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Save me, O God, For the waters have threatened my life. I have sunk in deep mire, and there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and a flood overflows me. I am weary with my crying; my throat is parched; My eyes fail while I wait for my God.

Psalm 69:1-3

The Swamps

A bitter wind whipped across the Florida swamps as Wade, Jay, and Metro inserted into their dropzone. The frigid air caught them off guard – this wasn’t the balmy weather they’d expected from the panhandle. Their boots sank into the dark water, each step releasing bubbles of swamp gas that carried the scent of decay. As they began their five-day platoon operation, the cold crept beneath their wet uniforms, numbing fingers and clouding thoughts. The weight of their rucksacks seemed to increase with every passing hour, the straps digging into shoulders already raw from weeks of constant wear.

Wade and Jay found their rhythm quickly, their mountain phase experience serving them well. The endless hours spent navigating steep terrain had taught them to read the land, to find the path of least resistance even in this alien environment. They passed their patrols in the first two days, demonstrating the leadership and tactical prowess that had carried them this far. Each successful mission brought them closer to the tab they’d fought so hard to earn, their movements growing more confident with each passing hour.

Metro watched his friends lead, studying their techniques, waiting for his own chance to prove himself. He made mental notes of how Wade handled his troops, how Jay managed the tactical challenges that arose. The swamp seemed to resist their every move, but Metro remained determined, pushing through the discomfort with gritted teeth and steely resolve.

On the third day, the swamp seemed to come alive with malice. The water had turned to ice in their canteens, and the wind cut through their wet uniforms like razor blades. Each step brought a new challenge – hidden roots that threatened to snap ankles, sucking mud that tried to claim boots, the bone-deep chill that refused to relent. The platoon moved in silence, save for the occasional splash or muffled curse as someone lost their footing.

Hypothermia

Metro’s movements grew sluggish, his normally sharp eyes taking on a glazed look. Wade noticed first, seeing how his Ranger Buddy’s steps had become uncertain, how his responses to simple commands had slowed. Before he could intervene, Metro crumpled into the murky water, his body temperature plummeting to dangerous levels. The speed of his collapse shocked everyone – one moment he was trudging along with the rest of them, the next he was face-down in the swamp, his rifle half-submerged beside him.

“Medevac! Now!” Sergeant Hunt’s command cut through the swamp’s oppressive silence. His voice carried the weight of urgent authority, spurring the platoon into immediate action. As one of the students radioed for evacuation, Wade and Jay huddled around their fallen friend, their hearts pounding with fear they couldn’t afford to show. The rest of the platoon established a defensive perimeter, their training taking over despite their concern for their fellow Ranger.

Wade and Jay placed their hands on Metro’s shoulders and bowed their heads in prayer, just as they had during the mountain phase. Their whispered words seemed to carry through the chaos of the emergency response, a quiet counterpoint to the urgent radio traffic and Hunt’s rapid-fire orders. The cold seemed to intensify around them, as if the swamp itself was trying to claim Metro for its own.

Miraculous Healing

Then, like a scene from a revival tent, Metro’s eyes fluttered open. Color flooded back into his pale cheeks, starting as a faint pink and deepening to healthy warmth. He sat up, looking dazed but alert – a transformation so sudden it left even the hardened Sergeant Hunt speechless. The change defied medical explanation, but none could deny what they’d witnessed. Despite Metro’s miraculous recovery, Hunt insisted on protocol: “Still getting you checked out, Ranger. No exceptions out here.”

The platoon watched as Metro was evacuated, their faces showing a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Hunt used the moment as a teaching opportunity, gathering the Rangers for a quick class on cold weather injuries and the importance of buddy checks. The lesson was hardly necessary – seeing one of their own go down had driven the point home more effectively than any instruction could have.

At the infirmary, the Physician Assistant ran every test available, his confusion growing with each normal result. There was no trace of the hypothermia that should have put Metro in serious danger, no indication of the severe exposure that everyone had witnessed. The medical staff exchanged puzzled looks as they reviewed the results, unable to explain the rapid recovery.

When he rejoined Wade and Jay, Metro’s familiar grin had returned, though it couldn’t quite hide the lingering fatigue in his eyes. “Should’ve asked for half a healing,” he quipped, adjusting his gear. “A warm hospital bed wouldn’t have been so bad.” The joke broke the tension, drawing tired laughs from his friends, but they all knew how close they’d come to losing one of their own to the merciless swamp.

