IGMB 08

Chapter 08

Entering the Training Camp (3):

The door of the barracks where Seo-hwan and I would be staying had a memo posted beside it. It listed, week by week, all the training we’d be receiving at the recruit training center.

For Week 1 it said: Drill training, mental education, and photo shoot.

“Photo shoot? What’s that about?”
Seo-hwan looked confused at the unexpected words.

“Exactly what it says.”

“Why would they suddenly take pictures?”

“So they can upload them to the training-center website, of course.”

These days—well, even back then—there was a system where they’d regularly post photos online so parents, siblings, girlfriends, or friends could see for themselves that their son, brother, boyfriend, or buddy was doing fine in the army.

Letters could also be sent via the internet.

Right then, a drill instructor came into our barracks and mentioned the photos.
“After drill training we’ll take the photos, so keep that in mind. Rest until 13:10, then assemble in front of the barracks. Understood?”

“Yes, understood!”

So, until 13:10…
‘About thirty minutes left,’ I thought.

I was just about to lean back on the wooden floor when I heard the instructor’s boots again.
Instinctively I straightened up as if nothing had happened.

Apparently he still had something to say.
His eyes narrowed, giving us a sharp, piercing look.

“As I’ve said repeatedly, lying down in the barracks outside of sleeping hours is strictly forbidden. Get caught and you’ll be penalized. Remember that.”

“Yes, sir!”

Several guys who, like me, had been about to lie down twitched as though caught red-handed.

The instructor left again.
‘He’s really gone this time, right?’

No more footsteps echoed down the hall. He must have moved on to another room or gone to prepare for training.

As soon as I was sure he was gone, I went back to my spot and lay down flat.

Seo-hwan, still stiffly upright, gaped at me.
“Hey, what if the instructor catches you?”

“It’s fine. If I hear him coming, I’ll just pop right back up.”

Drill instructors here don’t usually patrol just to check if trainees are lying down.
They only come in if there’s an announcement or something important.
They’re human too—they rest when they can.

Of course, sometimes they do make surprise inspections.
‘But with my experience, I’ll sense it right away.’

No matter how sharp these instructors are, they can’t beat my military background.
I’d already served my full term as a sergeant before reenlisting.
Unless someone’s an officer, it’s hard to out-seniority me.

I never imagined I’d be putting my end-of-service stealth skills to use again in a training camp.

So I enjoyed a quiet break, the only one lying down in the room.

Around 13:00, the PA system came on.

—“Assembly in ten minutes.”

“Assembly in ten minutes!”
The trainees echoed the announcement.

Knowing we had to gather soon made my body feel strangely heavy.
‘I really don’t want to go.’

Why did we have to train out in this freezing weather? Who knew.

Five minutes before the time, I finally dragged myself up and headed outside.
The cold winter air made everyone hunch their shoulders.
Seo-hwan was no different.

“Aren’t we going to freeze to death during training?”

“Don’t worry. Before long you’ll be saying it’s hot.”

Winter recruit training lets you experience the magic of seasons reversing.
Even in January or February—the coldest months—you’ll end up drenched in sweat like it’s summer.
That’s the scary part of basic training.

Seo-hwan still looked doubtful, as if to say, Just from marching drills?
‘He’ll find out soon enough,’ I thought.
I was sure I was right.

In the army, drill (called je-sik in Korean) is the foundation of everything.
You could say training begins and ends with drill.

That’s why it’s the very first thing the replacement unit taught us, and the recruit center was no exception.

“Company, about face!”
“Forward march!”
“Left face! Right face!”
“Eyes front—salute!”
“Loyalty!”

The parade ground rang with the voices of trainees divided into groups to practice their commands.

At the replacement unit we’d only learned the basics, but here we trained by the book.
And now, an extra element: personal weapons.

An instructor holding a K-2 rifle stood before us and continued.
“There are several rifle-carry drill positions. For port arms, grip the handguard with your left hand and the stock with your right, muzzle slightly to the left eye. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“For saluting while armed, there’s the present arms position, which follows directly from port arms. Watch the instructors demonstrate. Instructors, positions!”

Two instructors stepped forward—one facing us, the other turned sideways so we could see.

“Present—arms!”

Snap! Snap!
Their movements clicked like precision machines.
Well, they probably practiced this endlessly, so it made sense.

We followed their textbook example and began rifle-carry drill ourselves.

Anyone who’s handled a K-2 knows it’s heavier than it looks.
It’s basically a hunk of steel, definitely not light.

Two to three hours of changing positions with it, even in drill training, will make anyone sweat.

Under the glaring sun we focused on each motion until, finally, the voice of our platoon instructor crackled over the radio clipped to a drill instructor’s chest—a carrot instead of a stick.

—“Let the trainees rest, then resume.”

“Copy that,” answered Corporal Park Gil-young, the instructor in charge of 3rd Platoon.

“Ten-minute break! Helmets off!”

“Helmets off!”

We removed the heavy helmets weighing on our heads and necks.
The cold winter air chilled the sweat beading on our scalps.

It felt like bouncing between a hot bath and an ice bath—no middle ground.
Either scorching or freezing: that’s army weather.

Seo-hwan suddenly started chuckling beside me.
At first I wondered if the army had already broken him,
but then the reason became clear.

“I thought when the instructor yelled tal-mo! he meant baldness!”

What the instructor actually said was tal-mo (脫帽), meaning “remove your hat,” not tal-mo (脫毛), meaning hair loss.

Thinking back, I’d made the same mistake my first time in.

Judging by the faces around me, plenty of others misunderstood too.

The army is full of terms civilians rarely hear—je-sik (drill), jip-chong (rifle carry), or sa-ro (firing lane) when we start shooting later.

The military broadened my worldview in some ways, yet it’s also one of the most narrow and confined places imaginable.

It’s… well, pretty ironic.
I couldn’t help but smile wryly.

Break time didn’t mean we could just sprawl out.

“Company, attention! Attention!”

“Attention!”

Private First Class Joo Yong-hyuk, the other instructor for our platoon, gave us a different assignment.

“During this break I’ll teach you a few of the main army songs you’ll be singing for the next two years.”

Army songs.
I hadn’t sung those in nearly twenty years.
I never thought I’d have to again.

Trainees in the front row passed back printed lyric sheets: Real Man, Marching Morning, The Final Five Minutes, To the Front, Dashing Soldier, and more.

Just seeing those titles was enough to trigger old memories.

For veterans, military songs are arguably the most annoying genre on earth.

“First we’ll learn Real Man. I’ll sing the first line, you echo it. Got it?”

“Yes, understood!”

I could have sworn he’d said it was break time.
When the sudden song lesson began, I almost cursed out loud.

“Born a man! There’s so much to do! Now, sing!”

“Born a man, there’s so much to do—”

“Stop! Are you auditioning for a music show? Sing like soldiers—loud and strong, one syllable at a time! Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Army songs have a unique style.
You don’t need a good voice—just belt it out powerfully, like Instructor Joo said.
Even the battalion commander passing by would smile with approval.

We kept singing through the entire list, stirring memories from twenty years ago.

As the session wound down, Instructor Joo offered a challenge.
“Anyone want to come up front and sing a song proudly for the group?”

Predictably, silence.
No one wanted to volunteer.

But I knew something others didn’t:
In the army, moments like this often lead to unexpected rewards.

‘This is definitely a chance to earn points!’

I shot my hand up and shouted louder than when singing.

“Trainee No. 45, Lee Geum-seong! I’ll do it!”

The commendation hunter in me was officially on the move.

END