God of Blackfield

Lanok had deep, traditional French eyes.

Those who looked at his pointed, sharp features and high nose and thought he was high-strung could never stand against him.

His true intimidation lay in his eyes, a mixture of green and brown, which were always sunken in.

Lanok, dressed in a suit and a white shirt, set down his cup of black tea. Then, he reached for a side table that looked like it came from an old museum in France.

Click.

He pulled out a fine cigar from a wooden case on the table.

While Lanok cut it with a razor knife and lit it, the man in front of him silently waited for him.

A cigar wasn’t easy to light.

With each puff, the flame from the lighter was sucked into the tip of the cigar and then drawn out again.

The rich cigar scent and smoke quickly spread through the office.

“It seems like the information coming from Africa is being filtered. What are your thoughts and countermeasures regarding that?”

Had Lanok only asked for his thoughts, then he would have simply been asking for the man’s opinion on the matter. However, Lanok asked for countermeasures too—he was already certain that information was being filtered.

“Romain is suspicious.”

“I don’t trust him, but don’t you think that’s too fragmented a report, Pierre?”

“He has connections in the DGSE. In my position, it’s difficult to dig deeper into him. If he becomes aware of my existence…”

“He will eliminate you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lanok nodded and glanced at the man standing behind Pierre.

“Will you prepare some more black tea?”

Raphael bowed refinedly. “Of course, sir.”

He grabbed a porcelain teapot from a table in the corner.

Glug! Glug!

He filled the two cups and returned to his original spot.

“I don’t like losing sight of my enemies.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

“For the time being, I’m putting you in charge of the French outskirts. Monitor Romain’s movements from there. I’ll clear the way for him to rise to the rank of deputy director of the DGSE.”

Pierre raised his gaze in surprise.

“Dealing with Josh from London is already difficult enough. You know the lengths I’ve had to go through to put that idiot Ethan in charge. If Ethan’s in charge of the bureau, we’ll know what the British are up to sooner or later.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of Romain, sir?”

“You want me to be terrorized again?”

Pierre pressed his lips together, anger in the corner of his eyes.

“That’s why I can’t bring you into the DGSE. You’re steadfast and loyal, but your emotions go straight to your eyes.”

“I apologize, sir.”

Lanok simply smiled in response.

“It will take five to ten years to find all those who terrorized me. Romain is among them, and the higher he is elevated, the more the shadows behind him will come out.”

Lanok stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray.

“Shadows disappear the moment light appears. I will punish all those who murdered my wife, crippled my daughter for life, and put their personal glory above the glory of France. Ten years is nothing if it means the DGSE can get back on its feet.”

This was just one of the many reasons Lanok was feared; he was always planning ten years ahead.

“I’m going to implement the first phase of my plan with the Eye of Ndulele. We’ll aim for Africa, but we’ll decide the exact location later.”

“Understood.”

“Find the man of the Foreign Legion that the English intelligence is trying to hide. Examine those related to Romain as well. Three people have already fallen victim to the misinformation from the British. If we don’t find the traitor within the DGSE, this isn’t going to end with the elimination of Romain.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Lanok nodded, and Pierre stood up, leaving the office.

“Is it Vasili next?” Lanok asked.

Raphael nodded at an odd angle. “Yes, sir.”

“Haha, so you don’t like him.”

“I always trust your judgment, sir.”

Lanok was showing emotion now, unlike a moment ago.

“He’s self-righteous. He has a brilliant past from the Spetsnaz, a secure position within the KGB, and above all, he has the backbone and guts to command the trust of his men,” Lanok said.

Raphael simply listened intently like a student in a class.

Lanok tilted his head. “I’m not sure anyone who can beat him in the next twenty years. What if he joins the other side?”

Raphael knew that Lanok didn’t have an easy answer to the question of whether he’d be able to take Vasili out.

“Now, then, let’s go see Vasili. It would be nice if he could predict the future.”

Raphael quickly moved to the door as Lanok rose from his seat.

***

New soldiers had not yet been recruited.

Kang Chan’s morning run was no different than usual, except he was a little less talkative. Then again, he was never much of a talker.

After his run, he had breakfast with Mazani, Dayeru, and Éiric and then sat down alone with his coffee.

Click, click.

Gérard leisurely walked in and sat to Kang Chan’s right. He never took the spot where Dayeru usually sat even if it was empty.

“The coffee isn’t going down?” Gérard asked.

Did this punk suddenly go mad? Or did he eat such a good breakfast that he has the desire to get beaten the shit out of him like Smithen?

Catching Kang Chan’s gaze, Gérard smiled.

“Captain, Bricks and I were in charge of the researchers.”

Pulling cigarettes out of his pocket, Gérard took one of them and set the rest of the pack on the table.