Communion in the Chaos

Back at Camp Rudder, the brief respite between operations drew the Rangers to an unexpected source of comfort – the chaplain’s service. The gathering was a stark portrait of Ranger School’s toll: gaunt faces, hollow eyes, bodies pushed far beyond normal limits. These were no longer the cocky Marines who’d started the course; exhaustion and challenge had stripped away all pretense, leaving only the raw essence of who they were.

The chapel itself was little more than a cleared space with folding chairs, but it felt like sanctuary to the weary Rangers. Many dozed off during the service, their bodies taking advantage of any chance to rest, but Wade and Jay remained alert, their recent experience with Metro still fresh in their minds. The chaplain moved among them as he spoke, his voice carrying to every corner of the room, speaking of Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness.

He drew parallels to their own trials, speaking of hunger, exhaustion, and temptation. His words about using faith as a weapon against adversity resonated deeply with the assembled Rangers, at least the ones who were still awake. Each of them had faced their own demons during the course – moments of doubt, anger, and despair that tested not just their bodies but their spirits.

When communion came, the visual struck them all – their blackened, bleeding hands reaching for pure white wafers, dipping them in blood-red wine. The metaphor wasn’t subtle: purity meeting wretchedness, sacrifice meeting need. The Rangers moved forward one by one, each lost in their own thoughts, their own prayers. Some had tears in their eyes, though whether from exhaustion or emotion, none could say.

Droning Out

The final operation loomed before them – an 18-kilometer movement to assault an objective. Wade carried a secret: Sergeant Hunt had pulled him aside earlier, hinting at possible Distinguished Honor Graduate selection. This patrol would decide it, would determine if Wade had truly distinguished himself among his peers. But Wade kept quiet when his friends asked, deflecting with vague assurances about Hunt’s support for them all. The weight of potential honor sat uneasily on his shoulders, adding to the burden of leadership he already carried.

The march tested them in ways that made previous challenges seem mild in comparison. The cold returned with a vengeance, turning their uniforms into frozen shells that cracked with every movement. Exhaustion, hunger, and relentless terrain conspired to strip away coherent thought. Wade found himself leading his platoon in circles, lost in a hypothermic haze, until a Ranger Instructor had to take control. The night became a blur of stumbling steps and mumbled commands, each Ranger pushing forward on nothing but stubborn will and ingrained training.

The raid that followed was a lesson in humility. Confusion reigned as sleep-deprived Rangers struggled to maintain tactical coherence. Communications broke down, positions were missed, and friendly fire incidents peppered the operation. Their opponent, comprised of well-rested instructors, exploited every mistake with professional efficiency. What should have been a coordinated assault devolved into a series of disjointed actions, each team struggling to accomplish their part of the mission without clear understanding of the overall situation.

In the harsh debrief that followed, Wade knew his shot at Distinguished Honor Graduate had evaporated like morning mist over the swamp. But as he stood with Jay and Metro, listening to the instructors outline their failures, he felt something stronger than disappointment: brotherhood forged in shared struggle, hardened by common trial. The instructors’ words were sharp, but their eyes held understanding – they had all been where these Rangers were, had all faced the moment when exhaustion overcame training.

The Florida Phase had tested them in ways they never expected, forcing them to confront not just physical limitations, but the deeper questions of faith, leadership, and resilience. As they prepared for their final evaluation at the Zoo, they carried with them lessons learned in prayer and pain, in failure and friendship. The swamp had tried to break them, had nearly succeeded more than once, but they had emerged stronger, more humble, and more united than ever before.

Back to the Zoo

The transport that would carry them to their final challenge waited on the landing pad, its engines humming with promise and threat. As they boarded, each Ranger carried not just their physical gear, but the weight of experience earned in the merciless Florida swamps. They had learned that sometimes victory meant simply enduring, that leadership often meant admitting weakness, and that faith could manifest in ways that defied explanation. These were lessons that would serve them well in the challenges ahead, both at the Zoo and in the wider war that awaited them.

The interplanetary transport carved through the void of space, its hull vibrating with the nervous energy of its passengers. They would spend three days of recovery at Ramsey Station – days filled with hot meals and actual beds and then the Ranger students faced their final crucible: a platoon-sized live fire exercise in the heart of Carthis 7’s notorious “Zoo.” The name itself carried weight, spoken in whispers by veterans who’d survived its horrors.

