"My Body Broken...My Blood Spilt"
Utah Desert 0245 hours, ETA -3 hours, 15 minutes, 22nd of March 2008 The peak seemed far higher now that the candidates trudged up it. The jogging pace had been abandoned long ago, but Eric continued to push up the slope at a brutal pace. The greatest difficulty was, in fact, finding the way, as there was no trail, and jagged edges of thrown up rock, or treacherous slopes of scree often interrupted their path. In such places it was Eric's philosophy that the way to succeed was to eye a good line, and then go for the plunge, making his way through by sheer momentum what would have sent him sliding or tumbling were he to pause in uncertainty. The others struggled to keep up, Cindy having somewhat less difficulty as she put her feet where he had, close behind him. Dennis, still in the rear, plowed on with the dogged determination not to let weakness or difficulty show, and Timothy was no slacker either. All including Eric, breathed hard, felt the burn in their thighs, the sharp rocks under their boot soles. All would have rested, had it been an option. But all were well aware of the deadline, had their own reasons for making it, and could not let the others down, could not let Eric prove himself right concerning their impotency. At the most difficult section where technical climbing gear would have been appropriate to use, but where Eric did not allow the time to put in protection or find a better rout, it seemed his indomitable will alone drew them forward and up the ridge. Making it to the top they rested briefly, five minutes, long enough to catch their breath and wait for their legs to stop trembling. Eric ordered them, in no uncertain terms, to stay on their feet and move about in the small space allowable for it, and then with a sharp word he had them moving again. Timothy groaned quietly, but picked the pace up quickly. The rest remained silent. It may well have been a testimony to Timothy's strength and fortitude that he had the energy left for even such a small protest, as the others concentrated on picking their feet up over the obstacles crowding their path. 0305 hours, ETA-2 hours, 55 minutes It was a steep decent, potentially tricky, but they jogged down it sending rocks tumbling. Eric made sure, though the others may not have realized it, to keep them traversing the slope enough that falling rocks would not hit those below. With only a few minor falls into the slope, caught by outstretched gloved hands, they made it to the small ledge into which the top rope anchors had been driven. The river could be heard below, thundering over a waterfall a little upstream from where they would hit it. The noise would have been disconcerting, but the pace at which Eric insisted that they rope up and check each other's connections allowed little time to worry or think on worst case scenarios. The pace was, in-fact, beginning to wear on their judgment, and, to Eric's approval, Cindy stopped them to make sure everyone had triple checked their knots and harness straps. 0315 hours, ETA –2 hours 45 minutes Finally ready, receiving the thumbs up from all party members, Eric began to back over the edge. He held the rope behind and below himself, requiring only a small grip to keep himself from sliding downward due to the friction through the figure eight device at the front of his harness. A moment, and he let the rope slide forward, reducing the bend on it and thus the friction and breaking effect. He dropped at a controlled rate, more quickly than the inexperienced might have been comfortable with as he pushed himself a little away from the rock face with his extended toes, but not as fast as might have seemed cool to those watching such maneuvers on TV. This was no time to make stupid mistakes. Even in the ridge ascent, he'd chosen his path carefully, though quickly. The moon had been a significant help, and there was a greater margin for error when he had his feet solidly planted on the ground. Now, the slope began to tilt inward below him, until he swung in space. Waiting a moment to stabilize, and for the others to catch up on their own ropes, and then let himself slide downward again at a steady pace. It was a pleasure, rappelling, even when caution necessitated a slower speed than he might have preferred, and he noticed the small look of regret offered the ropes by his teammates as they separated themselves and moved down toward the river. It had been a pleasant rest to exhausted limbs, heart, & lungs, but it was over, and increasing challenges lay ahead. 