IGMB 111

Chapter 111

Morning of the 4th day of guerrilla training.

“Wake up!”

At the sharp shout of the drill instructor, we were once again forcibly pulled from sleep.

I heaved my heavy body up and stepped outside the tent.

The dawn air brushed against the tent’s canvas, stirring up the damp smell of moisture and earth all at once.

Unlike yesterday, when all we could think about was the heat, the early morning chill was painfully cold.

I shivered instinctively as the cold seemed to penetrate all the way down my throat.

“Get up, make your beds, and fall in! Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

Following behind me, Seohwan emerged, half-asleep, groping along the tent poles.

He bumped his head on the entrance pole with a loud “thud” and immediately regained his senses.

“Ugh, damn. Almost faceplanted right after getting up.”

“Careful. You crack your head during guerrilla training, and it’ll be a disaster.”

We shook the mud off our wet boots with our heels, put them back on, and lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the tent.

Next to me, Gojunho whispered softly.

“Private Lee Geum-seong, are we really going to have CBRN training this afternoon?”

“Well, they said we’d train, so I guess so. Scared?”

Gojunho only nodded silently. He must have endured torment from the CS smoke at the training camp and still carried the residue of that fear.

Just the words “CBRN training” made the air feel heavy.

Yet, apart from that, the morning roll call continued as usual.

“All right, everyone, focus!”

With the platoon leader giving commands, each squad lined up. Dust swirled low along the wind at the assembly area.

Before starting the morning roll call, the personnel check was conducted.

As expected, everyone was present—no serious injuries so far.

As the roll call neared its end, we thought to ourselves:

“Are we running three laps again today… or more?”

We still vividly remembered the platoon leader’s previous cruelty.

However, perhaps recalling the harsh punishment from the overambitious first-day morning run, the platoon leader, without even taking off his upper shirt, shouted at us:

“Just one clean lap, then return. Got it?”

“Yeah!”

It was only on the 4th day of guerrilla training that the morning roll call returned to normal.

But just because roll call returned to normal doesn’t mean we could be happy.

The infamous reputation of guerrilla training remained.

“Prepare for PT exercises.”

“Yeah!”

The instructor’s counts overlapped with our synchronized responses.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

From the first move to the last, after repeating a set, we were drenched in sweat as if we had completed a marathon.

The chilly dawn air had vanished, leaving only the scorching summer sun tormenting us.

“Haa… haa…”

“Ugh… we’re really going to die at this rate…!”

Groans erupted here and there, but no one openly complained.

We all knew that the nearby instructors were watching us with hawk-like eyes, ready to pounce on any mistake.

While we were deeply focused on PT exercises, I noticed Sergeant Ji Seok-ho passing nearby.

All three of us in our Sampo group tensed immediately at the sight of him.

Silently, Sergeant Ji Seok-ho and Corporal Choi Min-heon exchanged glances.

Corporal Choi, perhaps feeling a twinge of guilt, spoke first.

“Hey, man. I was holding my stance properly.”

Anyone could tell that wasn’t true.

Sergeant Ji Seok-ho probably felt the same.

Yet, he didn’t correct Corporal Choi.

“As long as you don’t get caught, it’s fine.”

“…?”

“We’re human, too. We can’t monitor every move of the trainees. So, if you’re not visible, we won’t notice small tricks. And we’re not devils who would punish you for what we don’t see. That’s all you need to know.”

Sergeant Ji Seok-ho had just given us a hint: rest carefully without getting caught by the other instructors. If we do, it’s fine.

After he left, we silently looked at each other.

“Did he just…?”

“Say he’d cover for us?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

In fact, he lingered nearby, keeping a distance so he wouldn’t be too far while keeping an eye on the area.

That way, the other instructors wouldn’t need to check on us—they’d assume he was already monitoring us.

Corporal Choi chuckled.

“Never thought Seok-ho would show such flexibility.”

Sergeant Hwang Moon-bin nodded in deep agreement.

“Same here.”

Even I, who had known Ji Seok-ho for quite some time before my regression, witnessed something hard to believe.

“Didn’t he use to not do that?”

Maybe this was one of the changes brought on by my actions.

Such positive changes were always welcome.

As noon approached, the instructor raised his voice.

“All right. Morning training is over. Eat well, and at 1 PM, CBRN training begins. Make sure to take your gas masks and head to the training field. Got it?”

“Yes!”

Although ending training was good news, the addition of “CBRN” immediately dampened our joy.

Perhaps because of the looming pressure of CBRN, lunch was unusually quiet.

Only the clinking of spoons could be heard.

During the meal, Corporal Choi slammed his spoon down and finally voiced his pent-up frustration.

“Damn it! CBRN training in our final year! What kind of crap is this!”

But complaining wouldn’t change anything. In fact, knowing the truth may have frustrated him even more.

Still, there was a glimmer of hope.

Seohwan shared some intelligence he overheard during training.

“I heard that squads that perform well in CBRN training sometimes get let out early by the instructor.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I was exempted from PT exercises earlier, I overheard the instructors preparing for CBRN training say that.”

It didn’t feel like a secret tip. Every training session required sincere effort.

Still, the idea that attitude could influence training duration was worth listening to.

Corporal Choi’s expression lit up with realization.

“Guys! We finish within 2 minutes… no, 1 minute! Got it?”

“Yes!”

Even before the training started, our determination burned brightly.

We inspected our gas masks for tears or wear, checked the elasticity of the straps, and so on.

The state of our masks would determine the difficulty of our CBRN training.

“It’s been a while since the training camp…”

Earlier groups came back from the CBRN training room, their faces covered in tears and snot.

“Cough, cough!”

“Ah, it stings! It really stings!!!”

“Instructors! Everyone down here to wash your face with water!”

“Ah, ugh!”

Even at a distance from the CBRN training room, the faint CS smoke already irritated us.

Or perhaps it was the smell lingering on the clothes of those who had just returned.

Corporal Choi waved his hands frantically.

“Damn, that smell is awful.”

“No idea how many CS rounds the instructor fired.”

“Seriously, do they want to kill us?”

We knew it wouldn’t be easy.

‘Well, that’s the point of guerrilla training after all.’

Anything labeled “guerrilla” automatically doubled the difficulty—one of the many military “magics.”

“Next, Squad 8.”

“Yes!”

Finally, it was our turn.

As we put on our masks, the rubber smell hit our noses.

The mask sticking to our faces was still uncomfortable.

The view darkened slightly, but the fit felt snug.

‘At least we won’t inhale smoke the moment we enter.’

We stepped toward the dreaded CBRN training room, where safety rules were posted on a screen.

Before entering, we recited the procedures with the instructor: donning protection, decontamination, emergency response to exposure, and avoiding inducing vomiting.

The instructor gave additional guidance:

“After leaving the training, do not touch your face. Let tears and snot run naturally. Keep your eyes wide open and look forward. Understood?”

“Yes!”

“All right, Squad 8, enter!”

“Aaah!”

We saw the iron door, its gray paint chipped, metal showing through. A faint acrid smell seeped from the cracks.

This was truly… the gate of hell.

Screeeech.

The door moved with a sound.

We entered in a line.

Even through the mask, the acrid sensation was palpable.

The instructor spoke to us.