NOVEL WEB Chapter 525
It was a time of farewell and separation.
Yesterday and today said their goodbyes, and connection and unity scattered far and wide.
Every moment was filled with suffocating silence. The mask protected people from infectious diseases but also muffled the cries rising from deep within.
Daily life flailed aimlessly like a lonely wave, desperately searching for its lost ordinariness. Yet no one dared to hold the conviction that we could ever return to the way things were.
In the breathless silence echoed the hollow outcry of an era.
In this age, what could be cut was cut, and what could be hidden was stuffed under the carpet.
We were now passing through such a time.
—
Side Episode – Razor Blade and Broom
Since the noticeable decrease in COVID-19 cases, the lifting of gathering bans that had been creeping in was officially confirmed.
Masks were now saying goodbye.
The daily life that had been on hold for three years began to surge once more, perhaps due to the repressed backlash and compensation psychology, rising back up in less than a year.
However, even as daily life gradually returned, the world was suffering from severe economic issues and military conflicts.
Before the pain of the epidemic had even subsided, the world shook with blood and tears in a paradoxical situation.
Ironically, my daily life was exceedingly peaceful.
“Hey. Check this out.”
While I was scooping some contents from the dolsot (stone pot), my colleague, who was staring at his smartphone, shoved the screen in my face.
It was Al-Jazeera.
Even with just a glance at the small iPhone video, I could tell it belonged to the Qatari state broadcaster. The signature Al-Jazeera logo brightly adorned the lower left corner.
I paused stirring the dolsot and carefully watched the video.
The subject of the heavily pixelated video, taking up over 70% of the screen, was a man.
He was firing shells somewhere with a USSR-made mortar set up on a terrace.
As the mortar shook a couple of times, I quickly guessed the man’s identity.
“It’s a Hamas member.”
“You recognized him? How did you know?”
“The strap tied to the mortar.”
There was a strap, green with white Arabic script, tied between the legs and body of the USSR-made mortar. It was an item that unmistakably indicated Hamas affiliation.
And wasn’t the broadcasting agency also Al-Jazeera?
“They’ve been running stories mainly on Israel lately. If they’re wearing civilian clothes and firing mortars, it’s most certainly Hamas.”
Since the conflict between Israel and the Palestinian militant group Hamas had erupted, Al-Jazeera had relentlessly criticized the Israeli government.
One should bend one’s elbow inward. For Al-Jazeera, the Qatari state broadcaster, it was only natural to lean more towards Palestine than Israel, a Jewish state. (For the record, Qatar is an Islamic country.)
And Israel must be acting extremely hard-handed.
The junior who was splitting a fried chicken wing chimed in with a small voice.
“Last year, an Al-Jazeera correspondent was killed during an IDF (Israel Defense Forces) airstrike. The atmosphere in Doha has been quite bad ever since.”
“Doha? How do you know about that?”
“I have a friend working in Doha. It’s already his second year.”
“Sounds like he’s quite dedicated to be working there in just two years.”
A colleague from Busan glanced at the junior in the adjacent seat, poking him with questions.
He was the kind of guy who looked like a bear, and ever since the discipline officer teased him asking, “Did you come down from Jirisan, not Busan?” he had always been called ‘Moon Bear.’ Additionally, the junior next to him was nicknamed ‘Parrot.’
Now, his nickname didn’t come from being cute like a parrot. It arose from a remarkable answer he gave when asked what his hobbies were during an interview: “Watching parrot videos.”
(For reference, the person who heard that answer was so flabbergasted he could say nothing.)
“With Israel and Palestine brawling incessantly, there’s no chance of a breeze taking a break. How does the Middle East keep on fighting like this?”
The bear-like Moon Bear and Parrot, collectively known as the ‘Furry Duo,’ quickly turned the peaceful lunch table into chaos.
As the employees gathered around the table began to speak up one by one, the surroundings quickly became noisy.
“Wasn’t the Middle East like this from a long time ago? Where is the original one-two? If you’re in charge, you better start adapting slowly.”
“I’m Persian, you know. How dare you attach these Arab scraps to me? Do I look like a Persian Empire to you?”
“Isn’t Eastern Europe just as chaotic? Moscow and Kyiv, and I’ve heard things are also spiraling in Yerevan and Baku lately.”
“Are those Azerbaijan guys at it again? It’s been calm since ’22.”
