The weapon slides forwards, metal meeting metal in a soft clung. It would leave a mark on the machine in front of him; an unpleasant scratch that would join many others before this one.

With a huff, no louder than a whisper, he moves the belt that hangs tightly around his body, retrieving the M16 to his back, allowing him to inspect the machine better.

Wonshik pays this action no mind as it has become a habit, similar to saluting upon meeting officers, or placing the beret neatly on his head each morning.

The ceremonial white uniform was discarded quickly and long forgotten in his personal storage on board. Now, the beret fits a grey camo suit, that has become his daily wardrobe as he works on the ship. 

 

Hanging over his shoulder the rifle, the soldier leans closer and marks down a few things on his stack of papers. Most mornings and night that’s what he would do - tour the lower half of the ship to take an initial look at his engines, but mostly greet the nails and screws that have become lose with the ship’s eternal rocking.

 

It has been a year ever since Wonshik completed his initial training, and even though starting as a terrible and problematic soldier, the work he has been assigned to is something that is very natural to him- waking up to shifts, eating the cans saved from when the ship docks, talking to the limited personnel on ship. Along the loud machines and the grandiose engine below the deck, the soldier has become accustomed to the odd colleagues that he is working with.

 

The sun is incredibly high this day - or so he thought until the soldier exited the engine room, to find it’s already past sunset. The ivory sheen of the moon greets his eyes, caressing softly the horizon around the ship. The dark waters are painted in streaks of eluisive white, reaching from the shallow waves over to the rocking vehicle. It’s silent - unlike the heavy drumming of engines and his ears are finally at rest.

 

Soon, soldier Kim Wonshik would set, just like the long forgotten sun and will descend into a well deserved rest.

 

---

 

Breakfasts are always colorful, not because of the canned goods he’s fed with, rather than it’s the only time of the day he can see all of the ship’s residents.

 

They’re rarely together like that - spread across a couple of folding tables and chatting freely. Of course, on the first day he arrived, Wonshik simply sat down wherever he saw and empty spot.

Soldiers appeared around his fresh and unblemished appearance and he simply stuck to the same familiar faces ever since.

 

That was a year ago. Now, it would be odd for the highest ranking non-officers soldiers to sit anywhere but together.

 

“Did you know that the Chinese Peacock isn’t actually a peacock?”

 

That’s how he met Jaehwan.

 

“Let me guess,” And Hongbin as well- “It’s a butterfly.” The two say unanimously, yet in very opposed tones.

 

“Yes!” The former swings his arms in excitement, knocking off the table his cup, then instantly- out of habit- ducks to pick it up without missing a beat. His folded beret falls next, but Jaehwan is a soldier who is trained to accustom his mess. His eyes expand in wonder and look straight at his peers, “It isn’t even Chinese! It’s originally from the Himalaya and Australia! Isn’t that cool?” With that, the soldier grasps, for the first time this morning, his spoon.

 

The grey sleeve that isn’t even buttoned gets covered with some of the food on his plate, yet Jaehwan doesn’t even see any of it.

 

It was hard for Wonshik to believe- and still is- that Jaehwan, the messiest soldier he has ever seen, is the ship’s medic. With constantly ed sleeves and overgrown hair that causes him to become the captain’s favourite object of punishment, the soldier is the ship’s personnel only solution to illness and wounds. Wonshik has made a not to take good care of himself and reduce as much as possible visits to doctor Lee Jaehwan.

 

“Astounding.” Hongbin sighs, nursing a third or fourth cup of coffee. 

 

The latter doesn’t even spare a glance at Jaehwan, but the conversation continues. It’s an odd relationship the two share- an indifferent harmony that once in a while sparks either into vocal arguments, forcing the neighbour soldiers to intervene and detach one from the other, before it escalates into something more violent. Or, sometimes, not very rarely, it blooms into mutual friendship. Jaehwan talks, and Hongbin listens. They match well in a way, but only for short periods, and in a way, their roles within the ship keep them away enough to stay in this friendship.

