Derrick Meyer

Word of M23's impending attack on the ADF was spreading. I had read it in intelligence reports, heard it from Jose, and even got confirmation from Poapy. Though the details varied, the consensus was clear: M23 was preparing a massive offensive, and their target was the ADF.

Perfect. It didn't matter who started it or who was in the wrong. All that mattered was that they were going to tear each other apart. While they engaged in their bloody, bone-crushing war, I only had to focus on one thing: catching Derrick Meyer. I would not let him slip through my fingers.

I had volunteered for this deployment and returned to the Congo for the sole purpose of hunting down Derrick Meyer. Only after I tore this bastard to pieces could I face my team—my brothers—again. I requested a leave of absence, citing personal reasons, and headed straight for Uvira. The strongholds of both M23 and the ADF were located near Uvira. If a war was going to break out, this was the only place it could happen.

Near Uvira. The M23 Stronghold.

I lay in ambush on a ridge with a clear, unobstructed view of the M23 stronghold. During my two years of deployment in Uvira, our team had searched and patrolled this area daily. Of course, we hadn't known the exact location of their base back then, but based on their operational radius, I had always suspected it would be around here. After a grueling search, I had finally located it.

The heavy security at the entrance made it obvious that this was indeed the rebel stronghold. However, the tight security was strictly a front-gate affair; when I circled around to the rear, there wasn't a single soul on guard. You might wonder, if their base was this easy to find, why didn't the military just wipe them out? As I've said time and again, the UN Peacekeeping forces' mission is merely to prevent clashes between the rebels and the government forces. We act as a net in the middle, ensuring neither side encroaches on the other's territory.

Unless we caught them red-handed smuggling or they fired upon the UN Peacekeepers, we left them alone. That was why we always stuck to designated patrol routes, only investigating further if we spotted something highly suspicious. Our team, the Okapi Sting, had simply pushed the boundaries of that scope a bit further than most.

I dug into the earth to construct a makeshift hide site. Digging into the frozen ground of South Korea during winter was enough to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drive a man insane, but the soil here was soft and yielding, making the task much easier. Before long, I had a decent hide prepared. Now, all that was left to do was wait.

To pass the time, I pulled a bowl of cold naengmyeon out of my Inventory. Eating it after manual labor made the icy broth taste like absolute heaven. For a fleeting second, I actually contemplated starting a naengmyeon business in the Congo, but then I remembered the local average income and immediately abandoned the idea.

Wait, if M23 is attacking the ADF, shouldn't I be waiting at the ADF stronghold? some might ask. But as I've repeatedly emphasized, I couldn't care less about their petty squabbles. However, for M23 to launch an attack on the ADF, they would have to mobilize a massive force, which meant their main base here would be left with only a skeleton crew.

The real question was whether Derrick Meyer would accompany the strike force or stay behind. If he went with them, I would follow. If he stayed, I would stay too and bide my time. But there was a very high probability he would stay. Judging by his style of crafting booby traps, Derrick was likely a rigid, by-the-book kind of guy. He lacked adaptability. He had set up his traps exactly as we were taught in training. If it had been me, I would have tweaked the design to maximize casualties.

Given his rigid personality, he would almost certainly stick to the manual. And according to standard military protocol, tactical advisors do not participate in active combat. For that reason, I figured he would stay behind. If he did move, I would tail him. If things didn't pan out, I would just wait for the next opportunity. One way or another, this operation would only end when Derrick Meyer was dead. Not that he had any idea.

I finished my naengmyeon while keeping my eyes glued to the M23 base, then sipped on an iced americano. If I had pitched a tent, this would have felt exactly like a camping trip. A shame, really, considering I actually had a tent sitting in my Inventory. With coffee in hand, my long stakeout began.

Yawn. This was incredibly boring. I had been watching them for a full day now. Twenty-eight hours, to be exact. The M23 base was a hive of chaotic activity. Rebels were running around carrying supplies, loading them onto trucks, and unloading them again in an endless, repetitive cycle. They looked busy, but they weren't actually accomplishing anything of substance. These bastards. If they had to go through combat readiness drills twenty times a week, they'd shape up real quick. It was a pity I couldn't treat them to that wonderful experience.

Still, I was perfectly comfortable. I pulled a hamburger out of my Inventory, followed by a cup of instant ramen. Even though I was camouflaged, they seemed completely oblivious to my presence. Seriously? I'm sitting right here and they haven't noticed a thing? Talk about lax security. They kept the front gate locked down, but was that because it was the only entrance?