“My friend is out on business in Nouméa, and I’m worried. The rumors from the Paris office aren’t good, you know? The field reports are also bleak.”
“At least that place is better than Beijing. Can’t you see those guys acting up again? They really take the cake.”
The world is truly a bizarre place.
The disputes between Israel and Palestine, Russia and Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Armenia… it’s a frenzy of everyone wanting to eat each other alive.
With familiar topics surfacing, the employees let loose their voices, making the room buzz with conversation. Regardless, I quietly waited for the chatter to die down while nibbling at my bulgogi.
As serious as military conflict issues are, in today’s 21st century, talk of war simply becomes a fleeting novelty that flits by the screen.
No matter the international situation, in the end, they’re all stories from distant lands.
Those once-thrilling tidbits that had stirred the globe are long cooled off.
Just like the missile launch tests (throwing waste into the East Sea) that couldn’t even make it to the Naver news screen.
Even the company’s employees showed no interest.
As expected, the hot topic brought in by my colleague was ultimately overshadowed by news of a celebrity’s comeback from the TV in the hangover soup restaurant.
“Oh? Hey! Lee Song-ha’s comeback is confirmed.”
“Really? How many years has it been since her last comeback?”
“When was Lee Song-ha even? I’d rather prefer Baek Seol-ha or Jo Ah-ra. Don’t you think so, Team Leader?”
“Has it been about seven years since she went off the radar? Time flies.”
“Stop echoing like an old man, eat your meal. Don’t make excuses about your hand shaking in the afternoon again.”
“What kind of talk is that?”
“I remember you whining about your hand shaking when you couldn’t work after not having eaten during the last month’s communications duty, when you got scolded in front of the manager.”
“Ugh…!”
In the blink of an eye, the subject had shifted yet again, diving headfirst into a stream-of-consciousness discourse.
“Everyone’s into NVIDIA. They’re hot right now.”
“I can’t because I’ve already lost money.”
“How’d you lose money?”
“It’s Intel.”
—
Stock market talk.
“Who’s going on vacation this time?”
“That would be me.”
“Oh~ Dong-wook is finally taking a vacation after six months? I’m jealous! Congrats!”
—
Talk about vacation.
“By the way, did you hear about the dispatch to Japan for Jisoo?”
“Really? I didn’t hear anything. Where is she going?”
“To Tokyo. They say it’s for the embassy.”
“Nice life! Make sure to bring back a girlfriend. Definitely bring her back.”
“2D or 3D?”
“Are you crazy?”
“…I almost forgot. But don’t bring this up in front of Manager Choi. He’s not in a good mood right now.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“He got rejected.”
“Wasn’t that the second time? Sigh… In the end, he’s going to be a major forever.”
—
Talk about promotions and so on.
Nothing particularly special transpires when the employees gather.
In the monotonous cycle of everyday life, something special is as rare as a meteor striking your head.
My daily life was filled with utterly insignificant ordinariness.
—
Each day always starts with fatigue.
“I don’t want to go to work.”
Waking after three hours and fifty-three minutes of sleep, I hoped maybe a meteor might have fallen from the universe, but it was already a gloomy morning.
Today, too, I grumbled while entering the bathroom, cursing the sun—an unimaginably powerful cosmic slave that hadn’t taken a break even once during billions of years.
Getting ready for work is just a rushed wash-up and throwing myself into civilian clothes; the routine ends the moment I put a tie around my neck. But the real challenge is the act of going to work itself.
“Excuse me! I’m coming through!”
The road to the bus stop near the office is far and perilous. First, braving the crowded rush hour is a task in itself just to catch public transport.
The bus, packed like an Indian plane, is dangerously claustrophobic, filled with sweat from the passengers. The kind of children, backpacks on their backs, are misbehaving like they learned their manners from MapleStory.
Then there’s the middle-aged man yelling at me to move, the elderly loudly chatting on their phones, and the patrons who unceremoniously hog the entrance seats—all of them add to the perilous conditions.
After an intense hour and twelve minutes of maneuvering through this physical hell, I finally arrive at the office.
“Ugh…”
Sighing in relief at the sight of the office, I head straight to the GS convenience store next door.
I grab some bread and milk on my National Love Card (bonus discounts) to substitute for breakfast that I skipped due to the rush, along with snacks for work, and a pack of cigarettes that dropped when I was on duty yesterday.