 

While Jaehwan is a medic- a day shift role, Hongbin is asleep for the major time of the sun hours. Being an Oceanographer, the blasé soldier that chugs down canned coffee like water, is awake mostly at night, doing things in the control room along with the radar readers that Wonshik could never bother to understand. Hongbin tried to explain a couple of times- back then when they were just assigned to share a cabin.

 

Nowadays, Wonshik meets his sleeping form more than anything, and they have learned to show a trait of friendship in a shared silence- Hongbin doesn’t wake him up when waking for a shift and vice versa.

 

The daily life within the brigade are very different from the ones in his old platoon- on land. However, even when each day is like the one before, there’s some peace in knowing that just like the day before, everyone has a role- be it Jaehwan, Hongbin or him- they know what they must do and achieve each day, fulfilling their respective goals. Like the day before, they are allowed to have time to break the routine of work and simply talk, be friendly and find fuel for more hard work that looms with each sunset and sunrise.

 

The tension that piles with the turn of the clock slowly diminishes as the chatter of peers and higher ranks along with the steady beats of cutlery, accompanied by the aroma of food and coffee fills the room. In a sense- like the Hyun Sihak in the vast ocean, Wonshik too, is a mere single piece in a vast cantine with dozens of look alikes.

 

“Hey Shik-ah.” Jaehwan’s hushed voice wakes him from the day-dream, “I think that the officer behind you is on his way to you.”

 

Before Wonshik can even compose himself, a towering shadow greets his peripheral vision and in an instant, he rises to his feet to salute- not daring to move before he’s given the command.

 

The noise dies ou as he stretches on the spot and like the tide, returns as the officer roughly says- “At ease.”

 

If there’s anything that does connect Jaehwan and Hongbin that are still seated, is the endless love they share towards ridiculating Wonshik next to officers. The two snicker some as he drops his salute and waits for the higher ranked to talk to him. He makes a note to scold them after listening to the officer. 

 

“Soldier Kim,” The officer addresses him, somewhat holding back in his tone, “What is your rank?” There’s a hint of tiredness in his voice as well, and Wonshik’s heart could not beat any louder.

 

“Sir,” Wonshik starts- not shouting, because it is unneeded in this area, “Ilbyeong, sir.” He replies.

It’s all that is required of him, keeping his gaze locked with the horizon as the muscle under his uniform palpitates harshly and loudly- louder than any unharmonized cacophony in the canteen. 

 

It’s unusual for such a high ranking officer of the ship to speak to someone that isn’t in his axiom. Someone like an engine fitter that was just listening to the regular bickering of his peers definitely does not fall under that definition.

 

“Good lord.” The older exhales heavily and Wonshik swears his heart skips a beat- that cannot be anything good. Not an exhale like that, and not from an officer. He doesn’t even remember this officer - must be ones from the land- just a visitor for checkups- and yet, what has Wonshik done to draw such disdain?-

“Boy, the captain, your commander, wants to see you by the end of breakfast.

 

---

The door closes and the silence in the room only grows. The salty air is suddenly nauseating and even the soft lull of waves cannot quieten the thumping between the soldier’s ears. He doesn’t dare to move, as he has not been given the command to do so. Instead, his muscles are stretched, feet sunken in the ground, sturdily, and eyes watching only the horizon in front of him.

 

“At ease.” The older of the two cuts through the stale silence, and as if life has returned to his body, Wonshik drops his salute and takes a small, undistinguished breath.

 

“Sit down, son.” The officer says, and Wonshik obliges, moving the rifle to rest between his legs, out of habit. His eyes fall to the many items on the commander’s table. His nerves enhance his focus but rather than focusing on the conversation that’s about to occur, Wonshik’s mind creates a puzzle out of the pictures and belongings that belong to his commander.

 

As usual, the framed picture of his two daughters is on the right side of the table- two curled girls, no older than 10 years old, smiling to their fullest. Next to it, there’s a cup with stale coffee, decorated with bright, hand-drawn letters, stating- “Number 1 dad”.

