“Breach, breach. Going left!”
“Clear left, moving. Watch your sector!”
Talon’s eyes tracked them through the first two rooms. The team moved fast, a touch sloppy on their corners, but faster and more decisive than the week before.
“Clean entry,” Jug commented. “Two weeks ago, they’d have bottlenecked.”
Hammer’s deep voice came over the channel. “SRF Four almost tripped his tail. Needs to watch footwork.”
Stryker’s voice was dry from his position shadowing the rear element. “At least this time, nobody tried to take the long way around the wall.”
Talon keyed his mic. “Copy that. Let them keep running it. We’ll hit them in the after-action report.”
The team flowed into the next structure.
“Contact left!”
“Suppressing fire. Move up!”
Rounds from the SRF’s simulated munitions cracked in sharp bursts. From above, Wolf called in, “Good bounding. Their cover is clean. They’re using the walls this time.”
Talon felt the shift in their work. There was a subtle pride in seeing raw muscle finally take shape. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, except for one.
Sergeant Kabila.
Kabila was talented, no question. His aim was precise, his footwork clean, his reflexes sharp. But his headset might as well have been disconnected. Every command from Captain Mbeki was ignored.
Talon’s jaw tightened as he watched Kabila blow past his point man at the door of the next building. He kicked it in before the stack was set.
Wolf’s voice came sharp over comms. “SRF Six is freelancing again.”
Jug muttered, “That dumb bastard’s gonna get someone killed.”
In the plywood village, chaos bloomed. Kabila cleared the room solo, shooting every target, thenwaved the rest of the team in like he’d done them a favor.
The stack hesitated—confused, off balance—and the simulated enemy in the corner “killed” half the team.
Talon keyed his mic, his voice flat. “Reset the scenario. Pull SRF Six out of the stack.”
On the ground, Mbeki’s voice carried, sharp with frustration. “Sergeant Kabila, outside, now.”
Talon was already moving by the time Kabila had reached the Guardian observation platform, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat running down his face.
The man tried for a half-salute. “Sir?—”
Talon cut him off. “You think you’re faster alone?” His voice stayed calm, quiet, but each word carried weight.
“Yes, sir. I can?—”
“You just got your team killed because you don’t trust them to do their job.” Talon stepped in close enough that Kabila had to tilt his chin up. “Teams don’t work like that. SRF teamscan’twork like that. If you can’t function as part of a team, you’re not an asset. You’re a liability. And liabilities don’t last here in training or the real fucking world.”
Kabila’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
Talon let the silence stretch, hot air shimmeringbetween them. “You want to show me how good you are? You do itinsidethe team. You make your point man better. You keep your tail alive. You follow the damn plan.”
Back on the comms, Wolf’s voice was low as he said, “SRF guys are watching. They needed to see this.”
“Yeah,” Hammer added. “Make the example now, or it’ll fester.”