Wait, are these idiots even going to attack? They looked entirely too relaxed. If they called it off, my plans would go down the drain. Complex calculations whirled through my mind. I needed to draw up a contingency plan in case the offensive was canceled. I had to map out my next move, because no matter what, Derrick Meyer had to die.

Right then, a driver climbed into the lead truck, and the engine roared to life. A long convoy of vehicles began to follow. They were probably heading out to rendezvous with reinforcements. Had they been waiting all this time for their allies to arrive? The time was currently 16:00. By the time they reached the ADF stronghold, it would be evening or late night. It looked like they were planning a night raid. Typical rebel tactics.

Even I, who had zero interest in this amateur-hour war, had been getting bored of waiting. For the ADF, who had no idea when the hammer would fall, they must have spent the last few days anxiously wondering, Are they coming? Are they not? Are they really not coming? Only to be blindsided tonight. A night raid, no less. I had to hand it to them; that was a solid tactical choice.

But where was Derrick Meyer? Over the past few days of observation, I had only spotted a single white man. That had to be him. Yet, Derrick, who had entered one of the shipping containers earlier, had not emerged to join the convoy. That meant he was staying behind. I pressed the start button on my timer. In exactly one hour, I would launch my assault. I could strike right now, but doing so risked alerting the departing convoy, who might turn back. I needed to give them at least an hour's head start so they couldn't return in time. I would use this hour to assess the remaining forces before making my move.

...It looked like about thirty men were left behind. That was quite a crowd. And since there were guards posted at the entrance, the actual number was likely higher.

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep, beep. My alarm went off. It was time to move. I quietly pushed myself up and slipped toward the base's sole entrance. There, I silently set up a series of booby traps. Not the textbook, Derrick Meyer-style traps, but real, military-grade South Korean booby traps. The kind designed to kill, not just injure. What did they think I had been doing all night? I had spent the entire time calculating exactly where to place these traps for maximum lethality.

After quietly laying the traps, I climbed back up the ridge and pulled out my sniper rifle. It was the TAC-50 that Jose had procured for me—the most famous and exceptionally accurate anti-materiel sniper rifle in the world. I had an abundance of ammunition for it: armor-piercing, incendiary, tracer, armor-piercing incendiary, tungsten-core, and more. However, I selected the round with the lowest lethality among them: the standard M33 ball cartridge. What if he dies from a single shot? That was why I chose the weakest round. Even so, that bullet packed over ten times the destructive power of a standard K2 rifle round. I had to be extremely precise. I couldn't let Derrick Meyer die too quickly.

My preparations were complete. Once Derrick Meyer stepped outside, I would blow off one of his legs with a sniper shot, head down to sweep the rest of the rebels with my rifle, and then spit right in his face. And if he didn't come out? I would make him. I aimed at the head of a rebel wandering near Derrick's container. A gunshot would surely draw him out.

I regulated my breathing. Just as I was about to pull the trigger, the door to the container swung open. A man stepped out with his hands raised high above his head, and right behind him was Derrick Meyer, slowly walking out while holding a gun to the man's head. Wait, is that guy in front Bakambu? It really is. The rumors about their strained relationship were true. Come to think of it, this was Derrick's only window of opportunity to escape. If he stayed, he would eventually be purged anyway, so fleeing while the main force was gone was his best bet. Oh, look at that. Always sticking to the manual. I paused my attack and watched the drama unfold. Let them handle their own mess. I only needed to resolve mine.

Using Bakambu as a human shield, Derrick Meyer was trying to make his way toward a vehicle. Did he think reaching a car would guarantee his escape? Too bad I have a sniper rifle. Derrick began to shuffle forward, keeping himself tightly concealed behind Bakambu. He was shouting something, but the distance muffled his voice. Suddenly—Bang! Bang, bang! Gunshots rang out. It wasn't me. One of the remaining rebels behind Derrick had opened fire. Wow. The distance is barely fifty meters, and he missed? Are you serious?