0330 hours, ETA –2 hours, 30 minutes The river was at a reasonable depth, deep enough that were they to swim, some of the rocks would be sufficiently submerged, while having little enough flow of water as to be manageable. Of course, they could not know what would be around the next corner, as the walls of the canyon into which they'd descended were steep and close together. Later in the day the danger of high water would increase with increased melt of snow higher in the mountains, and the threat of rain. There would be no way out for those caught in a torrent, but downstream. At first the team picked their way along the narrow, rocky bank, scrambling over boulders, hugging the cliff face, and resisting the temptation to follow uncertain cracks up it to get away from the noisy water. Soon, however, the canyon narrowed even more, and rocks grew slippery from the last water thrown upon them. A rock fall had intruded recently into the creek, and proved difficult to climb over. Others loomed ahead, and they were loosing significant time, the others waiting tiredly for Eric to find a doable rout. Finally, Cindy spoke up, of the firm opinion that they'd do much better to float the rest of the way downstream. After all, what else were the personal flotation devices, and the water proofing of their packs for. A sharply barked "Good, Candy," was Eric's only acknowledgement of her keen observation and judgment, as he tore open his pack and wrestled the PFD out from under his raingear. Timothy had begun to strip to his underclothes, while Eric ignored the others, and Dennis took the opportunity to speak up. "Hey Tiny. You think this' some kind of 500 meter swim in the bay or something? We're floating down a freezing snow melt-off river for the next thirty minutes or so. You'll want everything but the cotton on for this."He paused for a moment, uncomfortable with the potential overstepping of his unspoken authority, and then quickly added for Eric's benefit"Given your approval sir." Eric nodded curtly, having already stuffed his BDU's into his pack, and put on his raingear, the PFD over it. They would get soaked, the rain gear, but would at least be another layer to trap body heat, to trap water near his body, to be heated, and they could be dried more quickly than the other clothing layers remaining in his water proofed pack. "All right you know it all upstarts" he barked, slightly less disrespect evident in his voice this time,"Any other suggestions?" "Yes sir." It was Cindy, having dropped her defensive tone and manner in favor of effective communication."We need to go down on our backs, feet first to absorb any impact with the rocks, steer with our arms, and make sure our hip belts are unbuckled and shoulder straps loosened. Then we can drop our packs if needed, and survive ourselves." Eric looked over the faces of the others, making sure they agreed and were ready. Dennis wore his game face, the humor hidden for the moment, and Timothy was glum but determined to succeed. Again, such adventures were not his cup of tea, but neither was he just some city boy techno geek. He could, and would, do what was required of him, and they would see what he had to offer soon. An idea occurred to him just as they stepped, taking a breath, into the icy cold water. He shouted it over the torrent."We need to keep track of how far we've gone, to get out at the right drainage" "Good. Up front. Third drainage on the right. You've got navigation." Was the response. Cindy gave up her position without hesitation, as they stepped into the middle of the flow, and settled backward to be carried along. They moved slowly at first, though much more quickly than they had walking. The cold was a shock, and an effort was required to force the lungs to work in-spite of it, but their bodies began to adjust and compensate. The pace at which they floated downstream was reasonable as well, for some time, and as they remained in the primary current, flowing around obstacles. Steering was required only to keep their heads upstream. The flow grew more rapid, however, their course broken up by more obstacles in the stream, and Eric would steer to the side to fetch up against a rock or tree protruding into the current when a rest and cessation of momentum was needed. They passed the first drainage on the right, first of three. They were behind, still, according to Eric's mental calculations, but were making up time quickly. A small opening appeared ahead, whether it could be called, properly a drainage Timothy was not sure, but he steered himself to the side and the others followed suit. Aware of his thought, and uncertain as well, Cindy pulled out the waterproof topographical quadrangle, and they huddled, shivering, around it. They were certainly not at their destination, yet, but to count or miscount this landmark could put them significantly off course. After a minute they determined that the trickle was not one of the drainages they were counting by, and got underway again. Unnecessary thought, by this time, was fleeting and undirected, simply anything to keep the mind off of the cold. The going was rougher almost from the moment they entered the current, and the need to pay attention was enough to wake them up. Fortunately, all were strong and healthy, well hydrated, and had eaten well before their departure. They had sufficient reserves, now that they were needed, to avoid the worst of the obstacles. Even so, they often found it necessary to veer out of the main current just to slow down, to drive their feet to the bottom every so often to stop their momentum. 