Dispatch, Not Deployment
“Without stamina, you can't do anything. You must run more and move more than the enemy, no matter what.”
“Fix your posture.”
“Don't shake when you shoot. You might have only moved a single centimeter, but at the target, that translates to a difference of over ten meters.”
“Take proper cover and concealment. The moment your head pokes out, it could get blown off. A sniper is always waiting.”
“Situational awareness is everything. Constantly check where you are and where your teammates are.”
It had been a week since I started working as an instructor for the Congolese special forces. I was currently tearing down and rebuilding their entire curriculum. What on earth were these bastards teaching before? No wonder they all went out and died. Even during the Korean War, we wouldn't have taught garbage like this. For now, as a matter of urgency, I added tactics and strategies tailored for the tropical rainforest. Then, I trained the special forces operators according to those strategies.
I did my absolute best. I poured my heart and soul into training these men. Was it out of a sense of duty to my mission? A sense of calling as an instructor? Or a desire to forge strong Congolese special forces? None of that mattered to me. I taught them with only one thought in mind: If I train these bastards well, they'll kill at least one more rebel. Even if they die, they'll drag at least one more down with them.
There were perks to being here. Back when I was in Uvira, we had to gather intelligence ourselves and send it up the chain. But here, the information flowed directly to me. It was far easier to track how the rebels moved and operated.
“How's school?”
“It's a bit unfamiliar, but it's okay.”
“And your studies?”
“It's not as hard as I thought.”
“That's a relief. Shall we get started, then?”
I had secured a house near the special forces base. Although the military offered me quarters, I declined and chose to commute. Staying in the provided quarters meant living inside the base, which was out of the question for me. It was far too inconvenient. Aside from training soldiers, I had too much to do. I had to raise Poapy, gather intelligence, and hunt down those rebel bastards. Staying on base would only shackle me with restrictions. So, I moved out.
The place we found was a single-story house near the base. It was built of brick, which in itself was a symbol of wealth in Congo. Poapy was astonished to see running water and electricity, but by my standards, the living conditions were still abysmally poor. No wonder everyone here dies of infectious diseases.
If only I could kill those rebel bastards. Frankly, I had no desire to wipe out every single rebel in the country. Derrick Meyer. He was the only one who needed to die. As for the rest of them, whether they lived or died was none of my business. Left alone, they would eventually tear each other apart anyway. I didn't want to waste my energy on them. But if anyone dared to block my path to Derrick Meyer—if even their shadow fell across my way—I would plunge a knife into their throat without a moment's hesitation.
“This isn't a technique to protect yourself. It's a technique to kill. Remember just one thing: once you resolve to kill someone, do not hesitate. The moment you hesitate, you die.”
“You're still young. You've grown a lot, but you lack raw strength. Don't try to win with power. Use everything at your disposal. A knife, a gun, or if those aren't available, a chair or a piece of broken glass. Foul play? What even is a foul? There is only life and death. Being called a coward is temporary, but if you die, you won't even be around to hear the insults.”
I began passing my skills down to Poapy. He was a lanky Congolese boy. Despite being only twelve, he already stood at 170 centimeters. I was only 170 when I was eighteen. His athletic reflexes and intellect were remarkably sharp. Even though he had started school late, he kept up with his classes effortlessly, and he absorbed the physical combat techniques I taught him with ease. Honestly, the training I put him through was brutal—perhaps too harsh for a twelve-year-old—but Poapy endured it all in silence.
After training, we had dinner. While Poapy studied, I headed to a nearby bar for a beer. I hadn't come just for a drink, though. I wanted to gather information and purchase some firearms. I had plenty of weapons confiscated from the rebels, but I lacked a sniper rifle. A sniper rifle was an absolute necessity for me right now. My mind was consumed by thoughts of revenge, but I wasn't reckless enough to charge in blindly with a simple assault rifle. I would be cowardly. I would hide in the shadows and pick them off one by one. Let them point fingers. Let them condemn me. Let them curse me. No matter what anyone said, just as my fallen teammates would never return, the fate of those bastards would remain unchanged. They were as good as dead already.
I ordered a beer and casually scanned my surroundings.
“Ruining the taste of my beer... there's a Chink here.”
“Since when did our bar turn into a monkey exhibit?”
“Monkeys coming all the way out here. Money really talks, doesn't it?”
“Did he swing from the trees to get here?”
“I bet he's going to pay for his beer with bananas.”
“Hahaha!”
“Hey, what do they call them again? Ching chang chong? Is that it?”
“Who knows? Who cares? But is he even Chinese?”
“Doesn't matter. Chinese or not, who cares? It's just annoying having that squinty-eyed monkey sitting there.”
Assuming I couldn't understand them, they kept tossing racial slurs back and forth. Let them. As long as they didn't pick a fight with me directly, I didn't care what they thought or said. I would just pretend not to understand, sipping my beer in peace.
“By the way, is it true that Okapi Sting is dead?”
“Who knows? But seeing how the rebels have been getting bolder lately, it might be true.”
I changed my mind. That sacred name, Okapi Sting, had no business coming out of those filthy mouths. I didn't care about their reasons. Whether it was in agreement, denial, praise, curiosity, or a simple question, it didn't matter. The name Okapi Sting was not to be spoken by them.
I walked over with steady, deliberate steps, grabbed one of their beer bottles, and smashed it over one bastard's head. Before the guy opposite him could even stand up, I drove my boot into his chest, sending him flying back.
