>FORT BENNING, GA
>THE PREVIOUS DAY, 0800 hrs

It was Alpha Company's turn to run the Gauntlet. The column of guys from 2nd Platoon were trailed out in full gear as the second platoon in the staggered-start schedule. 1st Platoon started half an hour ago, giving the 2nd the reassurance that the first few courses of the Gauntlet were at the very least cleared. Yet as the platoon walked to their starting area, all kitted up with their vests, artificially weighted rucksacks, and M4s loaded with dummy weighted magazines, they all dreaded the exercise.

It wasn't the PT that got to them necessarily. The presentation and organization was the problem, to them. The Gauntlet was some cooked up idea of the Major's that he stole from some almost decade-old article. It was originally some 40-hour mega-course that pushed soldiers to their limit, and was usually scheduled about every six months. But, in the usual fashion, that was deemed "insufficient" by the standards of whoever planned the damn course. Instead it was compacted for them into a single-day exercise that tried desperately to cram every little bit of the original course's itinerary into it, and was repeated no less than every two months.

His platoon lead, upstanding as he was, crushed dissent wherever it sprouted, and Staff Sergeant Clark was his hammer of repression. So, despite his own feelings, it was Justin's job, despite his own opinions, to stop the talk. And the platoon was good at talking.

"Hey, Staff Sarn't-" Corporal Staver, assistant lead of squad two, piped up from the front. Justin, relegated to the back of the column to keep watch while the Lieutenant led up front, huffed a sigh.

"Yes, Corporal?"

"Why is it that every two months, every time it's Alpha's time to run the Gauntlet, the Major always comes out to watch us, but never the other companies?"

It was true, every time they ran the Gauntlet, the Major, executive officer of the 3rd of the 75th, right hand of who may have well been God himself, came out to watch specifically Alpha do its run. Never did he watch Bravo or Charlie as closely as much as he seemed to breathe down Alpha's neck. It's likely he was somewhere with his eyes glued to 1st Platoon as they spoke.

"I don't know, Staver. Maybe he just wants us to excel." Justin knew that wasn't the reason. If that were the case, he'd be watching every company. No, it was because of the Captain. The Captain was perhaps the most respectable man in the battalion as far as Justin was concerned. As much as the Lieutenant was a brown-noser to the Major, the Captain of Alpha didn't take any bullshit. And that just made the Major's gears grind.

Stavers, as unsatisfied he was with the answer, didn't speak up again. He knew he wasn't going to get an answer from Staff Sergeant Clark, and certainly he wasn't going to take that one to the Lieutenant.

They rolled up on the starting area after about ten minutes of walking in a column. The Lieutenant halted the platoon and had Justin form them up by squad. Before them was stage one, the obstacle course. It was like something straight out of [i]Full Metal Jacket[/i], a collection of cobbled together wood and metal built to Army specifications. That was to say, purpose-built and prone to wear away within the year. Of all the squads formed up, the Lieutenant was going first with squad one. Justin was to send second squad after, and accompany squad three.

A bullhorn sounded, and squad one surged forward. The entire platoon was allotted fifteen minutes to clear the obstacles and proceed to the next area, and squad one made good time. After a decent head-start, second squad trailed behind. Staggered in last, Justin led the charge of squad three. Over log barriers and under concertina wire-wrapped wooden boards, they dragged themselves through the mud of the insufferably hot Fort Benning climate. It was going to be a long day.

[hr]

>FORT BENNING BARRACKS COMPLEX
>SOME TIME LATER...

Justin practically had to drag himself through the door of his barracks building as the pitch darkness of the early night was setting in. The Gauntlet was a poorly-designed tough-nut hell of a challenge, but it wasn't impossible, and as always, all of Alpha Company made it through with flying colors. But suffice to say, after all of that, Justin was fucking [i]exhausted[/i]. His prime concern was making it to a bed and a bottle of Jack Daniels to wind down. And as he stripped off his utterly fucking soaked uniform, he began to pour himself a glass of his choice brew of whiskey.

Sitting on the bed, he reached to his nightstand to grab his phone, checking off all the notifications he had while in the Gauntlet. His burner, sitting firmly on top of a stack of papers in the stand, flashed with a black and red exclamation point. Flipping it open, he read off the message, murmuring it quietly to himself, before belting out venomously in his beautifully redneck accent which he only used casually.

"Aw shit."

[hr]

>THE NEXT DAY
>0500 hrs

Justin rolled out of bed much earlier than he would've cared to. The Company was slotted to have an easy day after the Gauntlet to recuperate. But no, UMBRA was activated. Bullshit. He dragged his achy self into his bathroom, in the near pitch dark of his room, flipping on the blindingly white fluorescent lights. Literally passing through the shower in moments and running a razor over his face haphazardly, he donned his usual civvies as he left post, leave-slip in hand.

And of course it was the exact same car waiting for him again, in the exact same spot, same bald, unspeaking and unflinching driver as before. Pursing a lip and building his frustrations as he got in the back of the car like before, he spoke up.

"Can I at least take my own goddamn car?"

The suit up front paused, his eyes concealed by sunglasses as he obviously looked back at Justin in the rear view mirror.

"No."

"Wh-" Justin started, not even bothering to continue voicing his frustration as he buckled up. He was passed out in his seat before they even hit the interstate.

He jolted back awake as they hit a surface of gravel among the hills of West Virginia. They were here. The mysterious driver dumped him out without so much as a goodbye in the midday weather in front of the safehouse. Go-bag and duffel over his shoulder, he stepped up to the porch and headed inside.

"So who's fuckin' idea was this?" The Tennessean called out, rubbing an aching knee.