0355 hours, ETA-2 hours, five minutes The second major drainage had passed, but even according to the map, the third on the right, their next mark, was a small one, and was not coming up any time soon. The canyon had widened somewhat again, but the travelers were too tired and cold to consider walking through the water at the edge. Cold as the water was in the river, they were better off mostly submerged in it than mostly out of it, where the cold wind could pull the water, and thus the heat, from their bodies. The third drainage appeared suddenly, it seemed, around a blind corner. They almost missed it, but Timothy caught himself against an exposed rock when he felt the new current pushing him away from the right hand wall of the canyon. He waved, too week to shout over the noise of the water, and the others managed to find their own places to stop nearby. Out of breath, scared that he'd almost missed it, was already past the drainage, in fact, the Techi simply pointed insistently just the little bit upstream and at the side. It took a moment, but the others got their point, and shoved themselves across the current and to the canyon wall. From there, they had to scramble along a narrow ledge back to the opening into the drainage. There, they were mightily tempted to stop and rest, catch their breath, but the clock was running. It would be no cakewalk up the drainage, wet with the recent runoff and rains as it was, and crowded with rock fall. In fact, now that some of them dared look at it, it would be a steep climbing rock scrambling course all the way up to the plateau above. Eric was not immune to the hardships they'd undergone so far, and seriously fatigued himself, he simply motioned Cindy, with her greater climbing experience, up front, and gave her the small shove needed to get her moving again. The others followed. A little more pain or fatigue would hardly hurt them any more than they were already hurting, and in the brief time they'd stood trying to recover, they'd begun to feel the cold, Cindy and Dennis shivering. Their only hope, really, was to keep moving until they warmed back up. Their destination, their deadline, were no longer factors in their consciousness, only the incontrovertible necessity to go on, to move, to get out of the canyon. They moved not to win, but to survive, and as in many of the moving stories of combat, it would be their drive to survive that would pull them through to victory, rather than some idealistic competitiveness or rationalized desire to succeed in the testing. They moved numb limbs, the pain in their muscles a dull throbbing through which they focused on the next step needed to get up to the rock ahead upon which the one in front stood. Hands grasped for holds wherever the terrain rose steeply enough to offer them, and numb as they here, only the nomex gloves prevented serious scrapes and bleeding. The gloves would have to be destroyed after the testing, along, perhaps, with the boots and rain pants, they were abused to such an extent. Countless times it seemed there was nothing left in one of their bodies but to crawl upward, and then see a few feet more space between themselves and the one in front, and would hurry, nearly impossible as it seemed, to catch up. 0530 hours, ETA –0 hours, 30 minutes Suddenly, unbelievably to the travelers, they broke from the drainage and out onto the plateau. They did not so much see and realize that they'd arrived, but that there was no longer anything before them to be climbed, only the backs of their stunned and exhausted comrades, into which they bumped. Too numb now to their fatigue and the pain to understand, to believe, they never considered sitting to rest, nor even taking off their packs. Eric shook his head, squinted to look around, to focus in the increasing twilight, to focus on what had to be done. The camp, or the X, anyway, the place they were to arrive in, only twenty minutes, was to be a mile and a half straight ahead at the base of a ridge, there. He pointed, took a breath, and with some effort spoke as sternly as he could manage. "There. The end. We have fifteen minutes. Drink a little water, and then we run." It was a matter of fact statement, no room for discussion, no options involved. He looked at them still, each one in the eye, attempting to gauge their ability and will to comply. They each, some more slowly than others, lifted their eyes, looked to the destination, then to him, the fire that still burnt within clear in their unwavering gaze. Though they had no feet left, though they had to levitate themselves, or scramble on wounded hands and knees, they would push on. They had come this far, he had brought them this far, and abuse or no, words exchanged or not, a bond had formed between them. Any of them would die before letting the others down, before letting themselves be proven unworthy of the others, before holding back this leader who's will was stronger than their own. They would push on as far as he pulled them, as long as the consciousness remained. The water dealt with a major part of their growing difficulty, rehydrating them, and even the short rest and pep talk proved immensely effective to their spirits. Another signal, barely necessary, and they took off at a slow, but steady jog across the sagebrush-studded plane toward their destination. 