The sandbag landed outside the target zone.


    Keith frowned, then took another sandbag from the crate, lifted it outside the cabin, and said, “1,500 feet, second drop, ready—”


    “Ground ready,” Du Preez confirmed.


    “Three—two—one—”


    Another sandbag dropped from the sky, raising a cloud of dust upon impact.


    “Missed.” Du Preez''s voice reported again, bringing more disappointment.


    Over the next fifteen minutes, they dropped all the sandbags from the crate, but none of the dozen or so sandbags hit the target.


    Keith instructed Sien to land the helicopter and then took out a measuring wheel, pacing back and forth between the sandbags and the target zone.


    The measurements showed that all the sandbags were skewed to one side, with distances from the edge of the target zone ranging from 25 to 35 feet. Calculating from the center of the target zone as the aiming point, the margin of error exceeded 60 feet. Frustrated, Keith decided to cancel the planned 2,000-foot drop test and told Du Preez to pack up.


    While Du Preez was busy rolling up the white cloth strips that marked the target area, Sien removed his noise-canceling headphones and approached Keith.


    “Boss, I might not fully understand what you''re trying to do something, but I think I have a way to reduce the throwing errors,” Sien said.


    Keith looked at him and asked, “What’s your idea?”


    “From the fact that all the drops skewed in the same direction, it’s clear that the sandbags were affected by external factors like crosswinds or airflow, causing them to miss the target.”


    “I considered that,” Keith replied with a frown. “But I checked the weather report, and today’s wind speed is only Level 1. It shouldn’t cause such a large deviation.”


    “You’re mistaken,” Sien continued. “I’m not talking about that. Anyone who has ever flown in a helicopter gondola knows that it shakes extremely hard when approaching the fuselage. I think the sandbag you throw will deviate from the target for this reason.”


    “Hmm,” Keith responded, half understanding.


    “When a helicopter is in flight, the rotor wash flows downward at an angle along the sides of the fuselage, creating asymmetric turbulence on both sides. Your throwing position is at the left cabin door, which is susceptible to drafts.” Sien explained.


    Keith''s frown eased, and he asked, “What’s your solution?”


    “It’s simple,” Sien replied. “Move the throwing position to the tail.”


    “So we’d need to remove the tail door?” Keith glanced toward the rear of the cabin, eyeing the double-hinged door.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “Exactly,” Sien confirmed. “The Mi-17’s tail door is below the tail boom, where the rotor wash splits and flows downward on both sides, avoiding asymmetric turbulence.”


    “Good,” Keith nodded. “Let’s pack up and head back. We’ll remove the tail door and run another drop test.” He paused and raised his voice, “If this works, I’ll give you a 10,000 rand bonus. Any suggestions that get used will be rewarded.”


    As the helicopter carrying Keith and Du Preez returned to Wonderboom Airport, Semler was busy drilling the black soldiers.


    The stress resilience training had entered its second day. After spending the previous day shooting targets under the sound of blank rounds, the soldiers had grown accustomed to the noise, and their shooting scores had significantly improved to near standard levels. Impressed by their adaptability, Semler decided to revise the training plan, replacing the scheduled 50-meter half-body target shooting with more advanced interference training.


    This training method, which Semler had learned during his time at “Aegis Defense” and previously used in the Congo, was simple: shooting under various distractions. The instructors employed different methods to disrupt the shooters, who had to stay focused and accurately hit their targets while following orders. To motivate the trainees, Semler devised a reward-and-penalty system—each missed shot or failure to follow commands would result in a $10 deduction from their pay, while the top three performers would receive a $200 bonus.


    The system had an immediate effect. Upon hearing that their performance would directly impact their earnings, the soldiers were suddenly much more motivated. To dispel complaints such as “unfamiliarity with the rules affecting performance,” the order of trainees was determined by drawing lots.


    Samler loaded the AMD-65 loaded with blank ammunition with a sharp “clack",and shouted in Portuguese to the black soldier standing at the shooting line, “Ready—”


    The fully armed soldier raised his AR-S and nodded firmly.


    “Fogo!”


    The soldier leaped over the shooting line and charged toward the center of the range, with Semler close behind. When they reached the middle, Semler suddenly shouted, “First row, second from the left!”


    The soldier halted and aimed his rifle at the target.


    “Tat-tat—” He fired a two-round burst. Before he could reset, Semler kicked the back of his knee, sending him sprawling to the ground.


    “What the hell are you doing?” Semler roared. “Ten push-ups, now!”


    Without hesitation, the soldier placed his rifle on the ground and began doing push-ups. Semler fired blank rounds into the dirt, raising clouds of dust.


    When the soldier reached his eighth push-up, Semler kicked his supporting wrist, making him collapse face-first into the dirt.


    “Get up, get up now, you worthless mutt! Over here!” More shouts and gunfire followed.


    The soldier grabbed his rifle and scrambled to his feet, running toward Semler.


    “Smack—” He received a slap that sent him back to the ground.


    “Don’t look at me!” Semler shouted, landing a kick to the soldier’s midsection. “Your rifle’s out of ammo, idiot!”


    The soldier quickly ejected the magazine and pulled a spare from his tactical vest, loading it while being bombarded with insults and surrounded by clouds of dust from blank fire.


    “Crouch! Now!” Semler slapped the back of his head and pointed to a target 25 meters away. “The enemy’s over there.” He then lowered his rifle and fired at the ground behind the soldier, enveloping them in smoke.


    “What the hell are you doing?”


    The soldier, who had just raised his rifle to aim, was shoved to the ground again. Semler yelled, “This isn’t some damn shooting game! They’re here to kill you! Take them out!” He followed up with a kick to the soldier’s rear as he tried to get up.


    Covered in dust, the soldier gritted his teeth, picked up his rifle, and continued firing at the target, enduring the shouting and clouds of smoke until his magazine was empty.


    After the training, Semler walked back to the shooting line with the soldier and addressed the group of black soldiers standing there.


    “I know you all hate me right now. But that doesn’t matter,” he said. “The ones you need to kill are them.” He paused, turning to point at the distant targets and shouted, “Remember this: you are going to war. Your job is to kill those bastards. Treat every enemy as if they were your worst foe and put your bullets through their heads, rip open their guts, and blast their insides apart with your gun!”