Wade stood at rigid parade rest on the observation deck, his reflection ghostlike in the reinforced viewport. Below, Carthis 7 grew from a distant orb to a scarred monster of a world. Its surface told stories of endless conflict – impact craters from orbital bombardments, the twisted wreckage of alien war machines, and the ever-shifting ruins of what had once been thriving colonies. Beside him, Jay maintained his characteristic stoic demeanor, but Wade noticed the subtle tells of tension: the slight clench of his jaw, the tightening around his eyes, the way his fingers occasionally brushed the grip of his rifle.

The ship’s internal atmosphere recyclers hummed a constant backdrop to scattered conversations – each Ranger sharing Zoo stories with each other, tactical officers reviewing mission parameters, medical staff checking emergency protocols. The air felt thick with anticipation and barely contained fear.

“Gear up, ladies and gentlemen,” Sergeant Major Vickers’ command cut through the murmur like a plasma round through armor. “We touch down in five.” His voice carried the weight of experience – he’d survived the Zoo more times than most of the instructors combined. The cargo bay transformed into organized chaos as Rangers donned their cutting-edge combat armor, each piece a testament to humanity’s determination to survive in this hostile universe.

Metro worked with methodical precision at his communications gear, his new role as Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) demanding nothing less than perfection. He triple-checked every frequency, every backup system, every emergency protocol. In the Zoo, a failed comm link could mean more than mission failure – it could mean wholesale slaughter. The responsibility sat heavily on his shoulders, but his hands remained steady as they danced across the control panel and rest of his equipment.

The distinctive whir of armor servos filled the bay as Wade secured his final clasps. A hand landed on his shoulder – firm, confident. Captain Reynolds stood before him, the veteran Ranger Instructor’s face bearing scars from his own Zoo encounters. “Remember, Ranger Kovacs,” he said, voice pitched low but intense. “The principles you learned in the swamps and mountains back home apply just as much here. The tech may be state of the art, but leadership is leadership. Keep your head on straight, and bring your people home.”

Wade met his gaze steadily. “Yes, sir!” Two simple words carrying the weight of everything they’d learned, everything they’d survived to reach this point.

No More Blanks

The landing was surprisingly gentle for such a massive vessel, barely a shudder running through the deck plates as they touched down on Carthis 7’s reinforced landing pad. Camp Ramsey’s briefing room awaited them – a fortified bunker that had sheltered decades of Ranger classes. Wade gathered his platoon, their faces illuminated by the holographic tactical displays showing their target zone.

“Listen up, Rangers.” His voice carried the authority earned through months of training and trials. “We’ve got 12 hours to plan and rehearse before we hit our objective. We’ll be doing a Crazy-D insertion, landing 100 meters from the target.” The term ‘Crazy-D’ drew reactions – raised eyebrows, sharp intakes of breath. The Directed Descent insertion pods were notorious for their effectiveness and their brutality on the human body.

Metro’s eyebrow arched. “Crazy-D? That’s going to be one heck of a ride.” His voice carried a mix of professional concern and barely concealed excitement.

“You got that right,” Wade confirmed, turning to Jay. “I’ll need your squad ready for immediate suppression as soon as we hit ground. Those first thirty seconds will make or break us.” Jay nodded, already running scenarios in his head, calculating fields of fire and support positions.

The next twelve hours dissolved into intense preparation. The platoon immersed themselves in intelligence reports, studying satellite imagery that showed the ever-shifting landscape of the Zoo. They analyzed terrain models, marking kill zones and likely ambush points. Every scenario was run, every contingency planned for, every possible failure point identified and addressed.

Urban combat was challenging enough – but in the Zoo, it became a nightmare of alien aggression and hostile biology. Bombed out buildings held their own cruel danger for the careless, streets that might suddenly become death traps, and an enemy that understood the terrain with a home field advantage. The Rangers adapted their Earth-learned tactics, modern tech, and incorporating hard-won knowledge from previous Zoo experiences.

As insertion time approached, Wade gathered his platoon for final instructions. The briefing room had grown quiet, charged with pre-mission tension. “Remember your training,” he said, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “Keep your tactical intervals, watch your sectors, and keep comms clear. We hit hard and fast. Questions.” The silence that answered him spoke volumes – they were ready, as ready as humans could be for what awaited them.

The Crazy-D drop lived up to its reputation. Each impact felt like a controlled crash, the compensation systems barely managing to keep the occupants conscious as they slammed into Carthis 7’s surface. Hatches hissed open to reveal the Zoo in all its terrible glory – a maze of broken buildings and twisted metal under an alien sky, the air itself seeming to pulse with malevolent energy.

