Walls, vaults, rope bridges, balance logs, each followed by a sprint through soft, sucking sand that stole breath and rhythm. The cargo net loomed at the heart of it, a giant web of knotted rope stretched high on a wooden frame. Trainees had to climb that lattice, then slither over a narrow log sixty feet above the ground. The barbed wire crawl could shred a trainee. The parallel bars demanded balance and grip, every muscle in the upper body screaming.
On day one, instructors walked the men through every obstacle, explaining angles, leverage, and recovery points. After that, there were no explanations. Only the whistle, the clock, and the sound of bodies hitting wood and sand. This course was a reckoning. Every man who ran it learned quickly that the O-course didn’t reward strength. It rewarded control.
Than and Fly moved like twin currents, lean, fast, synced down to breath. They’d been training under Bear and the team for three solid weeks, and it showed, though not without the bruises to match. Fly still misjudged spacing sometimes and clipped obstacles with a knee. Than tended to hesitate on transitions, instinct fighting confidence. But together, they adjusted, corrected, and went again.
The sound meant they were breathing, alive, together. This had been their rhythm, training, teasing, rebuilding muscle and trust. Between missions, between storms.
Bailee had slipped into that rhythm, too. He saw her most evenings, quiet dinners when the light off the water turned everything gold. She was fully healed now, back at work, sharper, steadier, but there were moments when her eyes went distant, as if she were listening for echoes only she could hear. He wanted to ask what she found there, but she hadn’t given him that opening yet. So he waited. Patience was something he’d learned to master early, and he’d wait as long as it took.
Than had taken his nights away in stride, content with his own rhythm, long rides through the scrub hills, Flint trotting beside him, both finding peace in the steady, wordless company. When Bear came home late, the house was quiet, the kind of quiet that meant everything was right.
Professor was the first to break the quiet. “Watch their pacing,” he said, tone even, eyes narrowed like he was measuring data points. “They’re adjusting automatically for counterweight on the rope climb. That’s instinct, not training.”
Zorro chuckled. “You mean you love ’em because they think like you, Professor. Analytical as hell.”
“Nothing wrong with using your brain to keep your body alive,” Professor returned mildly.
That was the thing about Professor. He was one of the team’s snipers, precise and cerebral, the kind of man who saw the whole field before anyone else did. He’d spent hours with the boys on marksmanship drills and ballistic logic, teaching them how to see patterns before they formed. Fly especially had taken to him with his precise mind and restless heart.
Blitz leaned back against a post, eyes squinting under the California sun. “Poetry in motion.”
“Big words from a man who once got stuck halfway up that net,” Buck drawled, smirking.
He ignored Buck, grinning widely. “I fixed it with style.”
Blitz had been the one who picked up on Fly’s inborn confidence and didn’t temper it. He outlined how sometimes alphas like them could come across as cocky. So, he taught him the quarterback scramble. Use the swagger, the humor, the showmanship, and balance all that precision with edge. Blitz was reckless energy refined by experience, and Fly had soaked up his lessons like oxygen. Don’t just lead. Make them want to follow you.
Buck nodded, chewing on a piece of gum, voice low. “They got that calm you can’t teach. When that catamaran went down, they didn’t rush. They read the water, waited for the wind to shift, then moved. That’s the difference between heroes and headlines.”
That was Buck all over: patience, humility, and quiet strength. His lessons weren’t loud, but they stuck. Than listened to him most. Maybe it was the rancher’s steadiness, maybe it was the way Buck could talk about courage without ever making it sound like bravado.
Bear’s gaze stayed on the course. “They stayed calm. That’s different from trained.”
D-Day snorted. “Patience, my ass. They need a little chaos in ’em, or they’ll die of boredom.” He cracked his neck, smirked toward Bear. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. That moment before the jump where they both grinned. That’s my kind of crazy.”
Bear’s mouth twitched. D-Day had taken it upon himself to teach them aggression, the push that kept fear from eating you alive. Controlled ferocity. He’d made them run full-contact drills, shoulder checks into sand, low-line knife defense, all under pressure. D-Day’s creed was if you’re not breathing hard, you’re not fighting right.
“Controlled chaos,” Professor said mildly.
“Chaos with a compass,” Zorro added, eyes warm. “They’ve got good hearts. That’s the part I like.”
Zorro had been comic relief. He’d taught them the fine art of trash talking, of being all up in everyone’s business. It was a way to take everyone’s heartbeat, keep the team tight, and mentally ready. But he was also their moral center these past weeks. He’d trained them on field triage, yeah, but what he’d really taught was empathy, how to see the wounded not as burdens, but as missions worth bleeding for. He’d said it once while they were wrapping training bandages: ‘If you forget the human, you forget the why.’ Than had gone quiet for a long time after that.
Gator chuckled. “They’ve got grit. Took them to the bay last week, made them paddle until their arms screamed. Neither one could hold rhythm at first. Fly burned hot. Than fought the water like it owed him money. But they kept grinding. That’s what impressed me.”
Bear nodded once. “Their pace is improving. Still raw.”
“Raw is where BUD/S starts,” Gator said, grin bright as Cajun sun. “Physical fitness they’ve got, sure, but that’s maybe a quarter of it. The rest is upstairs. One day on the Grinder and that bell looks real damn friendly to anyone without the mindset. We don’t need perfect bodies. We need men who don’t quit. Men who stay in the fight. Men who’ve got our backs the way we’ve got theirs.”
Bear exhaled slowly. “They’ve got struggles. Than still fights the water, and he’s scared to disappoint me. Fly burns too fast, gets restless, impatient.”
Joker’s voice cut in, quiet but sharp. “And the big one—what if I fail?”
Blitz let out a breath. “That one’s a real bitch. If they weren’t asking that, I’d worry.”
Zorro leaned against the railing. “Three weeks and they’re gaining muscle and skill. These are the kind of boys I really enjoy mentoring.”
“They’ve got the heart for it,” Gator said. “The rest you can teach.”