The moment the shots fired, Derrick Meyer didn't hesitate. He pumped two rounds straight into Bakambu's head. Bang, bang! He immediately bolted toward cover. The remaining rebels unleashed a hail of gunfire at Derrick. Derrick fired back, but he was heavily outnumbered. Ah, shit. At this rate, the rebels were going to kill him before I could. I quickly chambered a round. I began picking off the rebels one by one, aiming strictly for their heads. Every time I pulled the trigger, a rebel's head burst like a ripe melon. With every held breath, another enemy collapsed. Whoa. I had undergone sniper training in the military, but I had never shot this well back then. The TAC-50 truly was a masterpiece of engineering. No wonder the American Sniper favored this rifle.

Caught off guard by the sudden, lethal sniper fire from the ridge, the rebels ceased their relentless assault on Derrick and scrambled for cover. The moment the storm of bullets subsided, Derrick bolted like lightning. But I was already waiting for him. His right ankle. It was a difficult shot, but I had to make ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. Bang! Thud. Ah, a bit off. I hit his shin instead of his ankle. Still, the objective was achieved. He was alive, but completely immobilized. He wouldn't be driving anywhere now.

With his lower leg practically shredded, Derrick dragged himself forward, crawling desperately toward the back of a nearby vehicle. It was the only cover available to him. I made sure to eliminate any rebels attempting to advance on his position. I couldn't let them steal my prey. Bang, bang, bang! Some of the rebels finally spotted my position and began firing toward the ridge. I told you guys during training—don't shake when you pull the trigger. Even a millimeter of movement at the muzzle translates to a ten-meter deviation at the target. Their barrels were shaking wildly, and their breathing was completely unstable. Naturally, their bullets didn't even come close to me. I hadn't even concealed myself that well, yet they couldn't pinpoint my exact location. I continued systematically picking them off. More rebels kept trickling out from various corners. Thanks, guys. Better you show yourselves now than try to sneak up behind me later.

In the distance, the rumble of an engine echoed. The guards from the entrance were rushing in after hearing the gunfire. You guys get the booby traps.BOOM! The truck carrying the reinforcing rebels triggered one of my traps and exploded, flipping violently onto its side. See? That's how you use a booby trap. Unless they cleared the overturned truck and the wounded, no more reinforcements would be getting through that bottleneck.

I had estimated about thirty rebels, but there were easily over fifty. After systematically thinning their numbers with the sniper rifle, I slung it over my shoulder, grabbed an assault rifle, and began my descent. Having my gear pre-organized in my Inventory for this exact scenario paid off beautifully. I had rifles, pistols, and grenades readily accessible. As I walked down the hill, I fired at anything that moved—whether they were standing or lying down. If I was even slightly unsure, I tossed a grenade. I had no reason to conserve ammunition; it wasn't like I had paid for any of this gear. When else would I get to use it? I threw them with reckless abandon. Explosions rocked the compound. I pumped extra rounds into the bodies on the ground. You never knew who might be playing dead to shoot you in the back. It paid to be thorough. Finally, I stood before Derrick.

"Derrick."

"Who... who are you?"

"Your guide."

"My guide?"

"Yeah. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guide who's going to escort you straight to hell."

"Fuck you! Go to hell!" Bang, bang, bang, bang! Click, click. Derrick fired wildly at me, but I had already slipped behind cover. Wracked with agony from his shattered leg, his aim was completely off anyway.

"Out of ammo? No spare mags?"

"Fuck off."

"That's pretty harsh language to use with your guide. Keep that up and you might end up in the Avici Hell. Ever heard of it? It's the absolute worst of the hot hells."

"Cut the bullshit and just fuck off."

"Come on, don't be like that. I went through a hell of a lot of trouble just to meet you. The least you could do is show a little warmth."

"What?"

"To catch you, I had to train these Congolese idiots, set up booby traps, spread rumors, and I even spent the night camping out here since yesterday. I worked my absolute ass off. After all that effort, you really should be more welcoming."

"Are... are you that tactical instructor?"

"Oh, my reputation preceded me? I'm flattered."

"You crazy motherfucker."

Derrick remained huddled behind the vehicle. Killing him would be easy, but subduing him safely was a different story. He might be out of rifle ammo, but there was always a chance he had a concealed pistol or a grenade. I had to be cautious. Time to coax him out.

"So, are you just going to sit there? You look pretty badly hurt. Shouldn't you get to a hospital?"

"Fuck off. I'll handle it myself."

"If you stay there, you're going to bleed out and die. Did you even apply a tourniquet?"

"Fuck! Why are you doing this to me?!" Derrick screamed, his voice cracking from the sheer agony of his mangled leg.

