God of Blackfield

Kang Chan returned to base with five boxes of instant coffee packets, ramyeon, cup noodles, and thin noodles. He could still remember the joy he felt when he first discovered instant coffee and ramyeon during his first leave in France.

The journey to Kilima in the Democratic Republic of Congo was long and arduous. It involved a commercial flight to Kinshasa, a transport helicopter to Manamana, and finally a jeep ride to Kilima. When they arrived, covered in dust, the soldiers came down to greet him.

“Ramyeon? Is that ramyeon?” Smithen's eyes shone as he licked his lips.

In a previous life, this guy must have been a dog that survived on nothing but ramyeon. Maybe a mutt that followed a female dog around all day, living off a single packet of ramyeon that his owner threw to him every night.

The thought made Kang Chan feel oddly sympathetic.

While three soldiers carried the boxes inside, Kang Chan headed straight to his quarters. He stripped off his cotton T-shirt, which didn’t even match his jeans, and changed into military pants and a short-sleeved shirt. Strangely, wearing the uniform always made him feel at ease.

Laughter echoed from outside. It was probably Smithen, rubbing his belly and joking about eating five packets of ramyeon for dinner.

Kang Chan pushed aside the flap of his tent and walked directly to the central command tent. Considering he had taken a good two weeks off, it would only be proper for him to report in.

When he entered, Sharlan glanced up at him. His presence here meant they had a mission ahead.

“Sit down,” ordered Sharlan.

Kang Chan sat across the table from the sharp-featured man.

“We leave in two days. We have to deal with the tribal rebels in Congo.”

“Is this a solo mission?”

Sharlan nodded and slid a map across the table.

“Study the area. We depart at seven.”

“Oui.”

Kang Chan took the map and exited Sharlan’s tent. He then made his way back to his own tent, which was about ten meters away from the command tent. Afterward, he sat down at the table in front of his tent and lit a cigarette.

Hello again, Kilima! How have you been, Kasai River?

Click! Ssshh!

The musty smell of Africa had become as comforting to him as the rich, sweet aroma of coffee and smoke.

“Hoo!”

Kang Chan looked up at the sky above the Kasai River and smirked. The thought of the bear-sized man looking lost in front of the training camp amused him. By now, both the recruit and the drill instructor were probably going through hell.

“Here’s your coffee!”

Smithen, looking even more deflated, sat down beside Kang Chan with a cup of coffee.

He’s up to something again.

Smithen only ever brought him coffee when he wanted something.

“About the next mission…” Smithen started.

“Smithen.”

“Oui.”

Kang Chan glanced at him. “If you’re going to spout nonsense, save it for later. If you’re feeling uneasy about the mission, you should request a transfer to another squad.”

“The 13th Regiment has strict rules…”

When Kang Chan turned his gaze toward him, Smithen immediately clammed up.

“You asked for a vacation that wasn’t in the rules, and now, as soon as I get back, you say you have a bad feeling? You know this is the second time, right?”

“But I’ve always done my part, no?”

Clack.

Kang Chan set down his mug, making Smithen flinch.

“Stop spouting nonsense and get ready.”

As Kang Chan put the cigarette back in his mouth, Smithen stood up with a disgruntled expression.

Smithen had never known how to give up, though. He would use any underhanded means to get what he wanted, even if it meant eating whatever he could lay his hands on. Without missing a beat, he headed straight for Sharlan’s tent.

“What’s the matter?” Sharlan asked sharply, looking up at Smithen as he stood before him.

“I have to speak with you.”

A brief silence followed. Finally, Sharlan gestured to a chair. “Sit down.”

“I have a bad feeling about the upcoming mission, and I’d like to opt-out.”

“Hmm.”

Sharlan closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his chair.

"Discuss that with your captain," Sharlan responded.

“I did, but he didn’t allow me,” Smithen replied.

“Why not?”

“Well…” Smithen hesitated, causing Sharlan to flash a subtle, knowing smile.

“Listen, Smithen. Every special forces soldier wants to join the 11th unit of the 13th Regiment. Kilima was even prepared specifically for the 11th unit. You do know that, don’t you?”

Smithen remained silent.

“If your captain submits a transfer request, you’ll be reassigned to another squad. While regulations are in place, the higher-ups won’t reject a request from Channy. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir.”

Smiling faintly, Sharlan took a mental note of Smithen's simple, selfish, and greedy nature, along with his weakness for women.

“Then stop complaining and just go on this mission. However, moving forward, come to me first if something like this happens again.”

Puzzled, Smithen looked at Sharlan.

“When reliable soldiers like you serve under a strong, independent leader, you often feel pressured to sacrifice more than others. I believe your kind should be rewarded more, though. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s why I’m telling you this: if you ever feel uneasy or need something, you report to me directly. And…” Sharlan shook his head. “Never mind. You can go now.”

“Oui,” Smithen responded and left the command tent.

***

Dayeru wasn’t smart, but he was no fool either. During the process of joining the training camp, he bore witness to Kang Chan’s influence. As if by magic, two days after joining, he received a passport under the simple name “Dayeru Azar.”

It was like being reborn.

An Algerian intelligence officer who couldn’t speak French brought the passport.

“Even if you don’t know much else, it’s good to learn the names of weapons, basic commands, and retreat orders in French.”

“Understood. About the person who brought me here—was he someone important?”

The instructor responded with a deep sigh, seemingly asking how Dayeru could be unaware of such a thing.

“Passing this course won’t be easy. If you’re injured, you’re dismissed immediately. Same goes for failing the course. If you pass, though, you’ll move straight to the special forces training program.”

The instructor’s answer wasn’t even remotely related to Dayeru’s question of whether Kang Chan was a big shot. It made him wonder if the instructor had misunderstood the question.