0550 hours, ETA –0 hours, 10 minutes It was a single cohesive unit, dirty, exhausted, dehydrated, scraped, bruised, but victorious, that shuffle jogged in unison into the camp that had been erected for them. As if reading and following Eric's thought commands, they halted and stood as much at attention as they could in their condition, before the drill sergeant that sauntered out to meet them, a fake and put on derision plastered over his features. It couldn't faze them, and Eric and Dennis stared undaunted into the middle distance, while Cindy and Timothy stared dispassionately back at him, even for a moment after he barked his command for them to look forward, not at him. They complied, and he continued, laying out what they could know, for the time being, of their future. None reacted. They would make it through whatever it was, they had no doubt the others would pull them through it if need be. Eric and team would pass the second phase of testing and enter the SIA-Taskforce, and they would do it for and by each other. "Desert Camp" Utah Desert 0555 hours ETA –0hours, 5 minutes, 22nd of March 2008 "Oh ho! What have we here? Looks like the village people have come to show how tough they are, eh? Here's the Chief . . ."He was up in Eric's face by now, who ignored the shouted insult just as he was required, as a soldier, to do. "And here's the playgirl. You can imagine what I think of women in combat, and I'm gonna prove it here!"She glared back into his face, undaunted, but her jaw firm with determination to waste the male chauvinist pig at the nearest opportunity. He was worse than Dennis and Eric combined. Moving on, he took a stunned look, and then threw back his head and laughed loudly."Who's this? Bill Gates? Couldn't you afford better than the U.S. Government for your war games?! I thought we were enemies!" He continued laughing, now slapping his thigh."Never mind, I'll give you a chance." Timothy just looked at him, frowning slightly in derision of the marine drill sergeant "thing." He moved on to stand in front of Dennis, looking him up and down critically. "YOU THINK YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO OFFER US, BOY SCOUT!? WE AIN'T HANDIN OUT NO MERIT BADGES, TOUGH BOY!" Perhaps the fact that Dennis looked larger, more buff, and more obtrusively fit than the others got the officer's ire up. Dennis just continued to stare, expressionless, over the man's head into the middle distance. He then marched quickly back along the line, breathing and shouting his orders into their faces as he passed."Well, you'll soon be crying back to your performance stage, assuming you can get a gig. Into the first building on your left, on the double! Change into the clothes you'll find. Three minutes and you're out and ready to go, or you're gone! WELL? What the **** are you losers waiting for! MOVE!" He was rewarded for his command by Dennis' almost mowing him down on his way past, and had to do a quick hop and then a skip out of His and then Eric's way. Cindy clenched a fist, perhaps upset that she'd not reacted quickly enough to be the offender, as the officer was clearly offended. But it was too late, as they rushed into the building, dropping packs and peeling layers, throwing them to the sides. Timothy might have been surprised, for a moment, at Cindy's lack of modesty or deference to the men, or Dennis might have uttered some rude sound of appreciation at her bare body, or she might have made a point that she was exercising her equal rights and power by failing to fear before the men. None of them had the time to think of such things as they scrambled into the running clothes provided. They were taken on a ten mile run, short by comparison to the race they'd just completed, and not too difficult in terrain, either. They were all accomplished athletes, and Timothy's running experience stood him in good stead. Fatigued as they were from the trek into the camp from the LZ, they all found reserves of energy, strength, and pain tolerance upon which to draw. they kept up with the sergeant leading them, and though they were well aware that they were breathing and sweating much harder than him-in-spite of the still cool temperatures-there was never any real threat of any of them falling behind. A cold but substantial breakfast followed, and then time, finally, to stow their things, hang up their wet clothes, take a shower, actually hot, and outfit themselves for a day in the Utah Desert. Weapons training followed, Eric proving his unmatched prowess, even among those administering the test, in the speed and accuracy of his fire, and the ease with which he stripped, cleaned, and re-built his weapon. Drills on such things had been constant during his Close Quarters Standby time at Section1, with an insistence on a performance level of at least 98% of potential. Dennis was also proficient, having continued to practice and use the same skills in the NYPD SWAT, and Timothy, it seemed, had done some gun work of his own, recreationally. Cindy had the most trouble with the weapons, but was motivated and a keen observer and learner. So it went for them, each stronger in some areas than in others, someone on the team seeming the master of each test, the others following and learning from them. And there was morning, and noontime, the first Rotation. 