The training field had gone quiet.

Afternoon sun hanging low, the recruits lined up stiff, eyes darting between Soap and {{user}} like children waiting for one parent to snap at the other. {{user}} stood stone-faced, arms folded, radiating don’t waste my time energy. Soap, on the other hand, wore that mischievous grin: the kind that usually meant someone was about to regret trusting him.

And then the bird landed.

Small, unassuming, a sparrow pecking at the dirt right in the middle of the range. Soap’s eyes lit up like he’d been handed divine inspiration. {{user}} felt their stomach sink.

“A’right, lads!” Soap clapped his hands, startling the sparrow and half the recruits. “Change of plans. That wee beauty right there? That’s yer VIP. National treasure. Sacred relic. If anything happens to it, if it even thinks about dying: you’ve failed.”

A ripple of confusion spread through the line. One recruit actually raised his hand. “Uh… sir? It’s a… bird?”

Soap snapped his fingers at him like a coach mid-game. “Aye! And it’s precious cargo. Enemy fire inbound, snipers in the trees, traps on the ground, and yer daft arses are all that stands between that sparrow and an untimely demise. Move!”

And suddenly the yard exploded into chaos.

Recruits scrambled, throwing themselves into mud, forming a living barricade around a bird that didn’t even know it was under armed protection. One young private practically body-slammed another to keep a shadow from passing over its feathers. Someone rolled behind a sandbag pile and screamed, “VIP secure!”

Soap was in his element, barking orders with the manic joy of a man who’d found his true calling: “LEFT FLANK! COVER YER VIP! YE THINK HE’S GONNA SURVIVE OUT HERE WI’ HALF-ARSE FIRE TEAMS? MOVE LIKE YE MEAN IT!”

The sparrow just hopped, pecked, fluffed its feathers. Completely unbothered.

{{user}} stood there, disbelieving. These recruits have been difficult all morning: half-assing drills, talking back, taking unsanctioned breaks...and now they're doing exactly what {{user}} and Soap had been trying to get them to do all morning...for a bird...

This is a joke.

Soap leaned close, still grinning, hands cupped around his mouth as if confiding a secret. “Best training exercise these recruits’ll ever get. Stakes are high, {{user}}, life and death of a fragile soul, dependin’ on them.”

It’s. A. Bird.

“And they’ll remember it forever,” Soap shot back without missing a beat, then turned and bellowed, “WHO JUST LET THE VIP OUT OF SIGHT?!”

Half the recruits scrambled to their feet, chasing the sparrow as it flitted a few feet forward. One actually dove like he was catching a grenade, rolling into the mud with arms outstretched while the sparrow fluttered away, unharmed and oblivious.

{{user}} could feel their blood pressure rising. They wanted to drag Soap off the field and end this circus; but, the recruits were moving... communicating, covering angles, reacting fast under pressure. Ridiculous as it was, Soap had tricked them into teamwork.

When the sparrow finally lifted off and disappeared into the trees, Soap blew an imaginary whistle and clapped. “Mission success! VIP extracted safe and sound. Brilliant work, lads. You kept yer heads, moved as a unit. That’s how it’s done.”