After forty-five minutes of grueling laps through the Gauntlet, Captain Snow finally blew the whistle. He looked at the mud-caked, shivering recruits of Easy Company and checked his watch. He looked satisfied—likely enough to win a few bets with the other officers at the mess later that night.
"Dismissed!" Snow shouted. "Get to the wash racks. You look like a pack of swamp hounds."
Upon reaching the Easy Company Zone, the scenery had changed. Eighty-seven fresh recruits had arrived five hours late, standing awkwardly with their bags while the "veterans" of the morning training limped past them. Each platoon was assigned twenty-nine of the newcomers.
The Easy Zone was rapidly transforming into a bustling village. Another ninety-one recruits were expected by nightfall. Jack and the others from 2nd Platoon didn't waste time. Despite being covered in dried mud and grease, they introduced themselves. Most were from Marmello—the familiar accents of the city making it easy to bridge the gap.
"You guys look like you fell into a sewer," one of the new guys said, eyes wide at the sight of Jack's mud-caked uniform.
"This?" Jack laughed, wiping a glob of grease from his ear. "This is the 'Gauntlet.' You'll be wearing it tomorrow morning, pal. Welcome to the 506th."
Kenlil and Jay Rool were already holding court with a group of new elven and human recruits. Jay Rool had been quickly infected by Kenlil's goofy nature; the two were already joking about who had swallowed the most mud.
"Lined up for the showers! Move it!" Hollister barked.
Jack grabbed his towel, a clean pair of fatigues, and his underwear, slinging the bundle over his shoulder. The shower tent was a massive, steam-filled canvas structure. There were no stalls, no curtains, and no privacy. It was just rows of communal showerheads spraying lukewarm water.
Men and women were separated by a thick canvas divider, but within the men's side, modesty was a forgotten concept. The veterans from the Crollean War stripped down without a second thought, their bodies a map of old scars and faded tattoos.
"What? Is it your first time seeing a dick, boy?" a scarred veteran laughed, noticing a few recruits hovering nervously by the entrance. "Don't worry, everyone got their own cute little butt to show for. Get in here and scrub that grease off before the water runs cold!"
The veterans chuckled, completely unbothered by the female recruits passing the tent flaps or the lack of personal space. Jack shook his head with a smile, stripped off his filth-heavy clothes, and stepped into the steam. The water was heaven, even if it smelled slightly of sulfur.
Much later, with the company clean and rested, they were led to the technical block—a long wooden building filled with rows of heavy tables. At the front sat an officer in a crisp cap, a rifle laid out before him on a velvet-lined table. Behind him, a blackboard bore the words: M24 Liberator: Disassembly and Maintenance.
"Pick a table, Easy Company," the officer said. Even the platoon leaders sat at the front.
"Alright," the officer began. "I am Sergeant Talbert Grant. You can call me Tab. I am a weapons technician. In the field, I won't be there to hold your hand. Your weapon is your partner. Your spouse. Today, we learn how to strip your partner and clean her."
Tab tapped the side of the weapon. "This isn't the old M-20 bolt-action from the last Crollean war. This is the M24 Liberator. Semi-automatic. Eight rounds of high-impact Solar-Bolts."
Hollister leaned over to Jack, whispering, "The old M-20 was a reliable mule, but you had to work for every shot. If you missed, the Grendheich would be on you before you could cycle the bolt. This M24... it feels like cheating."
Tab hit a release, and the empty crystal clip hissed out. "First step: Clear the weapon. Pop the clip."
The recruits mimicked him. A chorus of metallic clacks filled the room.
"Next, pull the rear pin," Tab commanded. He pulled a pin, and a heavy section of the rifle's core came away. "Open the En-Bloc Receiver. This houses the 'Resonance-Lock.' Keep it clean, or your clip won't 'ping' out when it's empty."
"It's heavier than it looks," Kenlil muttered, struggling to pull the pin. "Is this supposed to be this stiff?"
"Use your thumb, Ken, not your fingernail," Natalia whispered from the next table, her rifle already partially apart.
Tab held up a glowing, cylindrical component. "This is the Heavy Vaporization Chamber. Treat it like a glass egg. This is where the mana pressurizes."
"Whoa," Jay Rool whispered, staring at the glowing cylinder. "It's warm. Is it supposed to be warm?"
"That's the residual mana, kid," a veteran nearby grunted. "Better warm in your hand than cold when you need to shoot."
Tab then demonstrated sliding out the High-Pressure Gas Piston and checking the Reinforced Muzzle Lug.
"Alright," Tab said, looking at the piles of parts on the tables. "Now, we put her back together. Pay attention, because if you miss a seat, the rifle will explode in your face. Or worse, it won't fire at all."
"First," Tab said, picking up the piston. "Slide the High-Pressure Gas Piston back into the housing under the barrel. It should click. If it doesn't click, your rifle is just a very heavy stick."
Jack slid the rod in. Click. He felt a strange satisfaction in the mechanical precision.
"Next, seat the Heavy Vaporization Chamber back into the core. You have to align the mana-intake ports with the receiver bedding. If you force it, you'll crack the array."
"Align the ports..." Jack muttered, squinting at the glowing cylinder. He felt the piece slide home with a magnetic tug. "There."
"I can't get mine in!" Kenlil hissed, his face red. "It's stuck!"
"You're holding it upside down, you idiot," Hollister whispered, reaching over to flip Kenlil's chamber. It slid in instantly.
"Now," Tab continued, "Close the En-Bloc Receiver over the chamber and push the rear pin back through. You should hear a hiss as the 'Resonance-Lock' seals the mana pressure."
A wave of sharp, pressurized hisses echoed through the room.
"Finally," Tab said, "Check the Stock & Receiver Bedding. Tighten the interlocking plates. This is what saves your shoulder from the magical recoil. If these plates are loose, the 'Impact-Aegis' won't trigger, and the shockwave will go straight into your bone."
Jack tightened the plates, feeling the rifle become a solid, singular weight once more.
"Now, cycle the bolt," Tab commanded.
The room erupted in the sound of seventy-nine bolts racking back and forth. Chack-chak! Chack-chak!
"Much smoother than the M-20," Hollister remarked, a hint of awe in his voice. "The old one used to grind like a rusty gate. This thing... it feels like a clock."
"Alright," Tab said, leaning against his table. "Do it again. Faster. Disassemble and assemble. If you're slower than the person next to you, you're doing push-ups. Begin!"
The room became a blur of motion. Jack focused, his hands moving with the rhythm he'd practiced in his mind. Pop the clip, pull the pin, out with the chamber, piston out. He felt the warmth of the mana, the smell of the cleaning oil, and the growing sense that this piece of steel was becoming an extension of his own body.
As the technical lecture continued, the recruits of Easy Company began to realize that being a paratrooper wasn't just about jumping and running—it was about mastering the complex machinery of war.