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Fit for Full Duty
The squad moved like wraiths in the woods of their new mountain home. Their only light was that of the stars, and the thin silver sliver of the moon. Pine trees hugged each other close, providing ample space for hostiles to hide. In this new world, where men could kill with just a thought and a glance, the only way to survive on the battlefield was to be invisible. Not that that had ever been a problem for SUBGRU.

It'd taken months and multiple surgeries to heal after that fog monster chose to throw Andrew through a window. Plate glass was hard, and humans were squishy. Half the bones in Andrew's legs were replaced with titanium rods, and if it weren't for the ultrasonic therapy he'd have lost all his muscle mass to boot. The crunch of the soil under his boots, and the weight of a weapon in his hands felt good. He was back, doing what he was made to do.

This was a training mission. Andrew wasn't the only psychokinetic that JSOC had picked up. They were popping up all across the military, and regardless of their previous rating or MOS they were all sent to the same place. Camp Hoover was a top secret military installation located in eastern Idaho's Salmon-Challis national forest. The base wasn't so deep into the mountains as to be inaccessible, but it was out-of-the-way enough that only a few hunters and hikers had come across it.

Many historians would point to the moment when a television personality wiped hundreds of Jihadis off the face of the Earth as the moment when war changed forever. Andrew knew different. The moment war changed was when he got locked in that box. The first act of that change was the assassination of several members of the Custody's Task Force Vega. With those stolen uniforms, six men kicked off a rebellion that killed millions and drained billions of dollars from the Custody's coffers. It's a shame that that al-Hasan asshole isn't still around,
Koehler thought, He could've done a lot more.

The war game was simple. Eight squads were dropped in various places around a ten mile squared grid. Each had one psychokinetic member, and the last squad with their PK alive would be the victors. Andrew had learned quickly that holding his power at the ready would only serve as a beacon to draw in other PK's. Unfortunately for the final opposing squad, their PK hadn't gotten the message.

"Contact, five o'clock. Three hundred meters."
Koehler whispered the message, and the squad redirected. Normally, this range would be ideal for engagement with small arms, but the trees and the simulated munitions didn't lend themselves well to combat at too far a distance.

So, they stalked. Koehler assumed the other squad were relying on their PK's enhanced senses to pick out movement before any enemies could get too close. Unfortunately for them, he was wearing his helmet. The most sensitive ears in the world are useless when they're listening through a speaker. The eyes of an eagle can still only see the resolution of the screen they're watching.

The other PK was careful, and quiet. If it weren't for his power, Koehler never would have spotted him. Things being as they were, Koehler raised his rifle and took a shot. The luminescent chalk round popped open on contact, giving Koehler's target a nice bright hit marker. Psychokinesis was useful, but it didn't stop bullets. The fucker thought he was invincible because he could blow shit up with his mind.

It only took a second for the message to come in from Hoover Actual. "Congratulations, Koehler. You're fit for full duty. Rest up, son. I'm putting you on a plane for Africa tomorrow."

Edited by Andrew Koehler, Aug 14 2016, 01:13 PM.

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