The International Peace Support Group
The International Peace Support Group. Known as Guk-pyeong-dan for short. It was a unit dedicated to overseas deployments, carrying out UN peacekeeping missions and multinational peace operations. In other words, it was a force meant for the world stage rather than domestic soil.
Located in Incheon, the International Peace Support Group was where operators prepared and stood by for immediate deployment at a moment's notice. It was a gathering place for the absolute elite. To be honest, I was quite surprised to be selected, as I had never even considered it a possibility. Perhaps my basic grasp of English had given me a slight edge. Those English academy classes had actually paid off. Private education truly was the way to go. In fact, I seemed to have a knack for it.
"In-bae? Gong In-bae?"
"Sergeant! Gong! In! Bae!"
"Haha, look at you, stiff as a board. At ease, Sergeant. You don't have to be so rigid around me. Just relax."
"No, sir!"
'At ease.' 'Just relax.' If you actually take those words literally in the military, your life will become permanently uncomfortable. A moment of ease can lead to a lifetime of misery. Regardless of how I actually felt, my mouth automatically spat out a denial. This was the only correct answer. My twenty-eight weeks of military experience had proven this beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Our team consisted of twelve men: the Team Leader, the Deputy Team Leader, the Senior NCO in charge of operations and intelligence, two demolition specialists, two weapons specialists, two medics, two communications specialists, and me.
The man speaking to me now was our Team Leader, Captain Song Gyu-tae. He was tall and possessed a solid, well-built frame. Then again, this was the Special Forces. Everyone here was tall, heavily conditioned, and in peak physical shape. Back when I had my physical exam, I measured 187 centimeters. I had been a giant in high school, but here, I was barely average. Almost everyone seemed to stand well over 180 centimeters.
But the Captain possessed something more than just physical stature. Despite his height and imposing build, his face was remarkably gentle. While most Special Forces operators carried a sharp, predatory edge, his features were soft and refined. He looked like the pampered son of a wealthy family. Even when silent, he seemed to wear a faint, pleasant smile. There wasn't a single trace of hardship on his face. He looked like someone who had grown up showered in love, completely devoid of any shadow. Perhaps because of that, his tone was incredibly polite and warm. If not for his deeply tanned skin and military buzzcut, it would have been hard to believe he was a soldier at all.
I sat down for a brief interview with him.
"I heard you graduated first in your class at the Special Warfare School?"
"Yes, sir. That is correct."
"You must be exceptionally talented."
"No, sir. I simply followed my instructors' guidance to the letter, which fortunately led to good results."
Just do exactly as you're told. It might sound simple, but this was the ultimate secret to academic—and military—success.
"You know what our unit does, right?"
"Yes, sir. I understand we are responsible for overseas deployments."
"Exactly. We don't have any active deployment orders right now, but if the call comes down, we might have to deploy within seventy-two hours. Make sure you keep yourself in top condition so there are no issues when the time comes."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
"I have high expectations for you. I'm looking forward to working together. If you ever run into any difficulties, or if you have any personal worries, don't hesitate to come to me. I mean it."
"Yes, sir. I will report to you immediately if any issues arise."
"Come find me even if there aren't any issues. We can grab a cup of coffee."
"Understood, sir."
"Alright. Go get some rest. You haven't met the rest of the team yet, have you?"
"No, sir. I have not met them yet."
"We'll do introductions slowly. They can be a bit rough around the edges, but they're good men. Try to get along with them."
"Yes, sir. I will do my best."
After finishing my brief interview with the Team Leader, I headed to my quarters. The barracks on base offered private rooms. A single room. Incredible. It was larger than a goshiwon cubicle but smaller than a standard studio apartment. Maybe about twenty-three square meters?
Opening the front door revealed a small bathroom immediately to the side. Past that was a main room furnished with a bed, a desk, and a multi-purpose wardrobe for clothes and gear. Some might have called it cramped, and others might have called it dated. But to me, it looked better than any place on Earth.
It was the first space of my own that I had ever possessed in my entire life. Sure, I technically had a house before, but I had never felt any attachment to that dilapidated shack. How could you call a place with no electricity, running water, or gas a home? That was why I had pitched a tent and lived like a wild animal inside it. Is this my first real home? The feeling was indescribable. People always talked about how brutally difficult it was to buy a house, and here I was, getting one handed to me so easily.