1230 hours The desert grew quickly to hot, with too little shade as the sun rose overhead, for the candidates to be able, safely, to continue any physically demanding tasks out of doors. They were led into the mess hall to consume meager military styled rations, along with plenty of fluids, all but forced on them. This was followed by a whole twenty minutes for a comfortably cold shower, and two hours bunk time before the beginning of the next rotation. 1445 hours The candidates were rudely awoken by a stunning insurgence of noise and light as their sleep exploded in slamming doors and simunition grenades and machine gun fire. At the first sound Timothy and Cindy started awake, entirely bewildered and confused, and huddling back toward the walls, screaming though they didn't know it, trying to find a way out. Dennis rolled off his bunk without thinking, taking what cover he could behind it and looking for the source of the threat. Eric, perhaps hearing a crunch of gravel outside the door, a creek of a porch step, or a turning of the knob, had awakened. He seemed to leap from his position lying on his back on the bunk, land on the next bunk closer to the door, roll/flip off of it, and dove behind the door just as it crashed open, into his body which now slammed against the wall behind the door. When the cacophony died down, and those formerly in their bunks began to recover, the officer already began to reprimand them"Hey ya wool headed, cryin for your mommies, incompetents, you're all dead! You want to get very far . . ."His words stopped abruptly as a well muscled, bronzed arm snaked in front of his throat, the back of the hand trapping his chin, forcing it and his head up and backward into the chest that stood solid close behind, while another hand full of ridged fingers thrust into his lower back, shoving the rest of his body forward against the restraint."So are you, bastard, SIR." Came the conversational reply from the Native American holding him. Dennis Stepped forward then, his presence commanding, his voice full of the New York Accent."I suggest you drop your weapons before we decide to take this more seriously than you intended." When Eric's grip on his neck refused to let up, but the pressure in his lower back increased, the officer grudgingly complied. The moment he did so, his captor was gone, moving to stand beside Dennis, who kicked the weapons away into the corner, and the other two that had now joined him, smirking at their oppressor."What are your orders, sir?" Eric asked, as though nothing unusual or significant had occurred. The officer struggled, spluttered for a moment as the breath and blood returned in full, coughed, and then spoke, an almost indistinguishable note of respect in his voice. He'd expect such a response to this drill from seasoned battle veterans, not raw civilian recruits. Of course he'd been briefed on these ones, but it was his job to presume incompetence until proven otherwise, and of such he made a practice. Regaining his composure and dignity quickly, he responded,"Indoor Calisthenics and PT. Follow me." They did so, looking to see if they ought to bring anything, but the officer gave them no time, instead marching out the door. It was still hot outside, the hottest part of the day, in fact, nearing 100 degrees. Not enough to kill, if they were careful, but enough to cause serious trouble. Fortunately for the psyches of those being tested, they were led into a large structure, not air conditioned, but at least it would offer them shade and shelter from blowing sand as they worked out. A small track was contained therein, and they were set to running what seemed to be countless laps on the relatively hard, and very boring surface. At least they were in shorts and tee shirts, their feet girded in running shoes. Running was followed, when they began to stumble on occasion, by pushups, these by sit-ups when they could no longer raise themselves, and sit-ups by jumping jacks and then running. So it went until they were drenched in sweat, and reminded of muscles they had forgotten about recently. They were deemed sufficiently warmed up at this point, were ordered to drink a few sips of water, and then to begin on more intricate physical activity including stretches, tumbling, and use of various apparatus. The pace was unrelenting, the heat seeming unbearable, and the end of the exercises never to come. Still they pressed on, acceding to the derisively shouted orders from above, feeling no choice in the matter. Little did