“The person who brought you here is the God of Blackfield, the most outstanding special forces commander in the Foreign Legion in Africa. There’s a line of soldiers waiting to apply for his unit.”

Dayeru felt a chill run down his spine.

“Even the DGSE respects that man.”

“Phuhu.”

Well, that makes getting beaten up by him a little less humiliating.

“What’s he to you?” the instructor asked, his face filled with curiosity.

Well, he’s just the one who beat me up like I’m a fucking dog.

Dayeru recalled his encounter with Kang Chan. His most striking memory was the way Kang Chan looked down at him.

He wanted to ask why Kang Chan brought him here if they ever met again, but he didn’t expect a straightforward answer.

“When does your training start?” asked the instructor.

“Monday. I heard I can rest until the end of the week,” Dayeru answered.

“With just this passport in your hand, you’ve already gained incredible luck in life. Whatever choices you make here, I hope they lead to good results.”

With his job finished, the soldier turned and walked away.

Dayeru blinked and stared at the passport in his hand. Military uniform, combat boots, rifle, bayonet, and barracks—he could never have imagined being in such a setting, yet here he was, right in the middle of it all.

Dayeru remembered Kang Chan glancing back at him before leaving the training camp. The man had a leaner build, yet Dayeru could still vividly remember the strength in his shoulders and the determined look in his eyes.

Does someone like him feel lonely too? That’s how I saw it, at least.

Dayeru sighed, shaking off his thoughts as he lay down on the cot.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

His neck and side still ached horribly.

***

Kang Chan pointed to his eyes with his index and middle fingers, then gestured toward the tree on the left.

Click. Click.

Reznov, their sniper, cautiously moved forward to take position. Afterward, Smithen and the rest of the soldiers followed the rest of Kang Chan’s instructions.

Now, they were ready.

Kang Chan surveyed the area once more. Catholics and Protestants together made up half the population of Congo. While the city centers had been relatively orderly, venturing into the outskirts often led to encounters with shamans, where murders, looting, and human trafficking occurred every few days.

They were descending a slope on the mountain. The mission was to assassinate a rebel chieftain who ruled over a tribe, and the delay was beginning to feel unjustifiable.

The sun was just beginning to rise. About sixty meters below, tree houses and huts were coming to life, signaling the start of another uneasy day.

The cunning rebel leader had positioned his home in the center of the village. It was the best built among the surrounding huts, too. The sheer size of the village was also another problem—it was much larger than expected.

Charging in would inevitably trigger a woman’s scream, followed by a firefight where the women and children were the first casualties. To make matters worse, some of the women screaming and running around would suddenly pull out AK-47s from under their skirts.

For now, they should wait. When the morning came, someone was bound to emerge, and they would seize that moment. As the sun rose higher, women began to step out of the mud huts. Some held babies in their long arms as they moved leisurely, while others had children waddling behind them.

The population seemed to be as large as the village itself.

It was still difficult to gauge the ages of African women accurately. Except for one or two exceptions, most bore the marks of hardship and struggle, making it as hard to guess their ages as solving a math problem.

‘Damn it!’

Kang Chan cursed under his breath as he watched the village’s morning unfold. There were too many women and children.

This place was full of women who lived under constant threat of losing their children, watched over the women who had already lost them, and slept with the men who would sell their children. Such was the reality of this remote part of Congo.

Women exhausted by life could lose their children and be done grieving within half a day. To them, hunger and disease were more immediate concerns.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to die than to live like that?’ Kang Chan wondered, allowing the dark thought to cross his mind momentarily.

Aside from the women who would charge with guns in hand, they also had to keep an eye out for the men who had armed them. If someone told them it would be better to die because they had nothing, then Kang Chan should have already died back in Korea.

Creak.

The door of the house in the center opened, cutting off Kang Chan’s thoughts.

‘Come out.’

A shirtless black man carrying an AK-47 stepped out.

That’s not him.

Next, an older man with a headdress made of feathers and bones emerged.

That’s probably a shaman.

Kang Chan slowly aimed his rifle.

Just come out so we can end this quickly.

As if responding to his wish, a large man with a haughty expression stepped out with his hand resting on his waist.

Bingo!

Kang Chan immediately nodded toward Reznov, who in turn took aim.

Thwip! Splat!

The target’s head exploded, spraying blood around the door.

Thwip! Splat!

Kang Chan then drilled a bullet through the head of the man holding the AK-47.

The shaman screamed, women shrieked, and children began to cry.

Click. Click.

Kang Chan swiftly scanned for any others with weapons.

Ratatatatat!

Gunfire erupted from beside the door of the rebel leader’s house.

Whizz! Whizz!

The bullets were haphazardly fired, not posing much of a threat. However, even stray bullets could tear through flesh.

Thwip! Crack!

The sniper fired but missed. Still, they had shaken the enemy enough to force them to retreat inside.

Kang Chan slowly turned his rifle and surveyed the village again, fixing his gaze on a particular mud hut. It was partially obscured by another house when viewed from above.

He noticed someone moving a rifle inside it earlier, though they were now out of sight. Even minimal training could prevent someone from holding a rifle so carelessly. This was typical of rebels who had only been taught how to shoot unarmed civilians.

Kang Chan could only hope that the person wasn’t a woman a scrawny woman with frizzy hair and a protruding forehead or a child barely past the age of ten. The sniper kept his muzzle pointed at the rebel leader’s house while Kang Chan aimed for the mud hut.

After a moment of silence, an old man’s shout echoed, and a frail woman wearing a headscarf ran out of the hut that Kang Chan was monitoring. She wobbled as she charged toward Kang Chan’s position.

Click. Click.

Barefooted, she ran across the ground. The AK-47 in her hands seemed to scream that his time had come.

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