Episode 3: The Calm Before the Storm (1)
As the reveille sounded, the barracks—which had been sunk in a swamp of silence until then—became noisy in an instant. At least during morning wake-up, it looked no different from the 21st-century ROK Army. Not that it felt familiar or anything like that—ab-so-lute-ly not. It just was what it was. More precisely, it was so similar that I felt like I was getting PTSD…….
"Squad leaders, report your personnel! Everyone else, assemble on the parade ground immediately!"
"Look at that movement! Why aren't you moving faster!"
"And what are those bastards still doing with their blankets?!"
It seems duty officers screaming from dawn are a universal constant.
Anyway, the moment the reveille sounded, I instinctively got up from my cot, rolled up my blanket, changed into my PT uniform, and ran to the parade ground. My rank was officer, but my body was still accustomed to being an enlisted man. I was just acting like I did back in my old army, but everyone was looking at me with curious eyes. Expressions that seemed to ask, 'Why is he suddenly acting like that?' Well, I couldn't blame them. If I saw the company's biggest deadweight suddenly acting just like everyone else one day, I'd look at him with surprised eyes too. So this is why Grandfather used to harp on about how your usual conduct matters.
Doing a simple calisthenics routine followed by laps around the parade ground was exactly the same as in the ROK Army I knew. Shouting cadences during the run, even singing military songs—all of it.
"We'll sing a marching song! The song is, It's a Long Way to Tipperary!"
To mighty London one day came an Irish youth,
All the streets were paved with gold and everyone was happy,
Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand, and Leicester Square,
Our merry Irish lad shouted to the people there,
It's a long way to Tipperary,
A very long way,
To Tipperary where the one I love resides,
It's a long way to Tipperary!
Running was already killing me, and having to sing a marching song on top of that made it absolute hell. To make matters worse, the company commander was right in front of me, so I couldn't half-ass it and had to sing at the top of my lungs. While singing with all my might, I glanced to the side and saw the adjutant looking at me too. I quickly averted my eyes, so no awkward eye contact occurred, but I could still feel him watching me closely. Though I outranked him, the memories of my enlisted days were still ingrained in my body, so I couldn't shake this inexplicable feeling of intimidation.
I'm gonna die, seriously. I should've just properly faked being crazy at the hospital—self-harm or whatever—to get out of the army. I always regret things too late. What the hell am I even doing?
After barely finishing the run, I returned to the barracks and changed into my uniform. I roughly shoved the PT uniform—already drenched in sweat and caked with dust—into my locker, washed my face and hands, changed into my uniform, and headed to the mess hall. I had to eat, after all.
But then…….
"Lieutenant? Where are you going?"
Wasn't that Sergeant Gates calling out to me out of nowhere? What?
"Uh… I'm heading to the dining hall?"
"……? The officers' mess is that way."
Only then did I realize my mistake. So the 20th-century British Army also had separate dining halls for enlisted men and officers, just like the modern ROK Army. If there was a difference, it was that the enlisted mess was used by both soldiers and non-commissioned officers, while the officers' mess was exclusively for officers.
"…Oh my, look at me. I completely forgot."
I gave an awkward smile and turned toward the officers' mess. Sergeant Gates sighed ostentatiously, shook his head, and walked away. If there was a mouse hole, I'd want to hide in it. Seriously.
To make matters worse, the food was terrible too. Bland British cuisine + military chow that doesn't even know the concept of taste? Game over, plain and simple.
"Ha…… Fucking army……."
The ROK Army is also famed for the insanely low quality of its chow, virtually without rival, but even so, Britain at this time was the world's strongest nation, yet its military grub looked like this. Soup with congealed, pale grease floating on top; bread that was tough despite its appearance; cold peas; and tea that had gone cold as well. The bacon reeked so badly of urine that I hesitated to even touch it, and the tomatoes were mushy to the point where their freshness was highly suspect. Can you even eat this? It looks spoiled at a glance. The ROK Army's infamous meal terrors—seafood bibim sauce with fried yellow croaker, kodari gangjeong, and imitation crab fish cake stir-fry—would look normal by comparison. That says it all. This country is the world's greatest power, so why they serve food at an 18th-century level is beyond me.
***
"Platoon leader, you've made it back alive after all!"
"……Yeah. I'm back."
The guy greeting me with a bright face is Adam Kid. He's a new transfer who arrived less than a month ago, the same age as me, and he's treated as a 'deadweight' just like me. You can probably tell why he's treated as a deadweight just from that first greeting. He resembles Private Pyle, the tormented soldier from Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece war film Full Metal Jacket, and the things he does are so similar that it's almost scary. He always falls behind during every run, so much so that both the company commander and adjutant gave up on him long ago, and he goofs off at the firing range, pulling the trigger before the firing order is even given. He's a true deadweight warrior who possesses every qualification to be one.
Well, it's not like he's as bad as 'me', though. Still, he's the only one who treats me properly as an officer, so he's a precious existence to me. The other soldiers don't even give me a second glance. It's normal not to get close to a deadweight officer, but actually being that person feels like absolute shit.
For the record, we're currently performing tank maintenance under Captain Harrison's orders. Normally an officer would have different duties, but as you know, since I'm such a deadweight, I'm just doing maintenance. Well, working alone with a guy who gets treated like a deadweight just like me is better than working under uncomfortable stares. They say an uncomfortable body is better than an uncomfortable mind, don't they?
