The Unsinkable Ship +15

The next morning.

High above Hanseo Defense’s First Plant in Changwon, South Gyeongsang Province.

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!

The view through the helicopter window was nothing short of spectacular.

Below us, on the vast site—said to be half the size of Yeouido—dozens of self-propelled howitzers and tanks stood in formation.

They were the K9 self-propelled howitzers and K2 tanks bound for export to Poland and Egypt.

The gleam of fresh metal on newly completed machines, the constant bustle of trailers coming and going.

It was the very image of the energy that powered the heart of South Korea’s defense industry.

But the helicopter’s turn took us not toward that lively industrial complex.

It headed instead to the farthest, most neglected corner of the plant.

A gray building whose paint had faded in patches and whose empty parking lot gave off a bleak, deserted air.

The Second Research Building.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. The amphibious systems team is stuffed away over there.”

With Deputy Director Choi’s bitter reply, the helicopter settled onto the rooftop helipad.

As the rotors slowed, a group of people who had already come to meet us approached the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aircraft.

A man in a grease-stained work uniform with a lab coat thrown on over it in a hurry.

Kang Minsoo, the principal researcher and team leader of the Amphibious Systems Team.

“You must have had a hard trip, Director. Executive Director.”

Senior Researcher Kang bowed deeply, all the way to ninety degrees.

He looked half-dead.

Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his lips were dry and cracked; it was obvious at a glance how much he’d been suffering lately.

“What hard trip? We came in comfort on a helicopter. But, Senior Kang, why the face? If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were attending a funeral.”

“I’m ashamed. The next building over is celebrating a huge export win, and only our export team is failing miserably···.”

Kang trailed off and dropped his gaze.

Deputy Director Choi clicked his tongue and pointed at me.

“Introduce yourself. This is Executive Director Cho Yerin from headquarters. She came personally to back up our team this time.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Kang Minsoo. I’ll be counting on you.”

“Yes, likewise.”

Cho Yerin smiled lightly and shook his hand.

Then Deputy Director Choi pointed at me next.

“And this is Department Head Baek Gunwoo from the headquarters technical audit team. He wrapped up the Saudi matter this time and came down here under Chairman Cho’s direct order.”

“Ah··· yes. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Kang bowed toward me politely.

“You’re the hottest name in the company these days. I’m Kang Minsoo from the export development team. I look forward to working with you.”

It was a respectful greeting, but there was no real expectation in his eyes.

And that made sense. The Saudi matter I’d supposedly solved had involved software and electronic systems.

What they were facing now was a problem of physical terrain and structural design.

It wasn’t his field, and he likely assumed I wouldn’t be of much help.

I didn’t add anything unnecessary either, just gave a short nod.

“Likewise. I’m Baek Gunwoo. I heard the situation’s pretty bad.”

“Yes··· Please, let’s go down and take a look first.”

*

Underground hangar.

When the massive steel door to the secured area opened, damp air and the heavy smell of metal hit my nose.

There it was—the problem child.

The export prototype of the KAAV-II next-generation amphibious assault vehicle.

But the latest armored vehicle, which ought to have looked proud and imposing, was in terrible ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shape.

The lower suspension had sagged, and the tracks and underside were coated in an unidentified black soil.

I stepped closer, dipped a finger into the mud stuck to a wheel, and rubbed it between my fingers.

···This wasn’t ordinary.

It didn’t seem to have the sticky feel of normal tidal flat mud.

It was more like wet sawdust or a sponge—crumbly, yet saturated with moisture.

“This isn’t normal mud from a tidal flat, is it?”

“Exactly. We brought back samples from the swampy terrain in Malaysia and ran tests on them··· It’s peat.”

“Peat?”

At Deputy Director Choi’s question, Senior Kang let out a sigh and explained.

“It’s an organic layer formed from plant matter that’s decayed and settled over a long period of time. It looks like solid ground, but step on it and it’s basically soup. The bearing capacity is almost zero.”

Senior Kang tapped the vehicle’s track with his foot.

“In Korea’s tidal flats, you can step down and find a firm layer beneath, but in places like Malaysia, the more you step, the deeper you sink with no bottom in sight. If you try to drive out with engine power, the wheels just spin uselessly and dig you in deeper. That’s why it failed.”

There was no answer to that.