 

However, on the other side of the table, there’s a stack of papers- reports, from what Wonshik can see. Countless notes scattered around, over and beneath the radio device, constantly making sounds, coming to life and delivering messages from the ship’s crew. He used to listen to those on his visits to the commander’s office but they have disembarked into background clamor.

 

Here it’s easy to forget one side or the other - as if this little ecosystem rips the person from reality, and in Wonshik’s case; that apprehensive man, looking at a huge wall with a gate that now is long forgotten. Once, a man with a lighter skin tone, less marks from the sun, having no direction but whatever the world is going to throw at him, to a tanned mechanic, buffed and decorated with freckles and uniform as one, receiving the news-

 

“I am resigning, son.”

 

“What?” Wonshik reacts before thinking - not because he’s surprised by the words, rather than he has acted sooner than the sentence registers in his mind. The officer bursts into laughter and the soldier can’t help the embarrassment creep in, causing him to yank his chin down immediately.

 

“Wonsik,” The officer repeats, “Have I ever told you about my daughters?”

 

Wonshik hesitates, then- “No, sir.”

 

There’s something about officers, even the kind ones like his commander, that makes soldiers feel as if they’re under some test; even the unharmful ones, for example, whether or not a certain soldier remembers whether his officer told him about his daughters. For someone like Ilbyeong Kim, it’s even more nerve-wracking as most of the times he’s spoken to, he replies in the same intellectual way he had just exhibited.

 

“Well,” The man exhales, taking the picture in his hands, “I have two of them. One is 15 and the other is 17.”

 

“What?” Wonshik asks, not because he have not heard, but because- “They look so young in the picture, sir.”

 

The officer nods, “You see son, I’ve been in service for the last 10 years, I think it’s time for me to quit being an officer and start being a father.”

 

If Wonshik knew how to react to such sentimentality, he would. Instead, he keeps his silence. His commander has been very good to him since the very start. The waves of appreciation towards the man clash at his heart as memories start streaming through his mind. His first day, his assignments, reports- it’s all going to change now?

 

“Sir, is this goodbye?”

 

“Yes, yes it is.” He puts away the picture and looks at the unsure soldier, Both of us are going to go through changes.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir?” Unconsciously, he tightens his fists below the table.

 

A sigh, then, he puts down his beret, revealing greying shaven hair. “You will get a new commander, a new officer. He had just finished officer training and has no real experience with babysitting boys like our unit.” There’s humor to his voice and Wonshik lets out a chuckle, as it seems fit.

 

“He’s around your age- maybe older, but he is the top of the grade, and you, mister Kim,” The dips around his eyes shift and sink further, disclose the slight joking mannerism from the older, “You will help him get accustomed to you, brats.” 

 

Again, courtesy of a chuckle that passes quickly, replaced by a stern expression, the same one he wears when writing reports.

 

“Sir,” Wonshik apprehensively addresses, “Should it not be another officer?”

 

The man gazes at Wonshik, and even though his eyes are directed straight at him, the younger can see by the silence and the roundness of his pupils, that his commander isn’t actually there. His thoughts aren’t present, as if that young soldier that sits before him, has triggered something with much more history.

 

“Perhaps it should be.” He says at last, but even his voice is mils away. Without missing a beat and with no hesitation he continues - “But I believe in you Wonshik.”

 

Suddenly, it feels all to personal, and the soldier isn’t sure what feeling passes by his gut and causes it to twist so uneasily- curiosity? Honor? Fear of stepping into something he shouldn’t have? The confinement of being within steel walls, somewhere in the middle of the territorial waters of South Korea keeps some of the steering unfamiliar state at bay, however, with the vastness of the sea beyond this minuscule room, the soldier can feel how something grand has been placed on his untrained shoulders. He has been on this ship for long, and while he is doing what is required of him, in no way the Ilbyeong is an officer. A harsh lump forms at the bottom of his throat, and he fights absent-mindedly to will it away.