I let out a small sigh and looked at the tank before me. This tank's name is the A11 Matilda I Infantry Tank. It looks obsolete at a glance, but it's actually a new model developed only five years ago. Ah, of course, by 1940 standards. Its armor is 60mm thick, so its defense is quite decent, but it's armed with nothing but a single Vickers machine gun, making it a bizarre machine that can't fight other tanks despite being a tank.
However, until this period, most tanks were like this. For example, the German Panzer I was armed with only two machine guns, and France went even further, fielding hundreds of the Renault FT-17, an ultra-obsolete relic from World War I, so by comparison, this was practically aristocratic. At least its armor itself was excellent.
That explanation went on longer than I thought. When I first saw it, seeing in person something I'd only seen in photos on the internet was a fresh experience, but I soon grew used to it. Now it just looks like a hunk of rolling iron. Once you get used to something, it ends up looking like a stone by the roadside.
While Adam inspected the engine, I got inside the tank and checked the machine gun and radio. Everything normal.
"Adam, how's the engine? Is there a lot to fix?"
"Uh…… I think we'll be done if we just replace a few fuses, Platoon Leader."
"Yeah, hurry up and replace them so we can rest."
As I came out first, I suddenly felt thirsty. Luckily, there was water in a canteen I'd filled in preparation for when I got thirsty. I was greedily gulping down water that had just started to turn lukewarm when the classical music flowing from the radio cut off and news came on. Then came the same voice I'd heard at the hospital, speaking about today's news.
"Good day, listeners. It's a lovely spring day. And now, let's begin the news for May 8th, 1940……"
"Pffft!"
I spat out the water I was drinking without thinking. Adam saw that and looked at me, tilting his head.
"What's wrong, Platoon Leader? Did something go down the wrong pipe?"
"Ah, no. It's nothing."
Right, I'd completely forgotten. Today was May 8th, 1940—only two days remained before the German Army launched Operation Sickle.
Damn it! The war breaks out in two days!
The war had already been going on for a long time, but until now, Western Europe had been quiet as a grave. Even while Germany attacked Poland, Denmark, and Norway, Britain and France hadn't moved their armies, because of the memories from World War I. The British and French leadership, guessing that the side attacking first would suffer greater losses, refrained from military action, and Germany, which wasn't ready for a full-scale fight with France, also avoided clashes. Thanks to that, a strange peace had persisted in Western Europe. Later historians named this period the 'Phoney War.'
But this too would become as if it never happened in just two days. At the thought, my hands and feet trembled and cold sweat poured down. What was even more maddening was that I was the only one who knew this. If I'd been in a position like a general, I would've mobilized all my knowledge of the future to devise countermeasures against the enemy attack, but my rank was merely that of a second lieutenant—the lowest of officers. What could a mere second lieutenant do even if he knew about the enemy invasion? Even if I ran to headquarters right now and said the German Army would attack in two days, who would believe me? I'd only get looks asking, 'Isn't that guy crazy?' Especially if it was a deadweight officer infamous for causing accidents? It wouldn't be a matter of indifference or ridicule—they'd try to drag me to a mental hospital immediately.
In other words, there was no-thing I could do!
I would've been more at peace if I didn't know anything. Having knowledge unsuited to a status where I can do nothing is driving me crazy. To think I have to watch helplessly as the war breaks out and everything goes to ruin…… And I can't confide in anyone about it either. It's absolutely maddening.
"Excuse me, Platoon Leader?"
"What now?"
"Are you ill? You're sweating profusely."
Whether Adam knew what was inside me or not, he looked surprised at the amount of sweat running down my nape. My clothes were soaked through with sweat, so it wasn't strange for him to react like that. Come to think of it, I envied him. Since he doesn't know what's coming, he has nothing to worry about.
"It's nothing. Just…… I have a concern, that's all."
"What kind of concern makes you sweat so much?"
"There are circumstances I can't speak of. Just know that."
I tried to brush it off roughly, but he genuinely seemed curious about my worries. By now, I was starting to think 'que sera, sera.' I looked around and beckoned Adam to come closer. Then I whispered into his ear the secret only I knew……not all of it, but just a part. I thought that even this much might ease my uneasy heart a little.
"Hypothetically. If war breaks out soon, say in two or three days, what would you do? And you're the only one who knows that fact."
"……? Hasn't the war already broken out?"
"Yeah. But you're the only one who knows the enemy is about to attack. No one else knows. Even if you tell people, they won't believe you. What would you do then?"
"How would I be the only one to know that fact?"
"That's why I said hypothetically. If."
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand very well. Could you explain……"
"……"
Ah, there was one fact I'd momentarily forgotten. The fact that this guy is also a deadweight. No matter how many times I spoke, this guy couldn't understand a single word I was saying. In the end, exhausted from explaining, I gave up halfway and threw in the towel. I lose, you bastard.
A short while later, having even forgotten what I'd said, the guy tossed his tools aside and ran off to the mess hall. It was already lunchtime. I could see soldiers who had been on duty gathering in groups of threes and fives, heading to the mess hall. My stomach growled, but I had no appetite. I just wanted to stay still like this.
Sergeant Gates, who was heading to the mess hall, spoke to me as he saw me crouched in front of the tank.
"Lieutenant, it's mealtime. Aren't you going to the mess hall?"
"I just have some things to think about. I'll go later."
"Then, if you'll excuse me."
I stared blankly at Sergeant Gates's retreating back, imagining the fate that loomed ahead. Not a single breeze was blowing, yet I felt a chill. It felt like standing alone in a vast field while snow fell.