It looked clean enough to the naked eye, but I decided to give it a thorough sweep anyway. This was where I would be living for the foreseeable future, after all.
Swoosh. I pulled back the curtains to dust the window, but—
Huh? Why was there an unfamiliar man standing behind the curtains? What the fuck? A spy? I had heard that foreign agents often targeted junior officers. Had my information already leaked to the North? Was this the price of graduating first from the Special Warfare School? This guy must have recognized my potential and laid an ambush. To infiltrate not just the area outside, but the actual military base... he was no amateur.
But I wasn't about to go down easily. In fact, I was going to capture this bastard and secure myself a nice commendation. I lunged forward, closing the distance instantly. The man opened his mouth to speak, but knowing how deceitful a spy's tongue could be, I jammed my right hand over his mouth to muffle him. Simultaneously, my left fist drove hard into his right flank—right where his liver was.
A clean liver shot will drop absolutely anyone. The sharp, tingling sensation in my left knuckles confirmed a perfect connection. The liver shot landed flawlessly. Sure enough, I felt the spy's body instantly go limp.
Yet, the bastard somehow endured. He fought through the agonizing pain, desperately trying to cling to consciousness. Tough bastard. Anyone else would have collapsed instantly. I realized then that this guy was highly trained. The North Koreans certainly didn't slack on their conditioning.
Before he could recover from his shock, I grabbed his arm, pivoted, and executed a textbook shoulder throw, slamming him onto the floor. It was a solid concrete floor, so the impact had to be devastating. The man seemed to black out for a split second. I quickly flipped him onto his stomach, pinning his back down with my knee. To secure him, I needed to bind his hands behind his back. I didn't have any zip ties or rope, so I hastily whipped off my uniform belt and lashed his wrists together, pulling it as tight as possible. Then, I pulled out my phone to report the intruder.
Just as I was about to dial, the front door swung open, and a cake adorned with lit candles made a grand, theatrical entrance. A cake? For a moment, my brain short-circuited. I couldn't make sense of the situation. Did they already know I had captured a spy and come to celebrate? Was this happening in real-time?
But the person holding the cake looked just as bewildered as I was. He stood frozen, completely at a loss. The men filing in behind him wore equally dumbfounded expressions. Wait, how many of them are there? And then, bringing up the rear, was a very familiar, handsome face. Huh? The Team Leader?
The Captain stared at me, then at the man pinned beneath my knee. His face was a picture of absolute disbelief as his gaze darted back and forth between us. Finally, ignoring me entirely, he addressed the fallen man.
"SFC Lee... Sergeant First Class Lee... Are you alright?"
What? Why is he defending a spy? Do they all need to be dragged to the National Intelligence Service for interrogation? Perhaps due to the sudden commotion, the "spy" who had briefly blacked out quickly regained consciousness. He blinked, took in the scene, and let out a groan.
"Hey! Someone untie this. Fuck, he bound me tight."
At his command, one of the men standing dumbly by stepped forward and unbuckled the belt binding his wrists. The man stood up, rotating his shoulders and lightly stretching to check for any serious injuries. Once satisfied, he casually sat down on my bed. I haven't even sat on that bed yet. These spies truly were ruthless and shameless.
Squeezing past the narrow entryway where he had been peeking in, the Team Leader stepped into the room and asked, "What... what on earth happened here?" His eyes were fixed on the other man, but I answered first.
"I caught an intruder, sir. I believe he's a spy."
"A spy?"
"Yes, sir. I opened the curtains and found him hiding there. I was just about to report him..."
"There's no need to report him."
"Sir?"
"He's on our team. He's our Senior NCO, specializing in operations and intelligence. Which means he's your direct superior. Meet Sergeant First Class Lee Won-jun. Introduce yourself."
"Pardon?"
In that exact moment, a cold dread washed over me. My military career is absolutely fucked.
To put it simply, it was supposed to be a surprise welcome party. The plan was for the Senior NCO to ambush and subdue me from behind, and just as I was reeling from the shock, the rest of the team would burst in with the cake. They were probably going to say something cliché like, "Welcome to hell." Instead, the Senior NCO who was supposed to subdue me had been utterly dismantled. It was an incredibly awkward situation for everyone involved. To make matters worse, I was still holding my phone, insisting that we needed to report a spy.