"Well, since you're still talking, I guess you managed to stop the bleeding. If you hadn't, you'd be dead by now. But you know how terrible the medical infrastructure is in the Congo, right? Without proper treatment, you won't just lose the leg—you'll die of sepsis. If we get you to the Suho Unit, they can save you. So come on out. If we leave now, you'll live."

"..."

"It's barely over an hour's drive from here to the Suho Unit base. I've got painkillers on me. I'll shoot you up, and by the time you wake up, you'll be patched up. Come out."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"I'm... I'm coming out."

"Yeah. Hands up, and come out slowly."

Derrick began to crawl out from behind the vehicle on his knees, his hands raised. Having lost his lower leg, shuffling on his knees was his only option.

"That's it, slowly... slowly... Oh, good. Keep coming."

I finally got a clear look at him. He looked to be in his early thirties, a white man with a thick, bushy beard. He had used his belt as a makeshift tourniquet around his thigh. He was unarmed, and there were no other weapons in sight.

The moment I looked at him, the faces of my fallen brothers flashed before my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through his skull right then and there, but I forced myself to hold back. At the very least, this bastard needed to know why he was dying. I drew my pistol and shot him straight in the shoulder. Bang!

"Argh! What the—that wasn't the deal—" Derrick couldn't finish his sentence. I closed the distance instantly and slammed my fist into his face.

I beat him mercilessly. Fists, boots—I struck whatever part of him was within reach. I didn't even look at him the way I did when boxing. I didn't need technique. I didn't need form. I just hit him, pouring every ounce of my pent-up rage and sorrow into each blow.

I didn't think my team—my brothers—would have wanted me to do this. But this was something I had to do. How long did I beat him? I thrashed Derrick until my own limbs grew heavy with exhaustion. His face was reduced to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. But I wasn't done. I drew my combat knife.

"Aaargh! Why are you doing this?! Just kill me! Just kill me!"

"You don't get an easy death, you piece of shit. You have to die eleven times over."

I plunged the blade deep into his left armpit.

"Aaaagh!" A pathetic shriek tore from his throat. The only limb he could still move was his left leg. I carved several deep gashes into his leg and abdomen, then drove the knife deep into his joints.

"Why... why are you doing this... Just kill me..."

"Okapi Sting."

"Okapi Sting?!" Derrick's blood-soaked face twisted in sheer horror. "They're... they're all dead!"

"There was one who wasn't part of that operation. I survived, and I went through all this shit just to hunt you down."

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"

"I'll accept the apology."

"Then... are you going to let me live?"

"Now, that would be a bit difficult, wouldn't it?"

"I'm really sorry! But it was just a job! Business! You know how it is! Bakambu ordered me to do it, I had no choice! Please understand... you're a soldier too!"

"Oh, I understand. But understanding doesn't mean forgiveness. And just as I understand you, I hope you can understand me. Because this is a highly personal business transaction. It's called revenge."

"No... no, please..."

"You don't even deserve to call yourself a soldier. Did the Navy SEALs teach you to help rebels set cowardly traps?"

"I had no choice! The Okapi Sting was too good..."

"Shut up. Hearing the name Okapi Sting come out of your mouth makes me sick. I feel like throwing up. Let's end this."

I pulled a massive quantity of C4 explosives from my Inventory and packed them directly underneath Derrick.

"W-What... what are you doing?"

"You shouldn't leave anything behind in this world. Not even your ashes will remain."

His body was already a shredded mess of stab wounds. His limbs were useless. He couldn't resist even if he wanted to.

"When this goes off, every single trace of your existence will be wiped clean."

"I'm going to wire this trap to the main entrance. The moment someone steps into this base, it'll detonate."

"And if no one comes? Well, you'll just have to lie here like this forever."

"So try your best to stay alive until then."

"I've patched up your wounds nicely. You won't be able ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to move, but you won't die of blood loss anytime soon either."

"I tied you up just in case. It might be uncomfortable, but you'll have to bear with it."

"If Bakambu were still alive, I would have laid him down right next to you. A shame you killed him first."

Finally, I stuffed a block of C4 into his mouth and wrapped heavy-duty tape tightly around his head. He tried to mumble something, but I had heard enough.

"I'm off, then. Let's make sure we don't cross paths in hell."

With those final words, I turned my back on him and walked out of the rebel stronghold.

By the time I had circled around to the opposite side of the mountain and made my way down, a massive explosion echoed from the distance.

And just like that, my revenge was complete.