They had tried to drive a more than thirty-ton lump of steel across a swamp with no bottom.

I scanned the hull.

There were obvious signs that they’d already shaved down every possible ounce for weight reduction.

Reactive armor had been removed, and even the side armor was noticeably thinner.

These guys hadn’t been sitting around doing nothing.

“We’ve tried everything we could. We reduced the weight to twenty-eight tons, sacrificing protection to do it. But··· as long as we use a steel frame, this is the limit. Any lighter and the hull will tear itself apart while driving.”

There was frustration in Senior Kang’s voice.

I nodded.

That was the limit of the material.

Which meant it was time to try a different approach.

That was what I thought as I said, “Let’s take a closer look. Let’s go to the simulation room.”

*

Field office.

In front of a desk crowded with multiple monitors sat a lead researcher named Park, the man in charge of structural analysis.

The moment I saw the screen he had pulled up, my brow furrowed.

In the upper-right corner, a brutal red warning message was flashing.

“As you can see··· at twenty-eight tons, there isn’t enough buoyancy, so it sinks. If we force it to float, the lower frame can’t withstand the water pressure and its own weight, so it twists out of shape.”

Park explained with an awkward expression.

I stared at the red mass covering the hull on the monitor.

It looked as if the weight of the steel itself was crushing the vehicle down.

“Mr. Park. Would you grab the mouse?”

“Pardon?”

“Let’s make some changes. First, delete side armor plates four through eight.”

Park’s eyes widened at my instruction.

“If we strip those out, the side protection···.”

“Delete them first. And then let’s change the lower frame material.”

With a reluctant look, Park opened the material library.

“What should we use? High-tensile steel?”

“No. Something lighter.”

Park moved the cursor.

“Then··· aluminum 7075?”

Click.

The moment the material code changed, a loud red message flashed in the upper-right of the screen.

At the same time, the lower frame in my field of view was flooded with bright red.

The stress concentration zones were practically screaming.

I shook my head.

“It’s light, sure, but the rigidity is far too low. Look at the simulation. If it scrapes against a swamp tree root, it’ll tear right open. Rejected.”

“Then how about carbon-fiber composite?”

Park clicked again.

This time the frame joints turned completely crimson.

The same result I’d seen appeared in the upper-right corner of the screen.

“See? Doesn’t work. Carbon-fiber composite is weak against impact. In an extreme environment like a battlefield, the risk is too high.”

Park looked up at me in obvious distress.

Steel was too heavy and sank, aluminum tore, and carbon shattered.

All the usable materials had already been tried, so what exactly were we supposed to do now?

I pointed at the screen, dyed red by warnings, and tossed out a name.

“You know that one? Ti-6Al-4V.”

For a moment, silence fell over the office.

Senior Kang stared at me in shock.

“Titanium alloy? Are you serious, Department Head Baek?”

“Why? Isn’t it possible?”

“It’s not impossible, but··· you know how many times more expensive it is than steel. If we put titanium on a low-end export model, the tail will wag the dog.”

That was the reaction I’d expected.

But for an engineer, money wasn’t the deciding factor.

“We can worry about cost later. First let’s see if it works from an engineering standpoint. Mr. Park, make the change.”

Under my firm tone, Park hesitated and switched the material.

At once, the frame rendering on the screen changed from a dull gray to a smooth silver.

Only the material had changed to titanium; since we hadn’t rerun the structural analysis yet, the warning message still remained.

“Let’s change the frame geometry too. Scrap the existing I-beam structure and fill it with a honeycomb truss. Reduce the thickness by thirty percent.”

Park’s hand froze.

The cursor drifted aimlessly across the screen.

“Department Head··· if we do that, the structure won’t hold. If we carve the skeleton down like this, it’ll collapse under the load. I can’t guarantee the safety factor.”

“Exactly! From an engineering standpoint, this is nonsense···.”

Even Senior Kang chimed in from the side.

That was a perfectly natural reaction.

On paper, this was no different from suicide.

But I could see it.

On the thin silver frame on the screen, blue structural lines—ones the program still hadn’t fully interpreted—were threading together, searching for the optimal path.

“I understand your concerns. But this is a simulation, isn’t it?”

I soothed them calmly.

“We’ve got nothing to lose, so let’s see the result first and talk after. Hit enter.”

Park looked like he’d given up on life and pressed the execution button.