After tossing everything onto the checkout counter, I glance at the clock while the clerk feverishly scans the barcodes—07:19.
After leaving the convenience store with a relaxed mind, I greet the guard at the building entrance.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Yes~ Have a great day!”
With bags in hand, I say goodbye to the 1st floor employee, swipe my RFID entrance card, chat for a moment, then slowly head to the office. After a quick smoke with the other employees, I settle into my partitioned desk.
The Ministry of Defense clock ticks ominously as my day begins.
“Oh, it’s cold.”
“Hey! Jong-hun, hurry up, why are you so slow?”
“I’m on it. I’ll do it right away.”
“Okay. Make sure to do your calisthenics properly today, or I’ll just yank your spine out.”
—
Ignoring the shout of the director scolding a wayward junior, I synchronize my movements for the calisthenics.
As always, morning calisthenics felt just like morning calisthenics. The difference today being that we’re doing it seated at our desks, unlike in field units.
Crack, thud, pop, the sound of bones and joints protesting is unmistakable. Ouch! Ahh! Oof! Groans erupt from different corners.
In disbelief of those sounds coming from human bodies, I realize the older officers must have consumed two bowls of rice cake soup when they were younger, because they were blurring out the most peculiar comments: “Ahh, how refreshing—this feels great!” (For reference, these people are still in their 30s and 40s.)
Having genuflected as discretely as possible at the back row, I finally finish the calisthenics.
Once the situation report is completed, it’s officially work time now.
When it comes to work, it’s mostly the same ol’ administrative tasks we do every day.
“Where’s the personnel officer? Where did you hide him?”
“The personnel officer is in the bathroom.”
“What! This guy is impossible to find when needed.”
“I’ll deliver a message when he returns. Is it okay if I guide you to his office?”
“Sure.”
—
“Who was in charge of the Vietnamese translation?”
“That would be Private Soon-jae-hak. Should I call him over?”
“Oh, wait, bring him here.”
“Yes, sir! Did you summon me?”
“Yes, you here? Can you translate a few documents for me?”
“Um… but wasn’t that the duty of Sergeant Kwon? Heir who does Vietnamese much better than I do.”
“He’s on vacation. The only other person who can translate right now in the office is you. And you’re attending a language school, aren’t you? In the Vietnamese department, right?”
“I’m just a freshman.”
“Okay, keep up the good work. I’ll always support you.”
—
“Team Leader? I accidentally input the wrong figures in this document—what should I do?”
“What would you like me to do? Fix it.”
“The submission deadline is today at 11 AM. It has to be sent to the National Assembly…”
“…You idiot, can’t you, a captain, prepare one document correctly? You should’ve checked that beforehand! We’ll talk later.”
—
“What are you looking at?”
“Stocks.”
“This idiot is trading stocks at work? Which ones did you buy?”
“NVIDIA. Their stock prices are exploding these days. You should buy some before it’s too late.”
“I’m too scared to do that. I might get caught during security checks. Just be careful not to attract the Executive Director’s attention.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a rookie anymore. You can relax.”
—
“Hey, how’s the preparation for the sports day going for everyone?”
“Yes, we’re preparing well.”
“Good, good. Let’s achieve great results in this sports day! Showcase how united our unit is. Alright?”
“Yes! We’ll do our best!”
“Um…senior? But we’re completely flooded with work, do we really need to prep for the sports day?”
“I don’t know either. Why is this all on me?”
—
“I heard a senior is going to the measurement office and they acquired new equipment.”
“Equipment? What kind?”
“Ultra-Low Frequency Thingamajig, and the performance is top-notch. It sounds really impressive.”
“Ah… I should’ve gone into signal analysis instead. Why did I end up with human intelligence? If only I could lounge around the office.”
“Uh, that senior is currently on a deserted island…”
“Really? Why would they go there?”
“It seems the collection site is in a remote area. A few eavesdropping locations are in remote areas, right?”
“That’s why everyone decides to leave.”
—
“Have you seen the director? I have an urgent report, but I can’t find him anywhere…”
“Director? No one has seen him.”
“Um… why don’t you check behind the mountain? He mentioned going there to check some aralia the other day.”
“It might not be aralia—he was flying a drone when I saw him leaving work.”
—
Of course, it’s not all work with breaks here and there as well.
If you live life only doing work, aren’t you just a machine?
When I ascend to the outdoor smoking area, a few colleagues huddle around to greet me.
