I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World-Chapter 127: No Room for Hesitations

The fourth morning began with a single word.

"Gear up."

Inigo stood in the center of camp, backlit by the firepit’s dying embers, his voice clear but low. It was still early—gray mist drifted along the field—but the recruits were already moving. Armor was buckled, rifles checked, magazines inspected. No one asked what they were doing. They didn’t need to.

They’d learned by now.

"Form two squads," Inigo ordered. "Saber and Viper. Hal and Brenna lead. You’ll rotate through roles every drill."

Lyra stood beside him, holding a rolled parchment that she unraveled like a battle map.

"Today, you’ll run convoy drills," she announced. "Two JLTVs. One in front, one behind. Inside—your squad. On the road—hostile terrain. At any point, we’ll signal an ambush. When that happens, your response must be immediate. Fire back, dismount, secure wounded, and clear the path."

She let the parchment drop to her side.

"There will be no warning. No fixed targets. And no room for hesitation."

The recruits stiffened.

"Instructor," Feron asked, lifting a hand. "What if... we’re hit inside the vehicle?" freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"Then you die," Inigo said flatly.

Feron’s mouth shut.

Lyra, mercifully, added, "Not literally. But yes, in the drill, you’ll be considered out of action."

They broke off into squads. Brenna’s team took the lead vehicle. Hal’s rode in the rear.

Inigo personally inspected the JLTVs before starting the drill. He walked around the first vehicle, tapping the mounted brace for the rear gunners, then crouched to check the tire treads. Everything was intact. Engines purred low, awaiting command.

He gave a sharp nod.

"Go."

The vehicles rolled forward in a slow, steady column. Hal drove with a controlled pace, keeping even spacing between the JLTVs as they entered the marked woodland trail. The trees thickened as they moved deeper, and sunlight dappled the muddy path ahead.

Inside the lead vehicle, Brenna sat in the passenger seat, rifle balanced across her lap.

"Eyes open," she said. "They said no warning."

Feron, in the rear left seat, muttered, "What’s the signal?"

Before anyone could answer, a flare of red smoke burst from the side of the trail. A loud bang followed, echoing like a detonation.

"Ambush!" Brenna shouted. "Dismount! Now!"

The JLTV skidded to a halt.

Doors burst open.

Feron and Meryl jumped from the rear, rifles raised, immediately taking cover behind the wheel well. Brenna ducked beneath the open door and returned fire toward the smoke, where paper targets had sprung up on hidden wires.

In the second JLTV, Hal shouted, "Form wedge! Cover the front!"

Sark and Lio dismounted and fanned out on the right, opening fire at staggered targets placed in the tree line. Paint rounds cracked through the air, slapping targets with red.

"Medic!" Lyra’s voice rang out from a distance, simulating an injured soldier. "We’ve got a wounded inside vehicle one!"

Meryl, still panting, turned to Feron. "You cover—I’ll drag!"

She rushed to the passenger side, where a dummy in armor had been laid across the front seat. Without hesitating, she gripped it under the arms and pulled it out while Brenna covered her, pivoting left and firing short bursts at a spinning target to the east.

Feron nailed a moving dummy with a snap shot to the shoulder.

"Clear left!" he called.

"Right’s still hot!" Sark replied from his position.

The drill ended with a whistle. Inigo stepped into the clearing from behind a bush, his rifle slung casually across his back.

"Squad Saber—two simulated casualties. One delay in evac. Rear gunner on vehicle two failed to provide covering fire during Meryl’s extraction."

He looked to Lio.

Lio winced. "I didn’t see the signal. I was watching the target behind—"

"You don’t watch in combat," Inigo cut in. "You scan. You anticipate. You cover your team or they die. That’s your burden."

Lyra stepped in. "Still—faster response than yesterday. That dummy was pulled in under twelve seconds. Coordination was better."

"Better isn’t enough," Inigo said. "Again."

They ran the drill four more times, changing squad leaders each round. Brenna rode as driver on the third, gunning the JLTV around a curve fast enough to knock a spinning target off its stake without a shot. Hal performed a simulated casualty extraction using only one arm—after Lyra tied the other behind his back for "injury realism."

"You could’ve warned me," he complained.

"You won’t get warnings in the field," she said simply.

Sark, while dismounting, slipped in the mud and landed squarely on his tailbone. No one laughed—at least, not until Inigo walked past and dryly commented, "At least now you know what it feels like to get thrown by recoil."

By midday, the recruits were soaked in sweat, panting, and bruised from their own gear.

But they kept going.

After a short rest, the next lesson began: fire-and-move tactics from the back of a moving JLTV. This time, Inigo drove while trainees fired from the rear seats at pop-up targets triggered remotely by Lyra.

Brenna was first. She braced her elbow tight against the door and fired in short, controlled bursts as Inigo sped past a series of straw dummies lining the course. The vehicle jolted with each bump, but she didn’t flinch.

Three targets. Three hits.

Inigo gave her a nod.

"You’re clearing corners next time."

Hal followed next. His first two rounds struck high, but he corrected and landed the third solidly through a target’s shoulder.

Meryl, surprisingly, performed the best of the group. Focused, precise, and silent, she fired three shots in rhythm with the JLTV’s jolting motion. All three struck center mass.

"Nice grouping," Lyra noted. "You’ve been practicing."

"I hate missing," Meryl replied softly.

By late afternoon, Inigo pulled the last of them into a huddle near the vehicles. They were exhausted—dirt-smeared, paint-splattered, and scraped raw in some places. But they stood tall.

"You’re no longer passengers," he said. "You’re operators. You drive. You shoot. You extract. You win. That’s the new standard."

He gestured behind him, where the JLTVs sat idling in the dying light.

"They won’t save you. They won’t fight for you. But they’ll give you the edge—if you earn it."

No one spoke.

Brenna finally broke the silence. "When do we train against real moving targets?"

Inigo gave a rare, grim smile.

"Soon."

That night, the trainees barely spoke around the fire. Their hands were too sore to clean rifles. Their arms too tired to lift mugs with ease. But there was pride in their silence—earned, not given.

They were no longer just learning how to fight.

They were learning how to survive as a unit.

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