Elliot looked to his left. Seven. To his right, eight. He looked at his own M9. The training for the SAS had taken a notch up after the Zachaev incident. He checked his ammo cartridge for the thousandth time as he waited in line to take a shot at the course.
Eventually, it was his turn. He ran through the opening, gun announcing his arrival with its loud fanfare of fire. He immediately took down the initial targets and leapt through the doorway to stage two. He kicked the first target to pop up as he put a bullet in all the other s as they came up. He dashed onto the next area. There was a multitude of moving targets that swirled all around the room. Constantly moving as he'd be taught to, he systematically shot each of them. He then dashed through the exit and ran to the finish.
"Damn, you even beat Gaz's." Said a fellow recruit. Elliot only nodded and waited in line to get his weapon.
After he got all of his gear on, his silver desert eagle, and his red tiger P90, he boarded the helicopter.
A/N: DAMN SHORT!