Caught completely off guard, they tried to fight back. But the punches of these amateurs were weaker than Poapy's. I slipped a wild swing and delivered a sharp, powerful straight right to his jaw. He collapsed instantly, folding like a house of cards.
Perhaps seeing his friend get knocked out in a single blow sobered him up. The remaining man's aggressive posture vanished. He had looked ready to murder me a second ago, but now he became instantly polite.
“No racism,” I said flatly.
That was the only explanation they were getting. They were beaten because of their racism, not because of Okapi Sting. If they were paying the price for speaking that name, the outcome wouldn't be a mere concussion—it would be death. So, let them believe they were beaten for being racists.
The polite man's hand crept toward his lower back. He was reaching for a gun. Seeing this, I reached for mine, but the bar owner shook his head at me. I stayed my hand, and the owner roared at the men.
“Get the hell out of here! What do you think you're doing?!”
The man clumsily tucked his gun back in, hoisted his unconscious friend, and scrambled out the door.
“My apologies. Let me buy you a drink.”
The owner slid a fresh bottle of beer toward me.
“Thank you. I'm sorry for the trouble. If anything was broken, I'll pay for it.”
“Don't worry about it. This kind of thing happens so often that I only buy furniture that's hard to break.”
“That's wise.”
“I'd call it survival rather than wisdom, but thank you.”
“I'm Jose.”
“In-bae.”
The owner was a white man who looked to be in his fifties. He had a slight build and a head of white hair.
“May I buy you a beer in return?”
“Who would refuse a customer trying to boost sales?”
The white man expertly popped open a bottle and handed it to me. I lightly clinked my bottle against his. Clink.
“I apologize for those fools once again. They aren't inherently evil, just uneducated, so they act and speak without thinking. Now that you've given them a proper lesson, perhaps they've learned something.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“By the way, I haven't seen you around here before.”
“I was assigned to this area.”
“Assigned? The only thing around here is the military base... Assigned... Oh? I did hear rumors about a new instructor arriving at the base...”
Jose quickly pieced the conversation together, realization dawning on his face. Rumors had been spreading like wildfire that a surviving member of Okapi Sting was coming to the base as an instructor. Working at a bar meant hearing all sorts of idle gossip. This man before him was undoubtedly that very team member.
“Are you... the...” He trailed off, catching the look on my face. He certainly had quick wits. It was probably that sharp intuition that had kept him alive as a white man running a bar in Congo for so long.
“How did you end up living in Congo, Jose?”
“Oh, it's a common story. I fell in love with a woman who was studying abroad. Turns out she was Congolese. I was so head over heels for her that her nationality didn't matter to me at all, so I followed her back here... and well, I'm still here.”
“That's beautiful. I suppose people would call someone like you a romantic.”
“A romantic? Perhaps. Since I'm still living in Congo even after my wife passed away, I suppose that title might fit.”
“What happened?”
“Childbirth. The medical infrastructure here is abysmal, as you know. In the end, I lost both my wife and our child. But even so, I couldn't bring myself to leave this place. So, I stayed, selling beer to get by.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About thirty years.”
“Do you happen to know anyone who can source certain goods?”
“Goods?”
“Yes. Goods. Any kind of goods.”
“Well... I do a bit of small-scale retail on the side, but I'm not sure if I can get what you're looking for, In-bae.”
“Can I place a custom order?”
“I can try, but I can't make any promises.”
“I'd like to get a sniper rifle. Is that possible?”
“That, I can do. Weapons are the easiest things to find around here.”
“Then I'll leave it in your hands. I'll pay half upfront as a deposit.”
“Normally, we require full payment upfront, but since this is our first transaction...”
When I stopped by the bar a week later, Jose handed over the sniper rifle.
“In-bae Hyung, I heard rumors that the rebels are resuming activity around Kinshasa lately.”
Poapy was proving to be an excellent informant, not just back in Uvira, but here in Kinshasa as well. He had quickly befriended the locals and was feeding me information that wasn't even in the UN reports. The UN reports only noted that the rebels' movements were unusual and had shifted, but they had no idea it was happening near Kinshasa.
“Specifically, I heard they're gathering around Kampoko.”
“Thanks. That's a huge help.”
If there was a rumor, I had to verify it. I drove out toward Kampoko. Kampoko was a notorious slum, and beyond it stretched the dense tropical rainforest. That must be where they are. I drove into Kampoko and scouted the area. I spotted a few rebels, but this didn't seem to be their main base. Only a handful of them were visible.
I pulled C4 from my inventory and began crafting booby traps. I rigged them according to the military reports, mimicking the American style—whether it was Delta Force or Green Beret, I couldn't be sure. However, I made them look slightly amateurish, as if they had been assembled by the rebels themselves. I set up these booby traps along the paths the rebels frequented, copying their exact methods. I rigged them precisely as described in the intelligence reports—Derrick Meyer's signature style. I moved through the Kampoko area, planting the traps here and there.
While I was still setting them up, dull thuds and explosions echoed in the distance. Someone had already stepped on or triggered one. But this was far from enough. The traps I had laid had barely begun to detonate. I kept planting more. These bastards were going to die by their own traps.
After finishing up, I took a detour on my way back, deliberately passing by the area where the explosions had occurred. Just as expected, the rebels were in utter chaos. They were running around in a panic, completely lost at the sight of their dead and wounded.
This was only the beginning. Just you wait.