The Mobile Clinic
“You know that guy we captured? Word is, he's the head of the FNL.”
“What? The leader of the FNL?”
“What's the FNL?”
“Didn't we learn about them during our pre-deployment briefings?”
“I know they're rebels.”
“There are dozens of rebel groups here, sir.”
“Exactly. That's why I just remember them as 'rebels.' How am I supposed to memorize all of them?”
“They operate in Burundi and the eastern part of the Congo. They used to be one of the largest rebel factions in the country, but they've shrunk significantly. Now, their numbers are estimated to be around a hundred or so, sir.”
“Really? Then they're not that big of a deal, are they?”
“He's still a rebel leader, sir. Their primary area of operation is neighboring Burundi, so if they interrogate him on why he came all the way here, they're bound to get something useful.”
“Is that so? Then he must be a pretty big deal.”
“He's not a big deal, sir. He's just a massive piece of shit.”
“Hahaha! You're damn right. A massive piece of shit.”
The day after the operation, our team was off-duty. Standard protocol dictated that after a day of operations, we got a day of maintenance. One day on, one day off. Since we had been out in the field yesterday, today was dedicated to maintenance. We cleaned the firearms we had used and organized our gear. Sorting through the equipment made me feel like I was back at the International Peace Support Group in Incheon. It was always like this back at the base on maintenance days. Instead of training, we would spend the day cleaning and talking. We would talk about operations, training, and unit gossip. When those topics ran dry, we moved on to friends, soccer, baseball, civilian life, K-pop idols, YouTube Shorts, and internet memes. The topics were endless. Most of the time, people didn't even know what they were talking about, just regurgitating things they had seen or heard somewhere. I usually just listened. I didn't have much to say, nor did I know much. Even so, I enjoyed those moments. Aside from the sweltering heat and our quarters being upgraded—or downgraded—to shipping containers, not much had changed. These men were always by my side. Eleven reliable older brothers. The kind of brothers who, upon hearing their youngest had been hurt, vowed to tear the shooter limb from limb. I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud, but I had been deeply touched.
“So, what happens to him now?”
“Who knows? The UN and the Congolese government will probably handle it.”
“No, not them. I mean us.”
“What about us?”
“Aren't we getting some kind of reward?”
“Come on, no way.”
“We captured a rebel leader. Why wouldn't we get a reward?”
“If they gave you reward leave, would you even take it?”
“Reward leave?”
“You asked for a reward. I'm asking if you'd actually go out on leave if they gave it to you.”
“Leave in the Congo? Vacationing in this crazy country where people shoot guns at random? Are you insane? I don't want an early grave.”
“Pfft, hahaha.”
“Don't laugh.”
“Forget leave. I just hope we get some promotion points.”
“Yeah. Promotion points are a massive help when it's time to rank up.”
“They won't give us cash, right?”
“Definitely not.”
Chatting about yesterday's events made the maintenance fly by. Just as we were about to head out for lunch, our Team Leader, Captain Song Gyu-tae, returned from his meeting.
“Can we gather around for a second before you guys head out for lunch?”
“Yes, sir!”
Twelve grown men crammed into the narrow shipping container. Just sitting there made the space feel completely packed. Sensing the discomfort, the Team Leader got straight to the point.
“I'll keep it brief. I just came back from a briefing with the Unit Commander. First off, everyone who participated in yesterday's operation will receive a reward. You're all getting promotion points. And In-bae.”
“Sergeant Gong In-bae, sir.”
“You and I are receiving medals. We're being awarded the Hwarang Order of Military Merit.”
“Whoa!”
“Congratulations!”
“Congratulations, sir!”
“In-bae, you lucky bastard, your military career is set.”
“In-bae's buying lunch today!”
“Where would I even buy it, sir? Are we going to eat outside the base? In the Congo, where bullets fly?”
“...Man, you really know how to kill a vibe.”
The team continued to shower us with congratulations.
“You've probably heard by now, but the guy we caught yesterday is indeed the leader of the FNL,” Captain Song Gyu-tae continued. “The investigation is still ongoing, but it looks like he slipped into the Congo to form an alliance with other rebel groups. The UN is thrilled that we nipped that in the bud before they could cause real damage. Also, the tunnel In-bae found turned out to be the headquarters of a major smuggling ring. Thanks to that, we've really made a name for ourselves in front of the Congolese government and the UN forces.”
“Ohhhhh!”
“Everyone did an amazing job yesterday. Make sure to get some proper rest today. And In-bae, you haven't been to the infirmary yet, have you?”
“I'm fine, sir. It's already healed.”
“Shut your mouth and go get treated at the medical clinic. That's an order.”
“Understood, sir.”
The medical clinic.
“So, it's you.”
“Sergeant Gong In-bae. Are you referring to me, ma'am?”
