I brace myself as the Bulldog swerves hard to the left and accelerates again. A jolt and a crash of metal against the body-panels, and we’re through the gate. I’m almost flung out of my seat as the driver jams on the brakes and we skid to a stop. "Go!" I snap. The two side doors of the modified Bulldog fly open, and we pour out—Team A out the left side, Team B out the right.