathing lost its rhythm, turning into short, uneven pulls that never quite felt like enough.
'Just keep moving. You've handled everything else so far. There's no reason you can't finish this too.'
He tried to hold onto that thought as he dragged the weight forward again. But the distance didn't seem to shrink.
If anything, it felt like it stretched out in front of him. His legs started to feel unstable, each step less reliable than the last.
'I'm slowing down… I can feel it. If I keep going like this, I'm not going to make it to the end.'
He forced another pull. Then another. His arms trembled, his grip slipping just slightly before tightening again.
'I don't have much left. I can feel it. My body's already at its limit.'
The thought lingered longer than he wanted it to. Then, without warning, his legs gave out. The strength simply wasn't there anymore.
He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as the dummy dragged him down with it. For a moment, he didn't move. He just lay there, staring up through the trees as light filtered through the leaves above.
Everything felt distant, heavy even.
'I can't do this. I don't have anything left to give.'
The thought came quietly, but it carried more weight than anything else he had felt so far.
'I've been pushing this whole time, telling myself I could handle it, but this is different. My arms won't hold, my legs won't stand, and the finish line still feels so far away that I can't even convince myself it's close.'
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he tried to catch his breath.
'I didn't come all this way just to fail here… but what am I supposed to do if my body just won't move?'
For the first time, the idea of not finishing felt real. Not distant, not even hypothetical, but certainly real.
And it scared him more than anything else. Then a shadow fell over him. Mercer blinked and focused, his vision sharpening enough to make out a familiar face. Elliot.
He looked just as exhausted, sweat running down his face, his breathing just as heavy. But there was still something steady in his expression, something that hadn't broken yet. He reached out his hand.
"C'mon," Elliot said, his voice firm despite the strain. "Get up. You're not stopping here."
Mercer stared at his hand for a moment, his thoughts still clouded by exhaustion.
Then something shifted, wasn't strength, not energy either, but just enough resolve to move.
He let out a quiet breath and reached up, gripping Elliot's hand. With effort from both of them, he pulled himself back to his feet. His legs shook immediately, forcing him to steady himself before he lost balance again.
For a few seconds, he just stood there, breathing hard, trying to get control back.
"…Thanks," he said, his voice low and rough.
Elliot wiped his forehead and gave a tired grin.
"If you let me beat you after all that, I'm not letting you forget it," he said.
Mercer let out a faint, breathless laugh.
"Yeah… not happening."
Elliot nodded once and turned back to his own dummy without another word. Mercer watched him for a second before looking down at his.
The weight hadn't changed. If anything, it felt worse now. But his mindset had.
'I don't need to feel ready. I don't need to feel strong. I just need to keep moving, even if it's slower than everyone else.'
He crouched down again and grabbed the dummy. The strain came back instantly, sharper than before, though he didn't hesitate this time.
He leaned back and started dragging it forward again, forcing his body to follow through even as it resisted.
Each step hurt. His breathing stayed uneven, but he didn't stop. The finish line slowly came into view. Still far, but reachable.
To his side, Elliot was moving at nearly the same pace, both of them pushing through what little they had left.
'I'm finishing this. I don't care how long it takes or how bad it feels. I'm not stopping again.'
He pulled again. And again. Each movement felt like it should be the last, but he kept going anyway. When he finally crossed the line, it didn't feel dramatic. It felt like everything just… gave out.
His legs buckled, and this time he couldn't catch himself. Before he hit the ground, a strong arm caught him. Asher.
He barely registered it at first, his body too drained to react properly. Asher held him steady without effort, adjusting his grip so Mercer wouldn't collapse.
Mercer looked at him, eyes heavy, still trying to catch his breath. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The gratitude was there anyway.
Asher gave a small nod, like he understood, and shifted Mercer's weight slightly to keep him standing.
Behind them, more recruits began crossing the finish line, each one barely holding themselves together. Some dragged their dummies the final few feet before letting them drop, while others stumbled across without any strength left to control their movements.
Elliot was among the last. He pulled his dummy forward with what looked like the last bit of strength he had left in him, his arms shaking with every step. When he finally crossed the line, his grip gave out completely. The dummy hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Elliot followed a second later, dropping to his knees.
His shoulders rose and fell sharply as he tried to breathe, each inhale sounding like it took effort. Sweat ran down his face, and he stayed there for a few seconds, head lowered, just trying to recover enough to move again.
The remaining recruits trickled in after him, some dragging their dummies, others barely managing to stay upright as they crossed. Once the last of them made it, a strange quiet settled over the area. No one had the energy to talk. The only sounds left were heavy breathing and the occasional shift of someone trying not to collapse.
Then the drill sergeant stepped out from the tree line. He didn't raise his voice right away. He just walked forward, slow and deliberate, his eyes moving across the group as he took in their condition.
That alone was enough. Even in their state, the recruits forced themselves up. Some staggered, others nearly fell trying to stand straight, but instinct pushed them into forming lines.
Before they could fully lock themselves in place, the drill sergeant spoke.
"As you were."
The tension broke almost instantly. A few recruits let out quiet breaths of relief, shoulders dropping as they eased out of their forced posture. Some bent slightly, hands resting on their knees, trying to recover without fully collapsing.
The sergeant gave them a moment. Then he began.
"Today, you learned what it actually means to carry someone," he said, his voice steady, cutting through the silence without needing to rise. "Out there, that weight isn't just dead mass. It's a person. It's someone who trusted you to get them out alive."
His gaze moved across the line, pausing briefly on different faces.
"The enemy isn't going to care how tired you are. They won't care if your arms are shot or if your legs are about to give out. The only thing that matters is whether or not you finish what you started."
A few recruits shifted slightly, listening more closely now despite their exhaustion.
"Some of you broke out there," he continued. "That's fine. Breaking doesn't matter. What matters is whether you stay down."
His eyes hardened just slightly.
"Some of you got back up. Some of you pushed past what you thought was your limit. That's the difference between someone who survives and someone who doesn't."
He let that sit for a moment before finishing.
"When the time comes, it won't just be your life on the line. It'll be the people next to you. If you hesitate, if you stop, if you decide you've had enough… they pay for it."
His voice didn't get louder, but it carried more weight.
"So don't stop. Not out there. Not ever."
He took a step back.
"That's all. Get back to your bunks."
No one moved right away. The words settled over them, heavier than the packs they had been carrying.
Then, slowly, the recruits began to turn, dragging themselves back toward the barracks. No one spoke much. There wasn't any energy left for it.