Whirrrrr—

The computer fans screamed to life as the loading bar filled.

The researchers folded their arms and glared at the monitor as if daring it to blow up in their faces.

About a minute passed like that.

Ding—

With a bright notification sound, the result window appeared.

Park’s jaw dropped.

Bright green text glowed in the upper-right corner.

The screen, once plastered with red warning signs, was now clean as a whistle.

The blue structural lines I alone had been seeing were now proven as data visible to everyone else too—a perfect structural stability that had become reality.

“This··· why is the safety factor 1.8?”

Senior Kang pushed his glasses back into place and leaned so close to the monitor his face nearly hit it.

“We cut half the skeleton away, and the stress is approaching zero? That’s impossible···.”

“The titanium’s modulus of elasticity absorbed the load. My God···.”

Amid the stunned researchers, I said calmly, “See? If the material can carry it, the structure can be bold.”

“B-but, Department Head···.”

Senior Kang spoke in a trembling voice.

“Technically it’s perfect, but if we carve the titanium this solid, the machining and material costs will be astronomical. The budget team will faint···.”

We had crossed the wall of engineering, only to find the wall of reality waiting on the other side.

But this time, that wasn’t my concern.

I glanced over my shoulder.

There stood the one footing the bill, watching with interest from the moment we started.

“Don’t worry about the machining cost. Why do you think the Chairman sent me here?”

Cho Yerin stepped forward with a grin.

“Uh··· authority··· that kind of thing?”

“Close enough. Department Head Baek already has full technical authority, but I’ve got full financial authority too.”

Cho Yerin gave Senior Kang a light tap on the shoulder.

“Basically, it means don’t worry about what you really need—just do it all. So don’t stress about the machining cost and go ahead and spend. If I sign off, it’s a free pass.”

“Hah···.”

Looking utterly dazed, Senior Kang had nothing to say.

Deputy Director Choi added, “You heard her. Senior Kang, your team is lucky today. The Chairman’s got his blade sharpened, so to speak.”

“D-Director.”

“Do you know how many people are dying to work with Department Head Baek right now? Count your blessings and get the work orders out already.”

Maybe it was because of Cho Yerin and Deputy Director Choi’s words.

The atmosphere flipped in an instant.

The lab, which had been soaked in defeat, began to buzz with life again.

“What are you standing around for? Revise the drawings and send them to production now!”

“Hey, place the material order first! Tell them to scoop up every titanium ingot they can get!”

With Senior Kang’s shout, the researchers sprang into motion in perfect unison.

Phones started ringing off the hook, and the clatter of keyboards echoed through the room.

Now this felt like a place where people actually worked.

I drained the rest of my coffee and leaned back in my chair.

At least we’d handled the urgent problem—the frame.

We’d cut nearly ten tons, so at the very least it wouldn’t sink on the peat swamp.

But.

This wasn’t the end.

My gaze shifted to one corner of the monitor, where a red warning light still hadn’t completely gone out.

What was the use of stripping the bones to make the body lighter?

If the heart doesn’t beat, it can’t run.

Malaysia’s swamps weren’t just mud.

In a place tangled with rotten tree roots, aquatic plants, and all kinds of debris, the existing water-jet system was nothing short of suicide.

The moment the intake clogged, the armored vehicle would become nothing more than a scrap heap sitting on top of the swamp.

To solve this···.

Knock-knock.

Just then, the lab door opened, and a man in a suit hurried in.

He was a manager from the overseas sales team.

“Senior! We just got an emergency cable from the Malaysian Ministry of Defense.”

“A cable? Out of nowhere?”

Senior Kang, who had been reviewing the drawings, looked up.

The sales manager went on, his face flushed with excitement.

“Yes. The chief of their procurement agency contacted us directly··· and apparently he heard about the Saudi project.”

“So?”

“They heard that Department Head Baek Gunwoo made a major splash in Saudi Arabia, and now they’ve learned he’s been assigned to our project.”

The manager glanced at me, swallowed hard, and continued.

“They want to see it with their own eyes. They’re asking for an on-site demonstration to confirm whether our assault vehicle—after your hands have touched it—can really operate in swamps.”

This was getting bigger.

We weren’t just sending bid documents anymore; we’d reached the point where we had to show the actual vehicle.

Senior Kang frowned and stared at the calendar.