“Hey, why is this tasteless mugwort tea in front of me? You look like a servant going to catch a rich master’s servant, but your taste is somehow upper class.”
“What about you? What do you think you are? Aaren’t you the guy who boils instant coffee even when on rotation in Georgetown?”
“Putting on quite a show there, aren’t you? How do you guys smoke and not just inhale, but puff all the smoke out?”
“That’s because you’re the one with the air purifier. You’re the one who eats all the smoke—salute.”
“Oh, were you all here?”
“Yes, Executive Director. We just had a quick smoke.”
“Alright. Hurry, smoke up and get back to work. And if anyone has extra cigarettes, please give me one.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. We’re all empty.”
“…Alright, I understand.”
—
After wasting time in the smoking area, when I run into a superior who brought coffee with ESSA Change (sail), we instinctively flee up the stairs.
“Wow, that was close.”
I sighed in relief and quickly licked my lips.
As we shuffled together back down to the office, we nudged a few drinks and lightheartedly exchanged banter.
“Hey. What’s for lunch today?”
“Chicken!”
—
Then comes the highly anticipated meal time.
When that time hits, the beasts hidden away in the forest of partitions surge out and leap into the cafeteria.
Though the taste of rationed meal doesn’t change much, the company’s food is outsourced, maintaining good quality depending on the supply officer’s interest, and is generally better than the military’s sporadic provisions.
Of course, the menu like chicken is served under strict proportions, but the military is a rigid status system.
“It’s not allowed. It’s two per person.”
No matter how much they try controlling portions, the soldiers unable to bear the pressure occasionally turn the situation into a reverse miracle, leaving latecomers to fill their stomachs with yesterday’s leftovers or terrible soup.
As soon as lunch hour kicks in, we charge out through the partition forests into the cafeteria.
Among them, the Special Forces member’s sprint is a sight to behold. Not even a skillful martial artist could keep up with his overwhelming strength.
But what’s this?
“What is this?”
“Hey, they said chicken. This doesn’t look like chicken at all. It looks like a pigeon.”
“Did you sneak out to the park to catch a pigeon while we were being served? Why is this chicken so tiny?”
“…Is this really chicken? It looks like coal.”
—
With high hopes of what was presumed chicken, we were met with some identity crisis of ‘chicken’ somewhere between a famine-stricken Ireland and a mere lump of coal.
We witnessed the tragic fate of our fastest friend from the Special Forces – the once silver food tray, now heaped with coal.
In a panic, we threw aside our plates and fled to the convenience store, erasing all memories of chicken with frozen and noodle meals and the divine convenience store bento.
After patting our bloated stomachs by facepalming our sobbing colleague, we took a smoking break on the rooftop before heading back to the office where the afternoon workload awaited me.
—
“Excuse me. Did you just say that? …No, we agreed on the 14th. There’s no way you can just change it on us now.”
“Why are you upset?”
“Ugh… Do you remember the folks we met to exchange information? They said we had to finalize it by midnight today, and when I contacted them, they had forgotten all about it.”
“I can’t believe the insanity. Hang in there.”
“I have a headache….”
—
“Where did the manager go?”
“At the headquarters. There’s a meeting today.”
“The workshop just sent over a report. I need to give it to you; what should I do?”
“Just hand it to me, I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.”
—
“What’s that other office doing having a meeting for over four hours?”
“I’m not sure, but it seems there has been an accident reported from the field. They received a call from the NID.”
“If it’s Yeongju, it’s probably something in Eastern Europe… it better not be anything serious.”
—
“By the way, regarding the report I sent over from the workshop earlier… MIC (Ministry of Information and Communication) has been accompanying the deployed units for publicity, and some radar has detected something.”
“There’s a possibility of an infiltrator among the local volunteers?”
“That’s what the officers were leaning toward.”
“Let’s dig into it at the workshop and call if anything seems off. Sigh… another headache. Africa, let’s take a break already….”
“With you speaking English, Arabic, French, and Swahili, it’s funny to hear you say that…”
“Please, keep it down, colleague.”
“Such a fussy creature. Someone please shove chocolate into that guy’s mouth.”
—
Every day a new incident breaks out with piles of paperwork. As I get tossed back and forth, the desire to quit grows stronger by the minute, but it quickly fades.
As quitting time approaches, my lips involuntarily curl into a grin that’s hard to contain. With a heartbeat racing, I hope today will be uneventful, and it seems like a miracle happens where I pack my bag earlier than usual.
