The troops moved out on Thursday a week later, leaving Seoul with only a few men still in it: the elderly, the very young, the infirm and physically or mentally unfit for duty. Jeonghan and Minhyun were locked up, warm and safe in the palace. That was a relief. Lizzy was almost holding the café by herself, with Ren at her side: due to an asthma problem that left him scarred as a child, the barista was exempt from duty. That was good, too. As long as Lizzy didn’t forget to feed the fish.

Everybody was drafted and on their way out in a convoy of military trucks headed for the front. The weather was still abominably cold, with soldiers huddling together for heat and socks in the compound being sold for up to 24000 won per pair.

Jihoon’s jeep led the convoy.

Wonwoo drove; Shownu was in the passenger’s seat, and Jihoon was squished between Wonwoo and four duffels in the back seat, not to mention weapons, walkie talkies, radios, phones, medical equipment, tent equipment, rations, sleeping bags… the whole lot.

“This is stupid,” he complained through his face bask, icy wind biting at his face. “Why do I need three bodyguards on the battlefield?”

“Shut up,” the three bodyguards chorused.

Camp was made for the night: the King and his three bodyguards took the largest tent, but were in no better shape than any of the soldiers. Jihoon made no effort to single himself out as the King. He shovelled snow just as hard, pitched his tent with just as much skill – that is to say, none – and chewed grudgingly on the same ty rations everybody else got. A large bonfire was not permitted, lest the enemy should see them, so the men were huddled around in small groups around tiny campfires, boiling snow in pots to hydrate their powder potatoes.

Jihoon didn’t join any of them. He sat in his tent and gnawed on dried meat. He didn’t have the luxury of spending his nights kidding around with the men and sharing ghost stories with a pint of hydrated beer on the side. He had plans to look at, maps to observe, and generals to discuss with.

Being a novice in the art of war was really difficult.

You could tell when they were getting closer to the front. This was mostly because the sound of the wind made way for the sound of shells falling. The thrum of an engine under everybody’s feet began to make way for tremors in the ground every time one of them fell. Tight silence was broken by the odd sharp-shooter’s shrill bullets.

The closer they got, the more the white snow made way for freezing trickles of red blood. And slowly, red blood began to make way for red bodies.

The moment the jeep arrived, the King leapt out and stormed into the General Operations tent, already screaming. “WHY ARE THERE DEAD MEN LAID OUT IN THE SNOW LIKE IN’ FAIRY LIGHTS ON AIRPORT TARMAC?! DO YOU KNOW HOW UPSET MY MEN ALREADY ARE?! WE DIDN’T NEED THE ROAD PAVED WITH BLOOD SOLDIER! YOU GET MEN ON THAT TO COLLECT THE BODIES ASAP DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

Mingyu looked over at Wonwoo, who shrugged non-committedly. “His boyfriend’s in the army, now. He’s gonna take better care of the men than he already was. And he was already doing a bang-up job.”

After the immediate clear-up of the area, some hot beverage that was commonly called coffee but tasted more like antifreeze and the checking of the plans, the King was invited to look around the premises. He was shown the mess tent, where there was something akin to food, shown some barracks and then the first aid center, where wounded were given bandages and sent on choppers or vans to the closest MASH unit available.

To call it a first aid center was a bit much. It looked and smelled more like a butcher’s chainsaw practice venue than anything else; a corpsman was constantly mopping blood off the floor while two doctors, a nurse and some other corpsmen ran haywire between patients.

The calmest of them, a short young man, had his back to the King. He was putting provisional stitches in a man’s arm that looked like it was more flesh for burning than arm. The bone was poking right through.

“Ah, this is one of the corpsmen the MASH unit sent up to us. Just temporarily. We had a bad influx of wounded. Needed more men. Corporal Boo!”

“Just a minute.”

“Corporal! Your commanding officer-”

“My commanding officer isn’t sewing a man’s flesh back to his bone, so my CO is gonna have to wait a two-timed turkey-balls mother-loving minute until I’m done saving a man’s life!”

Jihoon waited, in shock, for the corpsman to finish and help load the patient onto the waiting chopper to be taken back to the MASH unit several miles down the road.

“Now!”

The General said something, but whether it was an introduction or a reprimand, neither Jihoon or Seungkwan knew. The young boy ran, and Jihoon easily welcomed him in a thick hug. “Woozi!”

Jihoon smiled bitterly, patting the back of the boy’s head. “It’s been a while since I heard that name! Hey now!” He bent over, gripping Seungkwan’s head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing up here on the front?! You were stationed with the MASH unit, it’s eight miles off the line here! You’re supposed to be staying out of trouble, kid!”

“They needed somebody up here and I’ve gotten real good with the needlework, and I was glad to come and help. I’m going back in the morning, if the wounded let up.” Seungkwan was crying a few tears of happiness, tucking his hard military cap back off his forehead a little. “Aw, I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Where’s Vernon?”

“He’s still at the MASH. They’re training him to nurse properly. Don’t worry, he’s absolutely fine!” Seungkwan hugged the King again, and J