At 7 AM the next day, the Shooting range was shrouded in a pale blue mist. Jensen paced between the bunkers like a brown bear suffering from insomnia.
The steel studs on his military boots scraped against the concrete, making a grating sound.
Zhang Jie noticed that this big Nordic man seemed a bit agitated.
"Do you know why all snipers are a bunch of obsessive-compulsives?"
Jensen pulled back the camouflage netting, revealing his heavily modified Barrett M82A1. The heat sinks welded to the barrel made this anti-materiel rifle look like something from a wasteland.
Training began with breath control, even though Zhang Jie had already mastered it.
Jensen forced Zhang Jie to hold a glass tube filled with mercury level, with millimeter markings on the wall. "For every heartbeat, the mercury level cannot fluctuate by more than 0.5 millimeters."
During moving target training, Jensen held a half-extinguished cigar in his mouth and poked the anemometer's blades with the tip of his dagger.
"Eight hundred meters, crosswind level 4, moving at 15 kilometers per hour."
He poked Zhang Jie's ribs with the tip of his knife. "Now tell me, how many clicks should your aiming point be off by?"
When Zhang Jie hesitated, the madman directly pulled the trigger, and the bullet kicked up dust three meters to the right of the target.
"The correct answer is: wait for the target to move into a downwind position before Shooting!"
In short, it was all about using the highest demands to torment Zhang Jie.
The afternoon rainforest was enveloped in a thick mist, and the humid air clung to the skin like a sticky film.
To be honest, it was really uncomfortable.
At the edge of the rainforest, in an abandoned rubber factory, the damp air was filled with the smell of mold and rust.
Christmas stood in the center of the factory building, his feet on broken concrete, a sharpened wooden toothpick in his mouth, his eyes as cold as a blade.
Zhang Jie stood opposite him, his tactical uniform soaked with sweat, his breathing slightly rapid.
"Your marksmanship is decent, but your close combat..."
Christmas suddenly moved, almost a blur of speed, delivering a fierce low sweep kick to Zhang Jie's supporting leg. "...is as rotten as dog shit."
Zhang Jie grunted, staggering back, but Christmas had already closed in, his right hand forming a claw, hooking towards his throat.
Zhang Jie instinctively raised his arm to block, but he didn't expect Christmas's left hand to already be gripping his belt, pulling hard.
Bang!
Zhang Jie was slammed hard to the ground, landing on his back, the air squeezed completely out of his lungs.
"First death."
Christmas looked down at him, a cold sneer on his lips. "In real close combat, 0.5 seconds of hesitation is enough to die three times."
Christmas pulled a short stick from his tactical belt and threw it to Zhang Jie.
"British SAS close combat lesson one: control the distance." He took two steps back, adopting a fighting stance. "Too far, you can't hit anyone; too close, you can't dodge a knife."
Zhang Jie gripped the short stick and tentatively thrust forward.
Christmas dodged sideways, his right hand darting out like a venomous snake, clamping onto his wrist, his thumb pressing hard on the radial nerve.
"Ah!" Zhang Jie's fingers instantly went numb, and the short stick fell from his grasp.
"Second death." Christmas released him, shaking his wrist. "Your attack intention is too obvious, your movements are as stiff as a textbook."
He bent down, picked up the short stick, and twirled it in his palm.
"Again."
This time, Christmas gave Zhang Jie no time to react.
He lunged forward, his right fist aimed directly at Zhang Jie's face.
Zhang Jie instinctively raised his arm to block, but he didn't expect Christmas's fist to change direction mid-way, turning into a claw, gripping his elbow joint, his thumb jamming hard into the olecranon fossa.
Crack!
"Ah—!" Zhang Jie's elbow joint was locked, and the intense pain instantly brought him to his knees.
"Third death." Christmas released him, shaking his fingers. "Close combat isn't about who's stronger, it's about who can disable the opponent's joints faster."
