Dispatch Duty (1)
At a time when countless ships were setting sail to plunder Africa—the continent so many of Europe's nations considered easy pickings—fourteen vessels were gliding into an Ethiopian harbor.
"Oh! They're coming!"
Haile, newly appointed as the general who would be responsible for Ethiopia's seas, had been at the harbor since early morning, waiting without so much as a blink.
Ethiopia, whose low-carbon coal kilns Daehan had built long ago and whose coal trade had flourished ever since, was laying the foundations of an empire as the dominant power of its region. And if they had one wish above all others, it was ships. And seamanship.
Flap, flap.
Fourteen Horned Whales gradually furled their sails and eased their way into port.
Daehan was slowly retiring the Horned Whales as it converted its fleet to steamships. But simply scrapping them for lumber would have been a waste, so they were being adopted out to friendly nations—after all, in another country's hands, they would still count as cutting-edge vessels.
"Welcome! My name is Haile."
"Ahaha. Thank you for the warm welcome. I'm Yi Sun-woo."
Admiral Yi Sun-woo, a navy commander past his sixtieth year, carried himself with a calm, dignified bearing and wore a magnificent mustache. He had once been the gunnery chief of the Blue Shark during the Battle of Pyeong-an, but now he commanded a fleet of his own. He had been dispatched to stay in Ethiopia for a while, charged with teaching the art of seamanship and the tactics of naval warfare.
"Where will you be staying?"
"Ah, we've arranged to lodge in the Daehan Company building at the harbor."
"Yes. We would gladly make arrangements ourselves, but that does sound more comfortable. Hahaha."
"Not at all. Heheh."
Everyone present understood the unspoken truth: no matter how fine a guest room Ethiopia prepared, the toilet situation alone would be unbearable. So they could only laugh awkwardly together.
"Then when will the training begin?"
That was what he said, but anxiety was written all over Haile's face. Why else would he have come out at dawn just to stare at the sea?
"Send your men over tomorrow."
"You've come such a long way—surely you'll rest a few days first?"
"We rested on the voyage here. That's plenty."
"Thank you."
The admiral had lived long enough to read the situation instantly, and he gave Haile exactly the words he wanted to hear. Besides—what would resting even accomplish? Resting on a ship or heading back home would have been better anyway.
The next morning, roughly five thousand people gathered at the Ethiopian harbor. That was more than the minimum crew of 3,080 needed to man fourteen Horned Whales—the selection had accounted for reserves and future fleet expansion as well.
Thud, thud, thud.
And marching toward them came three hundred officers and sailors of the Daehan navy.
"Wow… they're incredible."
"They move like a single person!"
"And look at those ships! I guess that's what we'll be sailing?"
"So magnificent—and so huge!"
Crash.
Like waves shattering into glittering spray against the breakwater, the faces of the Ethiopian soldiers brimmed with excitement, buoyed up by a new hope.
"Mark your positions!"
Stomp!
The Daehan navy halted in perfect unison, caps pulled low over their eyes, radiating something dangerously intimidating.
"Now then, everyone, split into groups of twenty!"
"Huh?"
"Was that our language?"
It sounded like an order to gather in groups of twenty, but since it was their first time, the confused Ethiopian soldiers began wandering about in a daze. Naturally, there was no formation, no standard, utter chaos all around.
Had anyone been watching the Daehan sailors' faces at that moment, they would have seen veins bulging on their foreheads and lips twitching—several of them barely restraining themselves from breaking into a run.
"You punks! Get your heads straight! Move it, MOVE IT!"
"Huh?"
"What the…."
Shouting informally at men who had been assembled precisely because they were the elite did stir a flicker of resentment among the soldiers. The atmosphere was one spark away from an all-out brawl.
"We may be the ones learning, but watch your language!"
"That's right!"
A few Ethiopian voices rose in protest, and it seemed a fight would break out at any moment.
"Learn? You chicks haven't even hatched yet, let alone earned the right to learn! From this moment on, you are trainees!"
In the eyes of the men from Daehan, these soldiers had no military bearing and no discipline whatsoever—they could hardly be called soldiers at all.
"What did you say?!"
"That's all I have to say!"