Of course, not everyone is that lucky.
“Manager Joo has reported that something urgent has come up today. We’re checking if anyone can switch shifts.”
“What do you mean suddenly? Everything’s been scheduled already.”
“Something unexpected happened. Please understand.”
“Everyone has their circumstances.”
“Actually, his daughter’s water broke earlier than expected, so they’re on their way to the ER. Just got word from his wife, and Manager Joo is currently discussing with the chief.”
“…Hmm.”
“Oh, trash, that’s foul.”
“It can’t be helped. You go on duty today.”
“Didn’t he say he would be celebrating with his girlfriend for three months? We’re in big trouble…”
“…I’ll take the shift for today. Please let the manager know.”
—
As someone who’s been called in to cover.
“Hey, what are you doing there?”
“Ah… nothing at all.”
“Wait. Did you just cry?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why? Why are you crying, you grown man?”
“…Well, I just picked up a stray cat while staying in the barracks, and the squad leader caught me. So I just got chewed out.”
“Hey… how can you keep a street cat in the barracks? It could carry diseases.”
“I had it all vaccinated and checked.”
“Still, you shouldn’t, man. But you, too, like getting caught. How strange it is that the squad leader allows a dog, while a cat is prohibited. Even making kids walk the dog for exercise. Tsk tsk… wipe your tears and follow me. I ordered chicken, so eat and sleep.”
—
Or someone living in the barracks.
“Cho Sung-woo. Your phone’s ringing.”
“Team Leader Jo! Get back to the office quickly.”
“Did you mean the office…?”
“Yes! Haven’t you been searching everywhere?!”
“I just got off shift, so why the hurry?”
—
A fellow brought back to work after quitting.
Well, nothing special really. Isn’t military life almost alike everywhere?
This is where people live their lives, and nothing is particularly special.
—
“Quack—quack!”
“….”
“Um, Sir? Should I wake the officers?”
“Leave them alone. They just had two chicken thighs and pushed the chair all the way back to sleep; why should I wait for them?”
“Quack—”
“But isn’t it handsome?”
“Yes.”
“Was that on the desk?”
“…Yes.”
“Such nonsense.”
—
Struggling soldiers enjoying chicken and precious sleep on duty were met with a bewildered officer.
—
“Yeah!”
“Really?!”
“Yes! I made it to lieutenant colonel!”
“Wow, congratulations!”
—
Someone overjoyed at getting promoted.
—
“Oh! Lieutenant Park passed round two? Heaven showers down, shower down! How about we get some drinks to celebrate your promotion today?”
“…….”
“…….”
“Wait, what?”
“…No! I’ll book a nice place for us!”
—
Or a superior generically congratulating someone and someone not making it, but celebrating over drinks.
—
“Have the employees been contacted yet?”
“…Not yet.”
“I’ve asked everyone to report within the hour, and it’s over 40 minutes—where are all these kids!? Are you a lieutenant who can’t even manage one subordinate properly?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you have any team members on vacation?”
“No vacation, no leave, all present.”
“But can these kids be in a jumped-up position or what?”
“I’ll check and bring them here, right away.”
“20 minutes left. If they don’t get here on time, they better get ready!”
“Got it. I’ll get to it right away.”
“…….”
“…For heaven’s sake.”
—
Some people leaping over rivers as they work hard to start businesses.
—
“Hey, the smell of pig’s feet is intense everywhere. Open a window and let some air in.”
“We’d love to, but we don’t have a window.”
“Open the door, man. You’re what, people only come in? Your mouth has room for solid, liquid, and gas—all kinds of things can get in there, for goodness’ sake. What’s with this annoying guy?”
—
Some folks have a bit of a holdup.
—
“Hey, hey. Why does this security app never run right? Why isn’t the beacon detecting?”
“It needs network connection? Hey! This is the middle of Busan; how’s there no connection?! Argh, I’m going nuts over this.”
“Latest update… don’t even ask. Ugh.”
—
Those having breakdowns because of the security app are just a jest.
—
“…Planning to depart, huh? Hey, can you say that in front of your seniors? If you’re discharged, how do you plan to survive?”
“I’ll take the 7th-grade public exam at the NIS (National Intelligence Service).”
“Oh wow, so you’ve been reading about NIAT? That’s something to boast about.”
