IGMB 09

Boot Camp Entry (4)

In civilian life—and in the military as well—when someone asks, “Who wants to volunteer?” it’s never easy to find a person willing to step forward first.
I used to be the same way.
I always thought, Someone else will do it. Not once did it cross my mind that the “someone” could be me.

But after my first discharge, that mindset completely changed.
In the army, volunteering usually comes with some kind of reward.
Thanks to that, I once managed to collect three separate 3-day leave passes.
Since that day, I realized that being “the one who steps up” isn’t a moment to avoid, but another opportunity.

Boot camp was no different.
Still, my fellow recruits looked at me with expressions that clearly said, Why bother?

Watch closely, I thought.
I’ll show you my determination to rack up points.

Corporal Joo Yong-hyuk asked which marching song I’d sing.
“What army song will you do? If you haven’t picked one, want me to choose?”
“Yes, please go ahead.”
“Oho, bold move? I like it.”

Joo Yong-hyuk was the most playful of the instructors, always cracking jokes to break the stiff mood among the trainees.
That made him my personal favorite among the drill staff.
If only he were a sergeant instead of a corporal—maybe he could cut us a bit more slack. That was my only tiny regret.

Flipping through the little notebook of army songs, he pondered for a while.
“Let’s see… then… ‘The Final Five Minutes,’ loud and proud! One, two, three, four!”

“Even choking pain! Even bone-carving agony!”

I shouted with every bit of volume I had.
Hang in there, my poor vocal cords!

“Until the moment of victory! Endure and endure!”

My voice boomed across the wide parade ground.
Even recruits resting far away turned their heads to look.
Not only the drill instructors but even an off-duty officer began watching me.

The louder I got, the brighter Corporal Joo’s smile became.
Clearly, my strategy was working.

When I finished the song, he beamed and called out,
“Applause!”

Clap clap clap—!
Following his cue, my fellow trainees gave me a round of claps.

It wasn’t exactly a great performance, but my spirit was top-notch. That’s how I’d rate myself.

But applause wasn’t what I was after.

Right on cue, a voice came through Joo Yong-hyuk’s radio.
—“Who just sang that army song?”

Before he could answer, I shouted even louder than before,
“Trainee number forty-five, Lee Geum-seong, sir!”

That way the officer didn’t need anyone to confirm my name.

I could almost picture the officer smiling.
—“Give trainee forty-five three merit points.”

“Thank you, sir!”

It was the first official awarding of merit points since training began.

Back at the barracks, Seo-hwan wouldn’t stop talking about it.
“That was insane. I mean, how did the instructor just hand you points for one song?”
“In the army, whoever acts first usually wins. Remember earlier when another platoon was getting extra drills? The ones who ran to touch the soccer goal first were excused.”
“Wow, the army really is first-come, first-served life.”

Not every situation works that way, but in my experience, most did.
Singing the marching song was no exception.

“I figured they’d give points to whoever volunteered first.”
“What, so you planned it? I thought you just got lucky.”
“Calculated every move in my head.”

It wasn’t chance; it was inevitable.

If I’d said that beforehand, Seo-hwan would have thought I was bragging.
But results change perceptions.

“You’re basically a military PhD.”
“Not exactly a compliment I want.”

If someone actually tried to award me such a degree, I’d gladly return it.
I reenlisted only for the money, after all.

Not long after receiving those points, a new notification appeared.

[General Quest Generated.]
[Earn 5 or more merit points within the first week of boot camp.]
[Reward: 5 million won will be added to your balance.]

I’d already expected a series of quests related to merit points.
That’s why I deliberately aimed to earn them.

Didn’t think they’d come week by week, I mused.
Even better.
The more quests there are, the more rewards I can rack up—
…assuming I clear them all, of course.

So far, I hadn’t failed a single quest. I felt confident.

After drill practice, we changed into our dress uniforms for the official photo shoot.
A civilian photographer snapped us one by one.

Taking pictures was fine, but the fact that we were in the army hung heavy in everyone’s minds.
Many recruits looked gloomy, which made the photographer frown.

“If possible, give me a smile,” he urged.

Instructor Park Gil-young reassured him and then barked at the next trainee,
“Remember, your family and friends will see this photo. Even if you don’t feel like it, smile! Show that soldiers can be happy!”

“Yes, Instructor!”

Forced happiness is still happiness, I suppose.

Seo-hwan went next.
“One, two, three—kimchi!”
“K-kimchi…” click!

He’d looked ready to cry a moment earlier, but managed a passable grin.

Then it was my turn.

This is so lame, I thought.
There’s nothing sadder than forcing a smile in uniform.
But better a fake smile than tears.

I lifted the corners of my mouth just as the shutter clicked.
“Okay, next,” the photographer said briskly—too many recruits to nitpick.

I had no attachment to this photo anyway; no quest depended on it.

My mind drifted elsewhere.
What’s for dinner?
In the army, that’s one of the most important questions.

For dinner we headed to the mess hall again.
First platoon, on serving duty, looked exhausted as they ladled out rice, soup, and side dishes.

Right, trainees handle food service themselves, I remembered.
They must be dead tired from training and now this.
I wondered when our third platoon would get our turn.

Tonight’s menu was… predictably underwhelming:
cabbage kimchi, soybean-paste soup, braised pollock, stir-fried anchovies. That was about it.

If only we had some instant ramen and a can of tuna, I thought.
Even a meal like this would taste Michelin-star worthy with those two.

But recruits can’t just waltz into the PX.
Not at this stage of service.

After forcing down the food, we headed back to the barracks.

Time to relax?
Not a chance.

As I’d learned back at the replacement unit, boot camp never lets trainees stay idle.
They’ll always find you something to do.

“Training’s over, so polish your boots, organize your gear, and at 20:30 head to your assigned cleaning areas. Move!”
“Move!”

I grabbed my boots along with the issued brush and polish.
Boots can’t be cleaned inside the barracks; you have to go outside.

Under a small lamp post in front of the review stand, Seo-hwan and I took a spot and sat on the steps.

Thud.

He let out a deep sigh.
“After a whole day of work, can’t they just let us rest?”
“My thoughts exactly.”

He voiced what I wanted to say, and it felt oddly satisfying.
No instructor was nearby, so this was the perfect time for a bit of army grumbling.

“By the way, Geum-seong,” he asked, “I get that I came here after studying physical education, but what were you doing before enlistment?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve heard your story.”
“Nothing special. Just like everyone else—went to school, then enlisted when it was time.”

Ordinary. That’s how I wanted to describe it.
Though others might not see it that way, I had no intention of bragging.

Sensing something in my tone, Seo-hwan didn’t press further.
What mattered was not the past but the present—and the future.

“I saw on the schedule we’ve got shooting practice. We really get to fire a gun, right?”
“Of course. What, you think it’s fake?”
“I’ve never shot a real gun. What if I mess up?”

I couldn’t help laughing.
“Come on, how many civilians have ever fired a gun? Almost none. Don’t worry about it.”
“Think so?”
“Yeah. The instructors will teach everything. Just follow orders—that’s the key to army life.”

In the middle of speaking, an unpleasant memory surfaced.
When it comes to shooting practice, there’s an unavoidable step:

That damn PRI drill…

Looking at my growing reward total had made me think I could endure anything.
But PRI was the first thing to shake that confidence.

The more you know, the deeper the fear.
I shivered involuntarily.

“Why? Cold already?” Seo-hwan tilted his head.
“I wish that were the reason,” I muttered.

Sometimes, ignorance—like Seo-hwan’s—would be a blessing.
Knowing the future isn’t always a good thing.