Either way, as soon as the officer says his name - his own name, the younger feels every strand of hair on his body rise and just like before shooting a rifle, his senses are attending to one, and only one thing.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

The churning stays, humming low within him, and the soldier knows - the tides are changing, and he, with them, will have to change. It’s a promise of the unknown, and there’s not a single part of him that warns him about the worst. Just what exactly he got himself into?

 

---

“What?!” The second oldest exclaims, and  round of hushes around the canteen follow.

 

Jaehwan dips his face in shame and a silent ‘excuse me’ slips through his food-filled mouth. Hongbin puts down his beloved cup of coffee and shrugs - his attire for today consists of unshaved stubs and a pair of dark marks under his tired eyes. It must have been a very rough night, and usually, it’s after those that the two fight the most.

 

“He didn’t tell you for you to yell it at everyone.” Hongbin sighs, and leaves to take another cup.

 

Jaehwan frowns, “I didn’t yell…” Innocently, he turns to the oldest, “Right?”

 

The oldest doesn’t reply. He blinks, because Jaehwan already knows the answer to his question, and he isn’t going to waste the very little power he has in the morning on this. It is rare as it is to see him dining with everyone, as the soldier would usually work around the clock in the operation cabin. Wonshik peers an eye at him, but there seems to be no change in his expression whatsoever.

 

“Come on,” Jaehwan breaks the uncomfortable silence, “How an you be so calm, Taekwoon-hyung?”

 

The latter shrugs, fixing his beret in place. His eyes never twitch at the news and he watches with that same usual intensity the conversation in front of him. Wonshik had met Taekwoon on his very first night shift aboard- the younger was writing his report when he had simply passed by him. The second time, the same night, Wonshik was making a few adjustments to the equipment he carried with him, and decided to do so on deck. Taekwoon was watching him, and being a new soldier then, the younger felt pressured by the peering eyes and unchanging silence. He decided to offer the higher ranked one a simple gesture of a bow, and Taekwoon had left him quickly after. Ever since, they would meet on night shifts, share a bow and allow themselves to fall into the comfortable bedding of silence. He had figured that the older is like that, and by now, the strength of their friendship had grown soundless.

 

“Hyung is here for so long,” Jaehwan pushes another bun into his mouth, bringing Wonshik back to now, “You must be used for changes like this” The words are muffled by the food, and some bits of crumbles find their place on the table once more. By now, none of the soldiers are surprised by that, but the spoken words draw out an exhausted sigh from the oldest.

Taekwoon was here way before any of them had even joined, and each time anyone mentions the time the soldier still has to serve, the reaction is always the same; The eldest presses his cheek to the dirty table - thanks to the medic - heaving another sigh.

 

“See what you’ve done?” Hongbin groans, putting down two more cups of coffee. Wonshik wonders how Hongbin would function in a place without caffeine to keep him awake. The looming dark marks beneath his lashes suggest that it would be disastrous, causing the man to malfunction like an engine with a missing cork.

“You ratted out to the whole unit that we’re getting a newbie officer and bummed hyung out.”

 

Wonshik was expecting this fight to start sooner or later, and he would listen to the whines coming from Jehwan, or perhaps would try and stop the fight, but he knows better. At this state, the soldier isn’t even sure if any of them are aware of what exactly they’re bashing at one another mindlessly- for Hongbin with no doubt. Perhaps the man even practices fighting in his dreams, seeing and hearing how sharply he deflects any yelp from Jaehwan. He looks around for a moment, and the very fight happening before him is reduced to background noise, much like the rest of the conversations around the room, completed in harmony and complete cacophony with clanking dishes, laughter, and the occasional groans of the depleted hyung that still finds comfort with resting his head on the table.

 

The soldier decides to exclude himself from the disastrous ensemble of turbulence, gets up with his tray and walks away. So much for calming his nerves with the rest of the peers.