“Next up is the military intelligence Level 6 public exam prep for anyone~”
“…Shut it, kid. Regardless, why the hell are you discharging?”
“I don’t see any prospects for promotion.”
“Working as a civil servant is still the easiest job, right? Honestly, the NIS looks considerably better than our company.”
“Oh, that’s just because it’s a national intelligence agency. And what else?”
“As far as I can think of it, I don’t think this job suits me. I want to try out somewhere else in society.”
“The Elden Ring DLC just dropped.”
“If you get older and discharge, doesn’t it become even harder to find a job? I think it’s best to go now.”
“Well… it seems everyone thinks that way.”
—
There are also people deciding to discharge.
—
Occasionally brushing shoulders with folks from other companies, the most common would be the inspectors. Those are the counterintelligence officers checking in for security.
Other than that, it’s some NIS or 777 troops I might bump into, and sometimes when I encounter cyber operation command or the criminal investigation team from police, I pass them by without acknowledgement and might realize later in hindsight, “Oh, those people I just saw were them.”
If I know, there’s no special event going on. It’s all just “We appreciate your hard work.”
Contrary to what one might think, it’s not a spectacle or adventure happening every day. Reality is just a series of repetitive administrative tasks, and those adventures occur only infrequently.
I am no exception.
—
A daily life that runs in fast motion. Each moment is a gasp and words falter.
This is the life I am living.
—
—
After work on my way home.
As I closed out an ordinary day, an extraordinary guest arrived.
“Uncle?”
As I was about to enter the house with a bag scented with delicious fried food, an unfamiliar middle-aged man caught my eye blocking my entrance.
It was my uncle.
“Oh, you’re back? You’re so late.”
“What are you doing here? You should’ve contacted me beforehand.”
“I just stopped by while passing. Thought of you.”
Though he said he merely stopped by, the chill emanating from him felt unusual. His skin was as cold as ice, hinting that he had been waiting outside for quite some time.
His jovial demeanor remained unchanged.
I led my uncle inside and began to set up the table. Salty snacks, chicken, and drinks were neatly laid out, while he scanned the surroundings with a nervous glance.
“Geez… Don’t you have any hobbies for a single guy living alone? This room is barren, like the Taklamakan Desert.”
The usual lecture had begun again—the moment when he starts nagging that I need to have hobbies.
My response was almost always predetermined in these instances.
“I want to have hobbies, but the situation is a problem. I’m always out on business or deployments, hopping from one area to another. How am I supposed to have hobbies?”
“Hobbies aren’t just about doing things in one place. You could fish, hike, play board games—there are many options.”
“Really. I’m not at an age to play board games or go fishing….”
When it comes to having hobbies in the information sector, particularly in the military intelligence field, that’s just a rare luxury.
Due to periodic reassignments, many have silently surrendered their opinions on hobbies upon joining, leaving some animal and plant lovers to shed tears over letting go of their dreams.
Of course, there are exceptions; those who have served long enough to fill their quotas often keep animals or plants as they wish.
Just observing those in the office who have tropical fish always made me think about whether they really aren’t just taking advantage of their monthly salary.
However, I am not one of them.
“When I’m done serving, how about I grow some rice or something, just like you.”
“Haha! You’re telling me to drop out quickly and go grab a pension already, huh?”
“Come on… when did I say that?”
—
Engaging in idle chatter over drinks with my uncle—a man older than my father—felt quite unusual, yet there were no feelings of weariness or tiredness at all. It was a routine that had been established long before.
“Pour me a drink.”
Filling up a mug with soju, my uncle bit into a salted chicken wing.
The seasoned snack was decent enough. I munched on some peppered fries while my uncle twisted his joints and began.
“Where are you working these days? You said Daejeon, right?”
“Yes. Daejeon it is. What about you, uncle?”
“I’m at the headquarters.”
I was taken aback upon realizing that this middle-aged man with a belly was a soldier—more specifically, an information officer, or rather, a military information officer.
I never thought he worked at headquarters; surprise flickered across my face.
“You’re at headquarters? Didn’t you get promoted to section chief a few years ago? How come you’re back at the headquarters?”
“The divisions naturally change.”
“When did you get promoted?”
“Last year.”
I momentarily stopped dipping fries into ketchup as I calculated.
By rank-ordering when promoted to colonel last year, it likely meant he was the very first among his peers to rise up.