"Hey! Get 'em! We tried to treat you with respect, but I guess that won't work!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
Since each man stood as the representative of his nation, the soldiers' pride was as brittle as a matchstick. The one ironclad rule of any military: never, ever bow to a foreign soldier in front of others.
In an instant the atmosphere ignited, and the Ethiopian soldiers came charging.
What they had failed to notice, however, was the smile playing at the corners of the three hundred Daehan sailors' mouths.
"Don't make any cripples!"
"Sir!"
"And don't kill anyone either!"
"Sir!"
"Charge!"
Learning anything harsh from a foreign military was never going to be easy. That was exactly why they had provoked the brawl on purpose—to crush their spirit completely before the first lesson ever began.
And so a five-thousand-versus-three-hundred free-for-all broke out.
"Gah! A—Admiral! Shouldn't you stop them?!"
Haile was desperately worried that with such a lopsided numbers gap, the Daehan soldiers might get hurt.
"Uwahahaha. They won't kill anyone."
He answered with a hearty, delighted laugh, which made it abundantly clear that he assumed the three hundred would be the ones winning.
"The gap in numbers is far too great! You must intervene!"
"Kids grow up fighting, you know. Uwahahaha."
Watching Yi Sun-woo spectate as though it were fine entertainment, Haile had the distinct feeling that something was going very wrong.
Thwack! Crack! Pop!
"Hrk! What the—! His body is made of stone!"
"Somebody grab his arms and legs!"
It could hardly even be called a brawl. With five thousand Ethiopian soldiers involved, the only sounds filling the air were the one-sided sounds of them getting pummeled.
"Gyaaah!"
Men went flying through the air—
Crack.
"Ugh…."
—knocked out cold with a single blow.
"Aaaah! Save me!"
—and one poor soul had his ankle seized and was being swung around like a weapon in place of a club.
Haile's mouth hung open as he watched, a single drop of drool sliding to the ground. These were supposed to be the elite of the elite, hand-picked for the founding of the navy—yet they were being utterly overwhelmed.
"Admiral? Surely it's time to stop them now?"
"Plenty of them are still standing, aren't they? Just watch—call it their warm-up."
Haile felt a little queasy. And yet, the thought that he might learn something truly extraordinary from these men stirred a flicker of gratitude in him too.
Crash.
That wasn't the sound of men being beaten—it was waves breaking against the breakwater.
"Uuugh…."
"It hurts so much…."
The brand-new uniforms they'd put on that morning were now reduced to rags, caked head to toe in dirt and dust.
"Sob…."
Some shed tears of sheer frustration. They had sunk to their knees begging to surrender, and still they'd been kicked aside.
"Tch. They're not even good for a light warm-up."
"Hah… When are we ever going to make sailors out of these guys?"
"Isn't this going to take years?"
"No! I told Misuk I'd be back in no time!"
Standing tall with the sun at their backs, the Daehan soldiers didn't look the least bit winded.
The Ethiopian soldiers gazed at them as one might gaze at monsters.
"Alright! Listen up! You are not soldiers yet! From this moment you are to be called trainees! Am I understood?!"
"Sniff…."
"Grrk!"
No answer from the Ethiopian ranks.
Pop, pop, crack.
"Oh! Excellent! I do admire men with backbone! Uwahahaha!"
And with that, the Daehan soldiers cracked their knuckles and charged in again, eager to deepen their newfound friendship.
"Aaaaah! No! Not me! Not me!"
"Stop it! Stop!"
Many fell to their knees, waving their hands frantically, refusing that brotherly goodwill with all their might.
"There's no such thing as sitting out in the army! We live together, we die together! Uwahahaha!"
"Oh, for the love of—!"
"Somebody help me!"
Thwack! Thud! Wham!
The beating they thought was over had begun again. And here was the strange thing: for all the savagery of the pummeling, no matter how lurid the bruises bloomed across their skin, not one bone was ever actually broken.
Crack!
"Gyaaaah! My leg!"
Ah—well, mistakes did happen now and then. But they'd patch him up with Holy Water, so no harm done.
The soldiers of Daehan had plenty of Holy Water to go around.
And watching it all unfold were the two commanders.
