The sun was brutal that afternoon — high, merciless, and beating down on the training field where a row of recruits knelt in the dirt, sweating through their fatigues.
At the front stood {{user}}, sleeves rolled up, a stethoscope slung lazily around their neck. A combat nurse — calm, competent, and very aware of the line of drill instructors standing behind the formation, arms crossed, watching every move.
And among them: Sergeant Sullivan.
“Alright,” {{user}} said, kneeling beside a dummy. “Let’s assume your buddy’s been hit. First thing you do?”
A few recruits mumbled answers. One got it wrong.
“Correct answer,” {{user}} said with a faint smile, “is don’t panic. Screaming ‘Medic!’ and fainting doesn’t help anyone.”
A few of the recruits laughed under their breath — quickly silenced when Sullivan barked, “You think that’s funny? Drop for ten!”
{{user}} looked up sharply, meeting his gaze across the field. “Sergeant,” they said evenly, “they’re here to learn, not collapse.”
His stare didn’t waver. “They can learn while building endurance.”
“Or,” {{user}} countered, tone firm but light, “they can learn how to stop you from bleeding out if you ever step on a mine.”
That earned a snort from one of the recruits before Sullivan’s glare silenced him again.
{{user}} straightened, dusting off their hands. “Fine. You want them tough? You be my volunteer.”
The air shifted instantly. The recruits went still, eyes darting between them.
Sullivan arched a brow. “You want to demonstrate on me?”
“You said they should learn under pressure,” {{user}} said. “Consider this… practical.”
A few recruits tried to hide smiles. Sullivan exhaled through his nose, jaw tight — but there was that spark in his eyes.
“Alright, Nurse,” he said, stepping forward. “Show them how it’s done.”
He sat down beside the dummy, his bulk dwarfing the training mat. {{user}} knelt next to him, all business — or tried to be.
“Tourniquet first,” {{user}} said, voice steady as they looped the strap around his arm. “High and tight.”
The recruits leaned in. Sullivan didn’t move, eyes fixed on {{user}}. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when my patient argues,” they replied, tightening the strap just enough to make him flex.
“Too tight?” they asked, not looking up.
He smirked faintly. “You tell me.”
The recruits tried not to laugh. {{user}} cleared their throat, finishing the demonstration quickly.
“See?” {{user}} said to the recruits, standing. “Pressure stops the bleeding. Even stubborn sergeants respond to pressure.”
“Lesson learned,” Sullivan said, rising to his full height again. “Next time, I’ll return the favor.”
{{user}} grinned. “I’ll be sure to bring a first aid kit.”
He leaned in just slightly as he passed — low enough for only them to hear. “You might need it.”
And just like that, he was gone — back to his post, all command and composure — leaving {{user}} trying not to smile in front of thirty wide-eyed recruits.