Thanks to the handsome Team Leader's quick intervention, both the Senior NCO and I managed to calm down. The rest of the team then proceeded to exchange incredibly awkward introductions with me.
"...Welcome to the team."
"Thank you, sir."
"Welcome."
"Thank you."
"Let's get along."
"Thank you, sir."
And so, my chaotic, utterly bizarre first day at the International Peace Support Group drew to a close.
Life at the unit wasn't all that different from the Special Warfare School. We trained, and we studied. The only difference was that I now had an actual rank. I had a handsome Team Leader, a Senior NCO whom I had accidentally beaten up, and actual teammates. I still didn't have any subordinates, though.
The training here was incomparably more intense than at the school. While the Special Warfare School focused on teaching the fundamental skills needed for the field, here, we synchronized our movements down to the millisecond. We rehearsed our actions like actors choreographing a high-budget action movie. For instance, say we needed to breach a door during an operation. Who goes in first? Since Korea is a land of Confucian values, do we go by age? Or perhaps by height? Alphabetical order? No. There was no single correct answer; it depended entirely on the situation. But one thing was certain: if we didn't establish a clear plan and practice it to perfection, everyone could end up dead at the threshold. We had to communicate via hand signals, deciding whether to execute a cross-entry or a button-hook, and then flow into the room seamlessly and fluidly.
Before entry, the team would stack up in a single file line outside the door. Pointman Number One would assess the situation and lead the breach. Number Two would cover the opposite sector of Number One. Number Three would cover the rear before quickly entering to establish overlapping fields of fire. Number Four would maneuver or maintain security depending on the situation. We ran this drill repeatedly, constantly rotating our positions. In one run, I would be Number Three, then Number Two, then Number Four. We did this over and over until the movements became pure muscle memory.
And it wasn't just doors. We simulated building breaches, stairwells, vehicles, buses, ships, aircraft, subterranean spaces, open-air markets, shopping malls, obstacle clearance, and night operations. When you factored in elevators, barricades, and other hazards, the scenarios were endless.
Why did we train like this? Ostensibly, it was to neutralize the enemy, but the primary goal was to protect our teammates and complete the mission safely. While I was training for my own survival, the harder I worked, the higher the chances my teammates would make it back alive. Conversely, the harder they worked, the further I was kept from the jaws of death. We were men who literally held each other's lives in our hands.
Once training concluded for the day, we gathered for dinner. The menu tonight was samgyeopsal. Six of us sat around the grill: the Team Leader, the Senior NCO, Demolition NCO 1, Communications NCO 1, Communications NCO 2, and me.
"Our youngest is doing pretty damn well. I guess graduating first in your class actually means something, huh?"
"Sergeant Gong In-bae! Thank you, sir!"
"Whoa, reporting your rank and name? He's still stiff as a board. Team Leader, are you running too tight a ship here?" Demolition NCO 1, Sergeant First Class Im Deok-su, teased.
"Hey, it's only natural for a Sergeant to report his rank and name. What does that have to do with running a tight ship?" Senior NCO Lee Won-jun grunted.
"Hahaha. SFC Lee, are you still holding a grudge over getting shoulder-thrown the other day? You're awfully grumpy."
"What are you talking about, sir? That was purely because I let my guard down. If we went head-to-head for real, I'd have him down in three seconds flat."
"Is that so?" The Team Leader chuckled, prompting SFC Lee to glare at him playfully.
"I know, I know. You're the master of Special Forces martial arts. Here, let's have a drink." At the Captain's toast, everyone raised their shot glasses, filled to the brim with soju, and clinked them together over the center of the table. The sharp clink echoed, and a few drops of alcohol spilled onto the hot grill, sizzling instantly, but no one cared.
Is this what happiness feels like? Training hard together, then sitting down to enjoy samgyeopsal and a shot of soju in the evening. Discussing the day's events, offering encouragement, and pointing out areas for improvement. Teasing each other, playing pranks, and giving sincere advice. Is this what it means to be a team?
The men sitting around the table already looked flushed from the alcohol, but their faces were bright and relaxed. They laughed uproariously at things that didn't even seem that funny. They laughed, and laughed, and kept on laughing. Taking their cue, I let myself smile and laugh along with them. I worried that my laughter might seem forced or awkward, but no one pointed it out. And so, the night deepened outside the base.