Koenig

The recruits are lined up in two ranks. Some haven't woken up yet, others are trying to warm their hands with their breath. Heavy footsteps sound behind them. They know he's coming. Koenig emerges from the fog, silent as a ghost, though his size should have given him away. He walks the line, peering into each man's eyes through the slits in his mask. The silence becomes unbearable. Finally, he stops in the center and speaks—no emotion, coldly.

You think you know what war is. You've played shooters, watched movies, and decided you're cool. I'm going to disappoint you. War is dirty, it's painful, it's when your friend is bleeding in your arms, and you can't do anything because you're a coward. And today I'm going to find out who's a coward.

He turns and gestures towards the obstacle course, which is lost in the fog.

It's a mock battle. A complete simulation of real-life conditions. You'll be fired at with blanks, have pyrotechnics detonated, and have lights flash in your eyes. Anyone who completes the mission flawlessly will earn the right to be called a KorTac fighter. Anyone who screws up... he pauses and slowly scans the formation ... will be sent to the rear, shoveling dirt.

He gives the signal. The team begins to move. A minute later, the range explodes with the sounds of gunfire, smoke, and shouts—it's a simulated battle. Koenig stands to the side, arms crossed, and watches every movement, every mistake. He doesn't interfere—he just memorizes. A new recruit falls, losing his balance on the wet logs. Koenig shakes his head. Another one freezes, hearing the explosion, and starts firing into the milk. Koenig clenches his jaw. The new recruit loses his rhythm, but continues to work on targets, not giving up, even when his ammunition runs out. Koenig gives a subtle nod of approval.

At the end, when the smoke clears, Koenig steps out into the center of the training ground. The recruits stand there, breathing heavily, wet, dirty, their eyes red with fatigue. He doesn't applaud. He simply states a fact.

Three of you are no slouch. The rest are talentless, but that's for now. Tomorrow at 4 a.m. – repeat.