“An inspection team, huh··· That’s a burden, but it’s also an opportunity. The problem is the schedule.”

He counted on his fingers and muttered, “Redesign the frame in titanium, machine it, and assemble it—that’s at least two months. Then tune the water jet and run internal tests for stability verification—that’s another four months···.”

Senior Kang nodded and said to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠manager, “Tell them we’ll hurry as much as we can and aim for six months from now. If we work nights, I think we can at least manage the prototype rollout.”

Six months.

In a normal new-weapons development process, that was close to miraculous compression.

For Senior Kang, it was the same as steeling himself to grind his bones to dust.

But I saw it differently.

“Hold on.”

I raised a hand to stop him.

“What about China?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean the competing company, Northern China Industries. Have you checked their schedule? They must have gotten a demonstration request too.”

At my question, the sales manager looked troubled.

“Ah, well··· the Chinese side has already said their development is complete, so they’re available anytime.”

“Anytime?”

“Yes. They said they finished all prototype testing two months ago and are just waiting. They’re planning to go in together whenever Hanseo Defense’s demo date is set.”

Hah.

I knew it.

They’d already built the thing and were just sitting back to watch us make fools of ourselves.

“Well, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that’s good. Let’s tell them to go head-to-head in six months.”

Senior Kang said that.

I hurriedly cut in.

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“If our opponent is already ready and we ask them to wait six months, do you really think Malaysia will sit around that long?”

I laid out the reality coldly.

“If we go about this normally, six months from now they won’t even be holding a demo—they’ll already have signed the contract with China. They’re not idiots. Do you think they’ll patiently wait while we spend six months making a finished product? They’ll lobby in the meantime and close the deal.”

“W-well, yes, but···.”

“Six months means certain defeat. We have to win before that.”

I stood and held up one finger toward the manager.

“One month.”

“···Pardon?”

“Next month. Let’s set it for this same time next month.”

Silence fell over the lab.

Senior Kang’s mouth dropped open.

“O-one month? A month? Department Head, you’re joking, right?”

“I’m serious. While the Chinese are letting their guard down, we need to strike before the ink dries.”

“That’s insane! Machining the titanium alone will take a month! When are we supposed to assemble it, and when are we supposed to test it? If it breaks down halfway there, it’ll be a national humiliation!”

Senior Kang’s face flushed red and purple.

It was the expression of someone who thought I had crossed a line, no matter how extraordinary I might be.

He looked back and forth between Deputy Director Choi and Cho Yerin, seeking rescue.

“Deputy Director! Executive Director! Please talk some sense into him. This is physically impossible. We’re going to have an accident, seriously!”

But Deputy Director Choi only laughed, hands clasped behind his back.

“Senior Kang. Sounds impossible, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does! Even God couldn’t pull this off!”

“But you know what? This guy has a way of making impossible things happen. I saw it myself in Saudi Arabia.”

“Why are you doing this too, Deputy Director···.”

Deputy Director Choi put a hand on my shoulder and said to Senior Kang, “Trust him. I guarantee it. If Department Head Baek says it can be done, it can be done.”

Then Cho Yerin stepped in.

“Me too.”

“E-even Executive Director now···.”

“We’ll throw unlimited money and materials at it, and Department Head Baek can throw in the time. Seems fine to me.”

Senior Kang buried his face in his hands like a man on the verge of madness.

It was the sort of schedule that made no sense.

But I was certain.

Because the finished design and optimized process were already drawn out in my head.

Looking at the stiffened Senior Kang, I said calmly, “If things go south, I’ll take responsibility. I’ll resign if I have to, or pay the penalty. I’ll report to the Chairman myself.”

“······.”

“So don’t worry. Just set it for one month from now.”

Confirming that my eyes didn’t waver, Senior Kang let out a long sigh.

He shook his head in resignation and looked at the sales manager.

“You heard him. One month from now. Tell them that.”

“A-are you really sure? If we miss the schedule later, the penalty···.”

“I honestly don’t know. If the big shots say jump, what am I supposed to do? They’re the ones saying it can be done.”

The sales manager squeezed his eyes shut as if he couldn’t make sense of any of it, then hurried out of the lab.

A storm-scale decision had been made.

Now all that remained was proof.

I clapped my hands once to cut through the restless mood.

“All right, the dice have been thrown. Let’s get back to work.”