“The guy who got shot. Seeing the bandage on your ear, it has to be you.”
“I didn't get shot, ma'am.”
“I heard you took a Ghost Hit. Come over here, let me take a look.”
Today was the first time I realized there was a woman in this unit. Captain Yoon Ji-hae, a nurse officer with the Suho Unit. She held the same rank as our Team Leader. As I stood there awkwardly, she stepped closer to me.
“Take a seat. You're too tall, I can't reach.”
“Understood.”
I sat down on the medical stool, and she peeled off the bandage that Sergeant First Class Kwon Jong-o had slapped onto my ear.
“Ah, the first aid was actually done quite well. The laceration was deep, but it's a clean cut and it was treated properly, so it won't leave a scar.”
“Thank you.”
“A simple dressing should be enough. Let me clean it up for you.”
She picked up a gleaming stainless steel tray, sat right next to me, and began treating my ear. She was so close that I could clearly feel her breath and catch her scent. Was it excitement? Tension? Attraction? No, it wasn't anything like that. It was just uncomfortable. Perhaps because I had never experienced this kind of proximity before, I had no idea how to behave.
“There we go. Keep it dry, and come back tomorrow. We need to change the dressing.”
“I have an operation tomorrow, so it might be difficult. Can I come back the day after?”
“The medical team is deploying with you guys for tomorrow's operation. So just focus on your mission. I'll change the dressing for you in the field.”
“Yes, ma'am. I will take my leave now. Unity!”
It was a mobile clinic operation. A mobile clinic operation was a civil-military outreach service where we traveled directly to Congolese locals who lacked access to medical care to provide treatment. While one would hope no madman would attack doctors trying to heal people... in this country, you could never be too sure. Thus, we had to secure the perimeter and maintain a strict watch. Our team's mission was perimeter security. Out of the six of us, two guarded the interior of the building while four guarded the exterior. In reality, the exterior was the actual duty, while the interior was essentially a break under the guise of security. We operated in two-man buddy pairs on a rotating shift. One pair patrolled the exterior, one pair controlled the entrance, and one pair rested and managed the interior. Two hours of perimeter duty, followed by an hour of rest inside.
The mobile clinic was incredibly popular. A massive crowd gathered, making me wonder how there could possibly be so many sick people in one place. Unfortunately, the number of people we could actually treat was minuscule. Many suffered from environmental illnesses like typhoid, cholera, and tuberculosis. These were diseases that could easily be avoided with proper nutrition and a clean environment, or mitigated with basic vaccinations, but such luxuries were out of reach for these people. Even if they were treated and sent home, there was no telling when they would fall ill again. Many others arrived with untreated injuries from car accidents, gunshot wounds, or stabbings. Tragically, by the time they reached our clinic, they were often beyond saving. Many required major surgery, but a mobile clinic lacked the facilities for that. There were no operating rooms. The most the medical team could do was perform minor debridement to clean up rotting flesh or hand out painkillers before sending them on their way. The mobile clinic was a one-time, transient service. We couldn't monitor or follow up on patients over time. Back in Korea, a doctor would tell you to return in three days or a week to track your progress and adjust your prescription. Here, once a patient walked away, we had no idea when they would ever see a doctor again. It could be a month, a year, or this could be the last day of their life. Captain Yoon Ji-hae looked devastated by this reality, but there was only so much she could do. Above all, our medical unit was deployed to care for the peacekeeping soldiers, not to provide comprehensive healthcare for the local Congolese population. We couldn't let the tail wag the dog.
“Go on inside first. I'm going to have a quick smoke.”
“Understood, sir.”
While my buddy, Sergeant First Class Kwon Jong-o, stepped aside for a cigarette, I headed inside first. Ah, heaven. There was truly nothing like the power of air conditioning.
“In-bae?”
“Sergeant Gong In-bae, ma'am.”
“Come over here. I have a free moment, so let me change your dressing.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
I was just about to sit down and relax after my outdoor shift when Captain Yoon Ji-hae called me over. She could've done this while I was on duty. Everything about the Congo was terrible, especially the weather. It was sweltering during the day and freezing at night. I had finally escaped the heat, only to be subjected to another dressing change. But just as she was about to touch my ear, a sudden commotion erupted outside.
“Emergency! We have an emergency!”
Sergeant First Class Kwon Jong-o, who had gone out for a smoke, rushed back in carrying a young man on his back. He looked barely twenty—maybe even younger. He was tall but painfully emaciated.
“Lay him down here!”
At Captain Yoon's command, Kwon carefully laid the youth onto the examination bed. The boy's state was horrific. His body was a map of gunshot wounds, lacerations, and blunt-force trauma. There wasn't a single patch of uninjured skin. Bones were visibly broken, and his flesh had been peeled back. This was no accident. These were the unmistakable marks of torture. His breathing was already shallow and erratic.