they realize that by the time the PT drew to a close, the air temperature had again dropped, or that the intensity of the work out had tapered off, allowing them to cool down. They simply knew that it was over for the moment, and they were to take another five-minute shower, dry off, change back into their desert fatigues, and assemble in the square. A short time of more weapons drills, another run, another cold and unsatisfying meal.. And there was evening, and there was night, the Second rotation. Utah Desert Camp 2100 hours, 22nd of March, 2008 They were allowed a shower and bunk time, but given no specifications of how long it would last. Without much thought Eric and Dennis completed the routine quickly, hitting their bunks within 15 minutes of their dismissal from the mess hall, and falling asleep within a few minutes of that. The civilians were only a little slower, having concluded by now that when in a soldier's camp, they might do well to act as the soldiers do. They were allowed four hours of undisturbed rest, through which they slept soundly. Eric roused himself after two of it, however, a foreboding of what might be to come interrupting his peace. He crept silently from his bed, exited the structure, and lay down on the now cold ground in its shadow. There he dozed, but was unable to sleep soundly, and knew he would awake more quickly in case of a disturbance than if he were comfortably in bed. Indeed, he caught muffled voices, and creeping forward, spotted a couple of the instructors girding themselves for another surprise awakening of the candidates, the one from the previous rotation warning the new one of Eric's preparedness. Without hesitation Eric crept back out of sight, and rising slowly, tapped on the nearest window into the bunkhouse. It only took two tries, and Dennis was up and at the window. It was covered, but a brief and obvious Morse's Code message got the idea across, and he quickly roused the others. It would take some doing, especially to complete the task in time, but they went to work on the back door, locked from the outside. 0200 hours, 23rd of March, 2008 The instructor that entered this time dispensed with the stealth approach used by the last man to do the routine, instead just knocking the door open abruptly, and being certain to clear the area behind the door even as he threw the grenades and began to open fire. He stopped, and the dust and smoke cleared, revealing no one. No cowering forms, no moans or squeals of fright. No sign but slightly rumpled bedding that anyone had been there in the last two hours. He turned around, puzzeled, and caught only a glimpse of what he did not expect. There was Eric's team standing, arms crossed nonchalantly, sneers plastered across their faces, outside the building's front door. He only caught a glimpse, noticing that only three of the four were present, before a small fist flew out of nowhere to his right, slamming into his cheek and sending him reeling to the ground. There Cindy stood, a smirk of her own crossing her otherwise beautiful face, flexing and relaxing her fist, fire in her eyes. She stood and waited for him to get up. Perhaps he could take her, quite probably, really, but they both knew he'd have to deal with the rest of the team if he made the attempt. Instead, he simply stood, brushed off the dust, and growled at them. "Ten mile run. Fall in, now!" As before, they did so without question, keeping up with much less difficulty this time than before. Only Eric noticed the other officer watching from a distance, making a note, a smirk crossing his face in turn. The officer probably didn't mind his colleague getting hit, but would do all in his power to bring Cindy, and probably the rest of the team, down for it. He reflected for a moment on how glad he was this wasn't the military, and that Cindy was a civilian with a possibility of a future outside the SIA-taskforce. Had they been military, they'd all be in jail or worse by now. The rest of that rotation, until noon, and of the following rotations, were much as the first had been. The performance requirements increased as the participants learned the skills, while the physical difficulty level was increased in an attempt to find their limits, push them beyond, and wash out those that couldn't pull it. The mental difficulty also increased, as pure physical strength and endurance were no longer sufficient. By the middle of the second day, and the third rotation, the team was forced to put their heads together to find solutions to problems that could not be solved individually. These exercises were such as the jeep pull/push/lift, raft carry, as logs were not available but river rafting was popular, and scaling smooth walled structures that were too high for any one of them to mount on his/her own. These mental tasks were interspersed, during the cooler parts of the nights, with more traditional obstacle courses, such as ropes to climb, walls and fences to vault, and barbed wire to scramble under through sand and mud, all while symunitions and paint balls whizzed