Zhang Jie had thought John's training was tough enough, but he never expected that after joining the Sacrifice Squad, he would realize what true devil training really meant.
Almost all of John's training focused on assassination and combat, while the Sacrifice Squad's training was more geared towards team operations and individual awareness.
Being proficient with firearms, being able to shoot, and handling a gun skillfully are two different things, but in the Sacrifice Squad, these are just the basics.
If it weren't for a prior agreement, Zhang Jie even felt these guys would try to kill him.
He could only be thankful that the next mission was quite tight, so the special training period wasn't very long, but the atmosphere of this special training still fascinated him.
Following them, he boarded their old plane and flew to a small base in the jungle to begin the devilish special training.
June 11, 2014, a certain tropical rainforest, heavy rain!
Today was the first lesson of the special training.
When ice water mixed with crushed ice was poured over his head, Zhang Jie's pupils suddenly contracted.
He instinctively rolled to the side of the bed, his right hand reaching for a non-existent holster, only to grasp a handful of damp air.
"Reaction speed, too slow."
A hoarse voice came from the shadows, the dark red glow of a cigar flickering.
Barney Ross slowly rose from his tactical chair, his leather holster making a slight rubbing sound with his movement, "In a real battlefield, that's enough for you to die three times."
Zhang Jie's vision gradually focused, and he finally cleared his head; he had arrived here from Concord yesterday and was so exhausted that he collapsed into sleep as soon as he got there.
Early in the morning, before dawn.
The corrugated iron roof of the training camp was rattling loudly under the heavy rain, and the damp smell of gunpowder mixed with gun oil wafted into his nostrils.
Ross's combat boots crunched over spent casings, and with a splash, he dumped the disassembled M1911 parts into a muddy puddle.
"Thirty seconds."
The veteran's thumb pressed the stopwatch, and the metal gears began to tick ominously.
"Assemble, load, hit a 50-meter target. One second overtime adds a 5-kilometer weighted penalty."
Mud soaked his combat uniform.
When Zhang Jie's fingertips touched the slide frame, the icy metal sent a shiver down his spine.
The moment his left thumb flicked open the recoil spring guide rod, his right middle finger had already hooked the hammer pin. This was a movement he had practiced thousands of times at John's training base, but the mud mixed with oil made every part unusually slippery.
"Fifteen seconds."
Ross's voice was a bit hoarse.
The veteran had moved behind him at some point, dropping .45ACP bullets one by one into the muddy water, the splashing mud hitting Zhang Jie's hand.
When the last pin clicked into place, Zhang Jie's temples throbbed. He sharply raised his arm to aim, only to find Ross's boot tip pressing on the ejection port.
"Twenty-six seconds." Ross's foot didn't budge. "Do you know why it's not qualified?"
Zhang Jie's Adam's apple bobbed.
Rain dripped from his chin onto the newly assembled Pistol.
"Because you're counting parts." Ross pulled out his custom MEU(SOC), its body gleaming with a matte finish in the dim light. "A true marksman relies on this..."
The veteran's thumb gently stroked the slide serrations, "Tactile memory."
Bang!
The gunshot reverberated, making the corrugated iron roof hum.
The steel target 50 meters away fell in response, the bullet impact precisely piercing the existing bullet hole in the bullseye.
"Now, thirty kilograms of weight."
Ross kicked open the warehouse iron door, and heavy rain immediately poured in horizontally.
On the muddy training ground, red marker tape flapped wildly in the strong wind.
"Cross the minefield, single-hand reload, moving target Shooting. Remember..."
Ross grabbed Zhang Jie's collar, the smell of gunpowder mixed with cigar smoke blowing onto his face, "Every reload is when you are most vulnerable, so..."
Ross abruptly pushed Zhang Jie into the rain: "Be as natural as breathing!"
Zhang Jie stumbled into the mud, the weighted pack straps digging into his shoulders.
When the first marker round exploded three meters in front of him to his left, his right hand had instinctively pressed the magazine release button.
The moment the mud-covered magazine slid out of the grip, his pinky finger hooked the base of the spare magazine.
The heavy rain blurred his vision, but the tactile sensation of metal clashing was incredibly clear at his fingertips.
Just as Ross said, this was no longer an operation but an extension of the body.
Zhang Jie once again found the feeling of training on the training ground. So-called training is nothing more than transforming daily basic skills into instincts etched deep into the muscles, so they can be quickly mobilized when needed, rather than requiring thought.
On the previous training grounds, Zhang Jie was able to quickly master operations with the help of the proficiency panel, but this time he decided to discard these panels and operate entirely based on muscle instinct.
This was more painful than directly looking at the proficiency panel.
Because he didn't know if his every action met the standard or was correct, but precisely because of this, it allowed his muscles to remember it more deeply.
Ross, standing behind, was very satisfied with Zhang Jie's performance. He admitted that Zhang Jie was indeed a genius, but what he appreciated more was Zhang Jie's attitude towards special training.
He did not become arrogant because he was a genius.
Instead, for every action, he would diligently train repeatedly, without the slightest bit of sloppiness.
In contrast, that kid Ling Feng wasn't as hardworking. With his inhuman talent, he could always quickly master the skills they wanted to teach him.
And this precisely created a sense of ethereal detachment between Ling Feng and the others, a feeling of not being quite human, making even them wonder if they had lived so many years in vain.
And this time, in Zhang Jie, he once again found this confidence: "I'm still a top-tier mercenary, a top-tier assassin, damn it!"
Zhang Jie's diligent training also brought about significant improvement. When he completed the training, he saw his proficiency panel had increased by a large margin, which was exactly what he wanted.
And it was exactly what John told him: don't focus on the numerical values you get after Shooting, but engrave that state of Shooting into your instincts.
"Perhaps this is the true meaning of the proficiency panel?"
For this, he began even more intense training. Even without Ross's demands, he would add extra practice for himself.
Completely embedding this captivating feeling into the cells of his body.
He needed to become stronger to face greater crises in the future. In this world of assassins, without skill, one can only wait to be slaughtered.
"This kid is hardworking enough, but a bit stubborn." Ross took a puff of his cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, and watched Zhang Jie still madly doing extra training in the storm, feeling a bit of a headache.
He used to think these geniuses learned too quickly, ignoring this and that, but now he felt that even though this guy was a genius, he was perhaps a bit too hard on himself?
"John, John, what kind of monsters are these disciples you've taken in?"
Looking at Zhang Jie, who was still doing extra training in the storm, Ross became thoroughly envious and jealous.
To have taken in two disciples, and after many years, both are still these genius-level monsters—it's hard not to be jealous!
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