“The local who brought him in said the rebels did this to him,” Kwon explained, his voice tight.
Captain Yoon Ji-hae froze in shock at the sight of the boy. She couldn't speak, let alone begin treatment. She just stood there, her entire body trembling as she stared at the mangled youth.
“Captain. Captain!”
I called out to her, but she didn't respond. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Captain! What do we need to do first? Tell me!”
That finally seemed to snap her out of her trance.
“Uh... right. First, we need to assess the wounds. I need to clean off the blood first... I'll handle this. Please, step outside for a moment.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
So much for my rest. I was supposed to have an hour off, but I had been kicked out. And the air conditioning only reached that room. It was a shame, but I was more than willing to yield the space. I was a special forces soldier, after all. Besides, my own heart was hammering against my ribs from the shock. Sergeant First Class Kwon Jong-o looked equally shaken. The state of that young man went beyond shocking; it was devastating. His body had been reduced to tatters. The rebels routinely recruited children and teenagers to expand their ranks. If they resisted, they were threatened. If that failed, they were tortured, killed, and dumped like trash. Kwon and I decided to just go back to patrol duty. There was no point in trying to rest now. This was the only thing we could do. Every fiber of my being wanted to hunt down those rebel bastards and slaughter them on the spot, but that was impossible. It would be a violation of the UN peacekeeping rules of engagement. We weren't police officers. We had no investigative authority. If we had witnessed the act, we could have intervened, but we couldn't go hunting for the perpetrators. We were peacekeepers, not the FBI. To cope with the suffocating sense of helplessness, there was no better remedy than mindless chatter. Walking the perimeter while talking about nothing seemed far better than trying to rest in a corner. We intentionally avoided mentioning the boy. The weight of it would have crushed us. Instead, we traded the most useless trivia we could think of. Random things we had seen on YouTube. How carrots used to be purple. How pigs physically couldn't look up at the sky. How koalas had fingerprints almost identical to humans. How ketchup was once sold in pharmacies as medicine. We poured out a stream of completely useless facts, desperate to wash away the crushing weight of our own powerlessness.
“In-bae, come over here. Let's finish that dressing from earlier.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Captain Yoon Ji-hae had regained her composure. The ones who hadn't were Kwon and myself. The cool air of the clinic didn't feel nearly as welcoming anymore. The dressing change was over in a flash. It was just a single ear, after all; it would have been strange if it took any longer.
“All done. You can take the gauze off tomorrow. You won't need any more treatment after this.”
“Thank you, ma'am.”
“And... thank you for earlier.”
“For what, ma'am?”
“For shaking me and snapping me out of it. If you hadn't, I would have completely lost it... Well, I'm still a bit of a mess, but still.”
“...”
“Anyway, I appreciate it... That boy... he's in a better place now, right?”
Though she tried to speak calmly, tears welled in Captain Yoon's eyes. I wasn't the type of person to offer comforting words or ask probing questions. I simply pulled a handkerchief from my back pocket and handed it to her.
The youth's body was handed over to his family. It was an outcome that had been decided the moment he crossed our threshold. As I said, there was no operating room here. To survive injuries of that scale, he would have needed to be in a university hospital in Seoul. Here, there were no diagnostic machines, no surgical tools, no blood bags, and no surgical nurses. There was only a patient and a doctor. Ensuring he didn't die in agony was the absolute limit of what Captain Yoon could do. The family wailed as they received his body. But his younger brother, who looked barely ten years old, had a different expression. His face was set with a grim, hardened resolve. He was dreaming of vengeance. He was likely swearing to avenge his brother against the rebels. And his path to revenge would be to join another rebel faction, brutally slaughtering the ones who had killed his brother. Then, the families of those he killed would join yet another faction to carry out their own massacres. It was a vicious cycle of violence with no clear beginning and no end in sight.
On the way back to the base, the Congo looked different to me. On our first day of operations, when we discovered the arms smugglers and the rebels, it hadn't felt real. "Rebels" and "arms smuggling" sounded like things straight out of a movie. After all, who actually knows a real-life arms dealer or a rebel? Nobody. It felt completely detached from reality. To make matters worse, I had only participated in the search; during the actual arrest, I had been tucked away inside an armored vehicle, which made it feel even more distant. And then yesterday, they told me I was getting a medal. In just a single day, the strange country, the unfamiliar climate, the rebels, the arms smuggling, and the sudden honor of a military decoration had left me floating on air. But the moment I saw that young man today, I was dragged violently back to earth. Can I really carry out my duties as a UN peacekeeper in the Congo? Am I actually helping? What do I need to do to make a difference? These questions flooded my mind. Yet, even as my thoughts swirled, my eyes remained fixed on the road outside. Watching for any sign of trouble. I would just do what I could. Scanning the surroundings, patrolling, and neutralizing potential threats. That was my job right now.