He squatted down, gripping Zhang Jie's wrist, his thumb pressing on the ulnar styloid process.
"Here, press down, and the whole arm is useless."
"Here..." His fingertip slid to Zhang Jie's collarbone. "An elbow strike here can make you unable to breathe."
"And here..." He tapped Zhang Jie's temple. "A palm-heel strike here can send you straight to God."
Zhang Jie's breathing gradually steadied, his eyes becoming focused.
Christmas stood up, a cold sneer on his face.
"Now, try to touch me."
The abandoned machinery of the rubber factory became the best training ground.
Christmas moved like a ghost among the rusty steel frames, Zhang Jie in hot pursuit.
"Close combat isn't a ring, there are no rules." Christmas's voice came from the shadows. "Walls, iron pipes, broken glass, all can be deadly."
Zhang Jie had just turned a corner when Christmas suddenly leaped from a steel beam above, his knee slamming hard into his shoulder.
Zhang Jie barely managed to turn sideways, but he was still grazed, stumbling and crashing into a nearby iron cabinet.
"Fourth death." Christmas's voice sounded in his ear. "Are you f***ing walking without looking up?"
Zhang Jie gritted his teeth, suddenly grabbing a rusted wrench from the ground and slamming it at Christmas.
Christmas dodged his head, but Zhang Jie had already closed in, his left hand gripping his tactical vest, his right knee slamming into his groin.
Christmas reacted even faster. He twisted his waist sharply, his right hand forming a claw, hooking towards Zhang Jie's throat, while simultaneously retreating his left leg for a sweep kick.
Bang!
Zhang Jie was brought down again, but this time, his wrench had cut a gash in Christmas's tactical uniform.
Christmas looked down at the torn fabric, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Finally, some progress."
The twilight light streamed through the broken windows. Christmas stood in the center of the factory, toying with a training dagger in his hand.
"Last time." He threw the dagger to Zhang Jie. "Within three seconds, either you take me down, or I disable you."
Zhang Jie caught the dagger, taking a deep breath.
Christmas moved.
His speed was even faster than before, his right fist aimed directly at Zhang Jie's throat. Zhang Jie instinctively raised his arm to block, but Christmas's left hand had already gripped his wrist, his thumb pressing hard on a nerve point.
But this time, Zhang Jie didn't let go.
He suddenly lowered his head, his forehead slamming hard into Christmas's nose, while simultaneously thrusting his right knee into his crotch.
Christmas was forced to retreat, but Zhang Jie's dagger was already at his carotid artery.
Time seemed to freeze.
Christmas stared into Zhang Jie's eyes, then suddenly smiled.
"Finally, you're like a warrior."
He took a step back, spitting out the wooden toothpick from his mouth.
"Remember, close combat isn't a performance, it's killing."
"Next time, I hope you can survive more than three seconds."
To be honest, the short two-day special training had already made Zhang Jie feel like he was in agony. Every day he was exhausted, falling asleep the moment he touched the bed.
But it must be said, Zhang Jie's ability to withstand pressure was truly strong. Even under such high-pressure training, Zhang Jie was able to quickly grasp and integrate everything, and his skills had improved tremendously.
And for the next 4 days, it was the same, a constant daily cycle.
Under such high-intensity, high-pressure training, Zhang Jie actually gritted his teeth and endured, which shocked everyone.
Even a psychopath like Jensen couldn't help but praise Zhang Jie's willpower and resilience.
Seven days later, the heavy rain stopped, and sunlight pierced through the clouds.
In the morning, Zhang Jie sprang out of bed like a coiled spring, but what greeted his eyes were six burly men standing by his bed.
"Alright, rookie, you've graduated!"
Ross threw a Sacrifice Squad badge to Zhang Jie, still stained with mud and blood.
"Welcome to hell."
Zhang Jie gripped the badge. Over these six days, he had walked a path paved with the lingering flames of explosions, spent bullet casings, and six of the world's craziest teachers.
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