 

---

As every other day that the ship meets its berth, there’s a tingle of unspoken excitement within the crew. It could be a rainy day with thunderclouds towering above their heads, and the unit would still be in high as if it is a sunny day with cool breeze- just like today. The clouds are but mere spots here and there on the grand blue sky, and the salty air of waves is finally mixing with something that some may have forgotten throughout their trip. Some days, it seems that they would never escape the clasp of blue above and blue below, two horizons melting into a single silver line, teasing with its endless void of more and more blue to offer. However, on days such as these- where the dock is only but an hour away, and soldiers already murmur and exchange declarations of what they’re going to do when they disembark, the sky and sea become friendly and familiar. 

 

Some find it whimsical that so many people pay to spend time on a cruise, while they only dream of those rare days where they’re on land, and the floor below them doesn’t move non-stop, at all times. Here, where the only connection to land they have is the radio communication between the port and the operation room, it’s easy to miss this availability of land, of buildings, of fresh food, rest, and most of all- letters. The soldiers have been on edge, keen to get their letters, hearing back from relatives, loves and other close companions. Even the Ilbyeong’s cabin is listless, each giving their fair share of exhilarated exclamations about who they want to hear from, what their hopes for this rest are. It seems that for those who cruise with no halt at most times, their hopes and dreams are left at land, and perhaps it is because most of those hopes and dreams are still tied to the world beyond the high fence of the base. It’s a parallel universe, where they’re still the same people they have been in the civilian world, only accustomed to the military atmosphere, and little by little, letting go of previous versions of themselves. The heart is the same heart, but everything except for it- is different.

 

The commander passes by the cabins to check the unit’s readiness. Due to protocol, they must all discard their grey working clothes and place themselves in the white uniform, wearing both their ranks and speciality pins. They must be shaven, all clean and ready to show all the other units that they look best. Their weapons must be clean and polished as well, shoes spotless too, and berets on at all times, until they announce the docking and rest. There’s a tight ambience, and while the rest of the cabin spends time with bubbly chat about this and that, Wonshik cannot get his mind to be present. He descends into a spiral of thoughts about how fateful this stop is going to be. The waves- now shorter and less shaking, pick his senses more than the people within the bedroom. Soon, they will dock, and after that, they will embark once more, but everything will be different.

 

For soldiers, the most reassuring aspect of serving is knowing that the system cannot change. It’s too grand, too old for it to change so simply - and for it to have any effect on the small, unknown soldier. The unchanging face of units and divisions is what gives them confidence- being thrown into something so vast so quickly without many explanations as to why, how or what exactly is expected of them, is what keeps the small soldiers from breaking. Not every change is bad, he thinks, but every change carries an unknown result. The unknown, those things that soldiers cannot foresee, takes him back, back when he was still in training camp, where higher ups would shout commands and bind him to expectations he cannot fathom to understand. Not then, at least- he still had the mind of a civilian, he wasn’t aware of how the system works, and where exactly it needs him to be. Now, however, that soldier has evolved, becoming familiar with every single cell of this ecosystem, and even finding his own place in it. There’s a lot of comfort in the little spot where he doesn’t need to move from, staying still and only doing what he has been told to. He doesn’t have to think, he just has to act on command.

 

But even that changes, and when the outgoing commander comes in to check on their cabin, inspecting each and every one of them closely so there won’t be any slip-ups, Wonshik can barely breathe. This is it- this is the last time that their commander is going to inspect their attire. The lump from before floats back to his throat, and even the usual ‘yes sir’ he gives here and there, sounds more croaked than usual. The officer has done great things for the unit, and it is hard to imagine that a newbie officer could fill up the void that will be left after this day. However, Wonshik isn’t supposed to imagine, not in his position, he’s supposed to carry out commands, and that he shall do.

 

Before he notices, when the fog of his own thoughts rises, Wonshik is no longer in the cabin, rather than on the steps- the solid steps to the dock. How different everything seems now, even though this occasional situation of being lost in a sea of thoughts still occurs, when he wakes up from it, he faces a different reality. He’s not a new soldier anymore, and the last time he stood so fascinated by the ships and the port, it was that night when he was punished for bad manners in class. At a time, Wonshik could not understand and figure out why he is being punished, but not anymore. Looking back, with his present knowledge, there are many things he would change, but history is history. 