“Wow! First time for major, first time for colonel—how did you manage to get promoted on the first attempt?”
“That’s what skill is about, kid.”
Follow my lead.
My uncle smiled happily, the kind of expression enjoyed only by those who have recently succeeded in promotions.
“Hey, you too. Aren’t you going for your promotion to major soon? Aim to climb it in one shot. Just get rid of that diamond—how long are you going to keep holding it?”
I couldn’t help but smile at that statement.
“Promotions aren’t something you can just wish for. Otherwise, wouldn’t everyone be looking for discharge?”
“Discharge? Why talk about such disastrous things! Are you seriously thinking of discharging?”
“Well, who knows?”
“Yikes… Did you catch a heatstroke rolling around in the desert or something? Are you feeling a bit off?”
My uncle’s surprise at the mention of discharge wielded his hand in my face, nearly throwing his chicken to the side.
Raising his voice like a man witnessing stock equities plummet, he exclaimed.
“Are you crazy? What do you plan to do after discharging? The civilian world is hell.”
“But you’ve never experienced the world out there.”
“That much is true. Regardless!”
—
It seems that this turning point at my age has turned into a well-worn repertoire. My uncle started delivering the ‘101 Reasons Not To Discharge’ speech.
Even as the usual responses came raining down, I rolled my eyes while dismissing his lecture out of habit.
“Do you have any idea how great our company is? They send us out with government funds to earn Master’s and Doctorate degrees.”
With several tens of thousands of won supplementing life and living expense, if licenses aren’t earned within the stipulated timeframe, promotions become influenced.
The obligation to continue serving extends indefinitely.
“It’s so cool to be dispatched as a diplomat too, and even unofficially travel the world with budget support, right? What other job can you find out there?”
To acquire budget support, they spend all night on paperwork, backtracking when issues arise from inspections, night after night facing the questions of why this or that happened. It’s insane.
While it’s true they get to frolic about as diplomats, senior applicants are plentiful, and common selection quotas don’t even allow them to send out qualified applicants, tasking us instead as spies, dealing with the intelligence agency.
If misfortune strikes, it could be a year or so in jail.
Listening quietly to my uncle while chewing on peanuts, upon his long-standing silence, he finally asked with a bittersweet tone.
“Are you really thinking about discharging?”
I hesitated for a moment before shaking my head.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Wow… with so many kids like you discharging, that’s becoming a problem. Lieutenant, sergeant, all the way to majors and captains are all discharging, I tell you.”
“I’ve seen a few juniors in the next office discharging too.”
“And what about them? What are they doing after discharging?”
“No idea. They probably want to take the NIS exam.”
“Dammit.”
It seems the dogma that civil service is the best route rings true, proven within intelligence circles as such. This isn’t pure man-talk; the NIS just happens to be the most glamorous option.
They’ll all figure things out, sure, but there’s quite a chance the same public examination could leave active-duty personnel behind as well.
Betwixt the choice of cheering them on or calling out to stop them from leaving for fear of a military collapse… the option remains troubling.
If I were in their shoes, my supportive words would surely be a facade—”You have talent! Keep going!”
However, it seems my uncle took his side on the matter. Again, he embarked on the customary storytelling about the outside world being cruel.
“Ah please, let’s stop talking about that already.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Isn’t there an abundance of jobs in the world? There are plenty of professions out there.”
“Let’s work towards achieving the major rank first. You know that if you continue as you are, it’ll all go well. Ah—next assignment is one you’ll want: Middle East or Africa, those are unique experiences.”
“Maybe if I want to go, then I will.”
“I’ll send for you myself.”
—
With my uncle finally closing the mouth, realizing that I had just slammed my cup down.
Suddenly stopping all chitter chatter, I leveled my gaze at him.
“You said you were casually passing by earlier. But how did you know about my next assignment?”
“…….”
“If you have something to say, just say it; why tiptoe around? At this rate, you’ll be acting like the human equivalent of an Olympic marathon runner.”
“Kid.”
—
He chuckled at my insistence, believing he had lost the round.
Finishing his drink in one go, my uncle pulled out a file from his bag.
“Read this.”
—
To cut to the chase, the file contained the operational dispatch.
After reading through the hundreds of pages drawn up by headquarters, I puffed smoke while sifting through the documents, as my uncle struck a lighter to begin explaining.
“Eight days ago, a ship passing through Saudi waters was hijacked. It’s a 14,000-ton multi-purpose cargo ship with a total of 28 crew members.”