"Good heavens…."
"Oh! The Ethiopian army is no ordinary force either!"
"Ha. Ha. Ha."
That was Haile's soulless laugh. He had pictured a rose-tinted exchange—sailing out on ships, sharing hard-won know-how, building friendship—and it had been blown to pieces on day one.
"Don't worry yourself too much. It'll be fine."
"Yes…."
"Shall we head over as well?"
"I'm sorry—what?"
Looking at the admiral's face—eyes utterly cold, only the mouth smiling—Haile felt an unease creep over him too.
"We can hardly do this in front of the men, can we? Let's head over to that corner over there~ or a warehouse, shall we?"
"Gulp… Me? You mean me too?"
"Is a commander not a soldier?"
"Hrk…."
Why did the face of a man who had seemed so quiet and composed, almost scholarly or bureaucratic, suddenly look overlaid with the image of a ravenous beast?
Haile did his best to walk alongside him, his legs trembling beneath him.
One week later. The Ethiopian harbor.
"Uwaaaaaah!"
From early morning, Balay was cursing up a storm on the shoreline.
"Oh! Good! Ride that momentum—twenty more full-body twists!"
"Ghk!"
These devilish Daehan soldiers—no, these instructors—knew exactly how to drive a body to its absolute limits, perhaps a little too well.
Ethiopia's five thousand naval recruits were divided into groups of twenty for their training.
"Grraaaah…."
Having just completed twenty more full-body twists in this punishing ordeal, Balay sincerely wished he would simply stop breathing and be done with it.
But though the sky seemed to grow a little dimmer, his breath stubbornly refused to give out.
"Huff… huff."
"At least we get breaks in between. Thank god for that."
"Hah… When do we ever get on the ships?"
"Who knows…."
They had gathered together during their break, sipping water. And from behind them, an instructor was approaching.
"Curious, are we?"
The instructor slid in silently, joining their conversation with a gloomy air.
"Yeah, we are."
"Hm? Who is?"
"Hyiiiik! Instructor! Cough, cough."
The trainees answered without thinking, then spun around and found the instructor standing right there. Something must have gone down the wrong pipe, because they broke into violent coughing fits.
"Hm. First things first—if you want to board a ship, a body like steel is a must. You're all far too weak."
"Grrk…."
The recruits had gotten the shock of their lives during that brawl a while back. They'd seen no hulking muscle-bound brutes, assumed there couldn't be much strength in those frames, and had lunged in half-amused—only to find, once they'd grabbed hold of an arm or leg, that they couldn't tell whether they were grappling a human being or clinging to a boulder.
"The sea is not the land. There is nowhere to run. To defend your ship, you must fight until your very last breath."
"Whoa…."
The instructor dispensing his own brand of wisdom made for a rather heartwarming sight, all things considered.
"And if your ship were to sink, you'd need the strength to either swim all the way back to shore or board an enemy vessel and seize it for yourself, wouldn't you?"
"…Sir?"
The ending had taken a slightly odd turn, but nothing he'd said was exactly wrong, was it?
"And what if you're swimming at sea and a shark shows up? Are you just going to let it eat you? At the very least, you should be able to bite and claw your way past a shark and swim on, no?"
"Huh?"
The trainees felt like things were drifting somewhere very strange, but still—nothing he'd said was wrong, right?
"Sweat is the most honest thing in the world. Every drop you shed will come back to save your life. And with that in mind—let's start over from the top."
"Sniff…."
"Damn it…."
Balay felt the tears welling up. He had enlisted as a proud member of his homeland's very first navy, welcomed with cheers from his home village—
—only to roll around in the dirt day after day under a monstrous instructor.
"Hahaha! Is training so wonderful it moves you to tears?! Splendid! Let's work even harder, then!"
"Ghk…."
Rising wordlessly from their resting spot, they followed the instructor. They wanted nothing more than to lie down flat and declare they simply couldn't do it anymore—but the blasted instructor was doing every exercise right alongside them, so they couldn't say a word.
"Hey! You lot! Do it properly! You're breaking the rhythm! And it's not even loosening my muscles up!"
The real problem was that to the instructors, all of this was barely a warm-up.