That night so long ago, he stood still, watching the now-familiar lull of waves, in complete silence, and watch the world turn without anyone needing to aid it. With or without the help of the faceless soldier, the universe is turning, ships will embark, commands will be carried out. He’s part of that harmony, a small cog in the system, and he’s pleased with being unknown in that manner.

There are those who break, but Wonshik isn’t the one do break this way. No, he’s a cog, and that’s all he will be. Cogs do not cry at night like that soldier he saw back then. Cogs do not imagine. Cogs have their job, and he will do it damn good. There’s an odd sense of pride to it, knowing he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to do, that he meets the system’s expectations.

 

“Men.” The commander starts, and somehow Wonshik finds himself in a line, standing and listening like his peers and the rest of the unit. He looks to the right, then to the left, meeting with perplexed gazes forwards as everyone-everything seems to be still. He cannot hear their breaths, but at this perfect position of the unit, the soldier sometimes wonders if they are unified in inhales and exhales as well.

 

“It has been my honor and utmost pleasure to serve as your commander.” He says, and Wonshik immediately stretches his position, ears perked for the inauspicious farewell of the familiar.

 

“You are one of the best units I had the honor to lead. Each and every one of you does wonders in his own field,” The man stops, a playful demeanor creeping to his expression, “Even our medic, soldier Lee Jaehwan, who had the highest self-treatment record any medic in the Navy had.”

 

The men laugh, and halt from it in unison. Wonshik feels the lump slowly reduce itself to nothing but an itch.

 

“Today, I am resigning, boys. Today, you are going to accept a new commander, and you better treat him well,” He moves in front of the line, watching them as he speaks, “Don’t make me come back here, I’m looking forward to my retirement.”

 

One more, laughter.

 

It should be light-hearted, and Wonshik knows that the officer tries to make it as detached as possible, when in reality, it’s nothing but. The laughter, masking a grave feeling of unwilling to have anything changed, drowning it between protocol and macro-spoken words from above restrain any sort of emotion to surface. However, the line of soldiers that stands still can feel it. It’s there, it’s clear like the sun and the ground. Like the high walls of the base, like the system that will function with or without them.

 

“Our unit might be small, as it is only 30 soldiers, but you are the finest soldiers the military has to offer. I ask of you to show this side to your new commander.” He stops in the middle of the line, where all men can see him, “Thank you for allowing me to lead you.” The elder dips his head slightly, and Wonshik feels the urge to shout a thank you back, but doesn’t. He shouldn’t.

 

Then, at the corner of his eye he meets a shadow- not exactly a dark one, but rather an unfamiliar figure in white attire and the dashing symbol of officers, shining brightly from the sun. The uniform is such a contrast to his tanned skin and dark eyes. There is not a single line of sterness in his features, and if not for the symbols and ranks, he could have been considered a regular soldier like the rest of them. However, the man marches in, and the commander that Wonshik had known for so long, leaves.

 

He cannot dwell on the anguish within him for long, as the unknown officer speaks, taking measured steps across a parallel line to them. His hands behind his back, walking tall and poised as he probably has been taught in officer training. He eyes all of them- each and every one of them in absolute silence, gaze piercing through, but with no real harshness to it. There are no kind lines around his eyes, no sign of age, rather than the clear, tanned skin.

 

“Hello, unit.” He speaks in a soft voice, and Wonshik can already hear Jaehwan snorting quietly next to him, mocking the fragile appearance of someone that should be their commander. The rest probably think similarly, but he doesn’t allow their judgement to interfere with this moment. The unknown becomes now familiar, and while not every aspect of it does, now he can connect with the new officer’s title, a face, an image.

 

“My name is Sowi Cha Hakyeon.” He says, “And I am your new commander.”