In Saudi waters, the problem sounds like the Somali pirates taking hold. The Somalia Strait holds dangers nearly comparable to the Malacca and Sunda straits.
For reference, what’s known as the ‘Aden Gulf’ is just that.
“It feels like Socotra (an island between Somalia and Yemen) was just yesterday, but now they’re also rampaging in Saudi waters?”
“With enhancements in equipment, naturally, operational scales expand. That ‘no ships below 200 nautical miles’ is an old tale.”
Pirates seized a cargo ship. Thankfully, it wasn’t a vessel from our country.
Alright then.
As I examined the information contained in the report, I realized that the material was far less than I had anticipated.
“Is this all the data you have? Why the scant information?”
“We couldn’t gather much on site.”
“Why not?”
It certainly is a rundown hellhole, but handling security in such dastardly territory would mean there were still intelligence officers inside. I had, after all, spent time rolling around in Mogadishu. Besides, isn’t the Cheonghae Unit actively patrol there?
Basic procedures must have included operational intelligence officers traveling alongside deploying units.
In the early ’90s, the Saryong Unit briefly operated in Somalia and had an information officer accompanying them; thus, missions supporting dispatched units aren’t something new to be shunned.
The problem was—
“Looks like the cover is blown.”
The cover has been compromised. That’s the language of an identity that might’ve been exposed.
How on earth does one’s identity get discovered in Somalia? The counterintelligence unit? Or perhaps it was the fault of a third nation?
With a serious expression, I focused on my uncle.
“Is the officer safe?”
“Yes, somehow they managed to connect back to a nearby country via emergency lines. But the spot they left vacant needs to be filled—this came in as an outside request, and it’s a delicate situation.”
“So you want me to go?”
“You’ve traveled to Somalia several times already.”
“There are others who’ve been dispatched to Somalia besides myself.”
“Hey, how many Arabic or Swahili personnel do we even have? They’re all too busy.”
For reference, the two primary languages in Somalia are Somali and Arabic, along with English, Italian, and Swahili making a linguistic soup for the nation.
The key problem, of course, is just how rare speakers of the non-primary languages are, which makes finding someone fluent more difficult within the intelligence agencies. Hence, the tendency to readily rotate those few qualified volunteers.
This high-pressure situation is definitely higher than any black corp. Even the Ministry of Employment isn’t aware.
Sadly, the unlucky draw fell to me this time. Last time I ducked out, but not today.
“Ugh… this is why one should always stay in the middle.”
“Still, don’t be such a downer. Think positive; it’s a rare position! The NIS has been struggling to find speakers of those minor languages too.”
“Should’ve tried for the NIS instead of the ROTC…Ahh.”
As I casually threw out some complaints, he laid a smacked-down response.
Anyway, it seems I eventually drew the short straw as well.
I tossed my ash into the tray and reached for the new cigarette in my pocket. Gathering the equipment from the closet, I stuffed them into my bag.
“Where will I head after this assignment? We’ve covered East Africa, so it’s West Africa now? I’ve heard the Sahel region is pretty hot right now.”
“If you want to go, then you will. But if you don’t like it here, you can come to our office. One spot will clear up soon.”
“Will there even be an opening available at the headquarters? A spot people are lining up for?”
“We’ll just create one.”
“Ugh, come on…”
—
Could this finally be my long-dreamed transition to an office job? I was amazed at how bizarre this all felt.
As I sauntered to the entrance, my uncle handed me my identification and an envelope.
“Here’s your identification. This is for travel expenses.”
“Aren’t the travel expenses covered by the company?”
“Just keep it. Think of it as pocket money.”
That’s quite a decent amount for pocket money.
I almost refused, but my uncle forcefully stuffed the envelope into my pocket. In an instant, his knockout’s swift punches punctured the air as they vanished into his coat pocket.
Even at his age, his fists were still surprisingly strong. It felt like a miracle—so disheartening to realize that stories about him knocking down spooks weren’t a bunch of bullshit as I had once thought.
After stuffing some cash into my hands, my uncle clapped me on the shoulder with a gentle, closing remark.
“Take care, and travel safely.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure your father would be proud of you.”
“…….”
In silence, I opened the front door and stepped outside.
Glimpsing at my phone, the time read 00:04.
It was a perfectly ordinary end to an ordinary day.