just over their heads or around their feet. It was quite disconcerting, and it took all of Eric's leadership ability, and the others' will to make it, for them to stick together and accomplish the tasks assigned to them. Seemingly endless, and mind-numbingly-simple and pointless drills in movement and compliance with orders were another major part of their days, usually right before the noontime siestas. These whistle drills were repeated to such an extent that if anyone, anywhere within hearing range were to blow a whistle the candidates would automatically hit the dirt, prepared to crawl, run, or stay depending on the number of whistle blows. Early on came cursory training in hand to hand combat, in which those with prior experience and training were allowed to partner with those with less experience and training, and to assist them in learning the moves in which they were all instructed. Eric could almost have slept through this section, and Dennis' had kept up with all the training offered by the NYPD, moving on to instruct other officers in the same. Timothy and Cindy, in their turn, had each taken self-defense, aerobic kickboxing, or martial arts courses for personal enrichment, and caught on quickly to the new and less complicated styles being taught. The instructors spent much of the time hassling the other group, whether justified or not, while Eric's team moved ahead, practicing the skills, putting them together, until Cindy and Timothy were comfortable and confident in their abilities to function in the more brutal but effective techniques. In this area it was clear to the instructors that Eric and Dennis were their equals or betters, and shouting at them would gain nothing. The focus of the entire team on each other, their needs, strengths and weaknesses was, by this time, so resolute that attempts to distract or cause them trouble would have been pointless. The fire hoses, shots fired over their heads, and simunition mines exploding in the sand around them quickly became ineffective after a few words from Eric. Had a real enemy attacked at that point, they would have run into a wall of unfazed but lethal warriors, turning smoothly and effortlessly from their practice on each other to their neutralization of the aggressors. The instructors got the picture, and left them to focus on bringing the other team up to speed, or breaking them down in order to wash them out.The last element to be added to the curriculum was the use of state of the art computer and communications equipment for sending, receiving, & deciphering encrypted information and other intelligence. Such was not Eric's area of expertise, and he deferred largely to Timothy's leadership during most of these tests. Cindy was somewhat more comfortable with it, but still nowhere near Timothy's level. Dennis offered to help, but wound up being mostly just another brain that might catch things the others might miss. The playing field was somewhat more equal when they were given satellite and surveillance aircraft photos to examine, interpret, and determine uses for. Eric and Dennis had dealt with such sources in the past, and were more familiar with the meanings of what appeared in the photos. Cindy, for her part, had used a variety of sources for navigation in her backcountry travels, and was able to point out terrain features the others missed. Finally, they were required to devise and submit an encrypted message for the other team to decipher, while the other team did the same for hem. It appeared, at this time, that friction had been building within the other team, and they worked more slowly, having to argue out their differences before much got done, and then one of them might refuse to participate. Such were the activities filling each rotation. The team members learned some skills for the first time, mastered others, and completed some barely within nominal limits. The rotations grew slightly shorter, the rest times longer, especially as they were allowed to retire earlier each night. The difference to those being tested seemed minimal, however, as they were all worn down mentally and physically, running on minimal sleep and food, and had abandoned most thought beyond what was necessary to complete the tasks assigned to them. The rotations blended, one into another, into what was, for each of them, a ten-day version of the infamous SEAL BUD/S Hell week, only in the Utah desert. There were, perhaps, two saving graces, if such they could be considered; the yelling and use of simunitions decreased as it no longer accomplished anything beyond the third or fourth day, by which time most of those that would wash out due to the hazing already had, and a strict routine was put into place, such that the candidates could prepare mentally, to some degree, for what was to come. They all began to get into the rhythm of the place, began to let down their guard to some degree, preparing for the expected. Things even seemed to get easier to a degree, as they got used to them, but the wise among them knew something was amiss. Return