Wade’s mind raced through final mission checks as his platoon deployed with practiced precision. Their objective burned in his thoughts: a suspected Skravak nest, buried deep in the urban wasteland. Intelligence suggested a major hive, one that had to be eliminated before it could spread further.

“Alright, listen up!” His voice carried across the assembly area, cutting through the last whispers of conversation. “We move out in five minutes. Jay, you’re on point. Metro, stick close – I need that comms link rock solid. The rest of you know your roles. Stay frosty, watch your sectors, and remember your training. Let’s show these bugs what the Confederation’s finest are made of.” The responding “Oorah!” echoed off broken walls, a sound of human defiance in this alien territory.

The Tactical Advantage

Their advance through the Zoo’s labyrinthine streets set every nerve on edge. The silence felt wrong, broken only by the crunch of debris under armored boots and distant, inhuman screams that set teeth on edge. Wade’s enhanced HUD constantly updated with tactical data – squad positions, vital signs, threat assessments. Every step could trigger an ambush, every shadow could hide death.

The attack came without warning. “Contact front!” The call crackled through comms an instant before pulse rifles opened up, their distinctive whine mixing with the alien shrieks of their targets. Wade’s training took over, his voice steady as he coordinated the response to the Skravak ambush. The firefight transformed into a deadly dance of plasma bolts and alien hungry maws snapping at Rangers moving with mechanical precision through their practiced maneuvers.

“Jay! Take second squad and flank left!” Wade’s orders cut through the chaos of battle. “Metro! I need air support on these coordinates—danger close!” Metro’s fingers flew across his comm panel, relaying the call for fire support with practiced efficiency. Moments later, the sky erupted as orbiting Thunderhawk gunships responded, their heavy weapons turning Skravak positions into craters of molten rock and alien gore.

The battle seemed to last forever, a constant push deeper into enemy territory. Wade lost count of how many times he’d called for fire support, how many times he’d redirected squads to shore up weak points in their advance. Through it all, Jay remained their anchor, his steady presence and accurate fire providing the stability they needed as chaos threatened to overwhelm them.

As they approached their primary objective – a massive structure of twisted metal and faracrete rubble that housed the Skravak nest – Wade felt ice form in his gut. The resistance had been fierce, but something in his battle-honed instincts screamed that worse was coming. The building itself seemed to pulse with malevolent life, its half-collapsed form a monument to the horrors that awaited within.

“All units, this is Rock Six,” he broadcast across the platoon net, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his system. “We’re approaching the target building – expect heavy resistance! Jay, get your squad in overwatch positions! Everyone else, prepare to breach and clear on my mark.”

What followed was pure combat chaos, a blur of violence and instinct. Wade led the charge into the alien hive, grateful for every punishing hour spent in Earth’s swamps and mountains. The leadership principles drilled into them became lifelines, allowing him to direct his forces through the fog of war with decisive clarity. Every lesson learned, every hardship endured, every prayer uttered – all of it culminated in these crucial moments.

When silence finally fell, Wade stood in the heart of the destroyed hive, chest heaving in his armor. Around him, Rangers moved with professional efficiency, securing the area, tending to the wounded, documenting their kills. They had done it – eliminated the Skravak nest without losing a single Ranger. The mission was an unqualified success, a testament to their training and determination.

Outside the shattered husk of the hive, Wade felt pride surge through him as he looked over his platoon. They had faced humanity’s nightmare and emerged victorious, their bonds forged stronger than ever in the fires of combat. Staff Sergeant Hunt’s gruff voice cut through their moment of triumph: “Outstanding work, Rangers. You’ve proven yourselves worthy of the tab. But don’t get cocky – this was just a taste of what real combat holds.”

Hunt’s words brought a sobering silence. Wade exchanged glances with Jay and Metro, seeing his own mix of pride and grim determination reflected in their eyes. They had earned their place among the Rangers, but this was just the beginning.

The transport ride back to Earth buzzed with excited discussion about what lay ahead – advanced exploration training, flight school, and most headed to assignments in the various Ranger Regiments leveraging their skills in the ongoing war against the Skravak threat. Wade settled into his seat, mind racing with possibilities as Carthis 7 shrank behind them. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing they had survived the Zoo and emerged stronger. The road ahead would be hard, but they would face it together, as brothers in arms forged in the fires of Earth and tempered in the alien battlefields of distant worlds.

Their Ranger tabs would mean more than just completing a school now – they represented humanity’s determination to survive, to push back against the darkness that threatened their species. Whatever challenges the galaxy held in store, they were ready to face them, one mission at a time.

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