“Bricks didn’t properly shoot at the enemies until you issued orders. He just fired a bit.”

Gérard pulled his hair back before flicking the lighter open, seemingly expecting that the flame would flare up.

Click! Hiss! Whoosh!

That was his trademark. Hence, Kang Chan didn’t feel the need to tell him that he could mix it with gasoline.

“Bricks went to the other side and retreated after receiving your orders. To be honest, I didn’t think to look after Bricks. I was busy looking after the researchers, and I thought it was obvious he would join us.”

As he finished, Gérard looked at his lit cigarette.

“Do you know what his last words were?”

Kang Chan hadn’t noticed it before, but now that they were speaking alone, he realized that Gérard’s every expression, action, and word was defiant. He was just like how Dayeru had been in the beginning.

“I guess he meant for me to leave. He probably thought the enemies weren’t shooting that much either. If I knew that was his intention, I would’ve stayed behind until the end.”

Gérard twirled the cigarette burning in his fingers.

“I wanted to be a soldier who would willingly go into a place where he could die at any moment.”

Usually, recruits took opportunities like these to open up. The funny thing was that, even then, they wouldn’t speak about their family or their past.

“I heard there’s an Asian unit commander who’s called the God of Death by the African insurgents and that he killed it on his first operation. Whew! How do I shake off the feeling that I sinned against Bricks?”

Kang Chan smirked and took a cigarette out of his pocket. He put it in his mouth.

Click! Hiss! Whoosh!

Gérard held the flaming Zippo lighter to the end of the cigarette.

Kang Chan couldn’t remember what the weather, the smell of the ground, or the landscape was like in Korea anymore. He was so used to the smells, bugs, sky, and sun of Africa.

The two sat and smoked, passing the time.

They couldn’t even play intense ball until they received new recruits. They wouldn’t be given any new missions either.

It was time to put Bricks to one side of his chest. He was like a quick rain shower that passed by as a reminder that although their jobs were to shoot enemies in the forehead and stab them with knives, they were still human so they shouldn’t lose their humanity.

Bricks was a genuine man who suddenly came into a world of evil monsters and disappeared just as quickly.

They ate food and drank coffee prepared by humans, so they shouldn’t forget they were human too. That was probably what Bricks wanted to say.

Fuck! How can I call myself a commander when I can’t even save someone like him?

Why did I give him the task when I knew he wasn’t going to be able to shoot anyway?

“Haaa.”

That brilliant morning, the African sun shone through the showers.

***

Confused, Miguel looked at the command order on the document again. The document was in code.

“The hell…? Everyone knows what kind of place Mangala is, yet they’re saying I should only send three units there? Are you sure this is right?”

“Yes, sir,” the agent who had decoded the document replied. Miguel supposed that if the agent was the kind who would decode documents wrong, then he wouldn’t be here.

“Hah!” Miguel sighed and waved the agent down. As soon as the agent left, he cursed, “Fucking hell!”

The orders had specified the 11th unit.

God damn it! He had no idea what they wanted him to do if the God of Blackfield refused.

Rustle!

Miguel flipped the document around, hoping it was all just a joke. However, he didn’t find anything that would have indicated as much.

“Shit!”

He didn’t know how high up the chain of command whoever gave the orders was, but they clearly had no idea what was going on in Africa, especially the reputation of the Asian unit commander.

The Asian commander had been refusing to take on any suspicious operations. Usually, they could discipline soldiers for refusing, but the commander had already served for five years.

All he had to say was he would retire from the military, and the 11th unit would be reduced to just another regular 13th Regiment special forces unit.

After the mission in Abara, the Asian commander had been very demanding. If he wasn’t given the location, objective, and number of enemies, he would turn down the mission. Worse, once he had those pieces of information, he would do a fantastic job.

In the past year and a half, only three people had been killed in the company led by the Asian man.

That was why people said that his leadership and combat skills were divided into before and after Abara.

One year and a half.

Even the men of the 11th unit were making a name for themselves.

Dayeru, the ignorantly reckless brute; Gérard, who was as skilled as Dayeru and kept fighting with him like Tom and Jerry; the sniper Montechelle; and Éiric and Mazani, who could tell through the look in their commander’s eyes if he wanted a cigarette or coffee.

There was also Smithen, who had already been beaten half-dead five times by the commander due to his issues with women.

Anyhow, due to all their accomplishments over the past year and a half, they had accumulated over thirty coupons—no, medals—in total.

Miguel shook his head.

The moment the unit commander announced his retirement, at least half of the men in the 11th would hang up their uniforms without a second thought.

And what if they were ordered to go to Mangala, the most hellish place in Africa, with only three units?

Miguel put his arms on his desk and rested his head on them.

Ever since a commander of another unit had a close brush with death after laughing at the soldiers who died in the Abara operation, many units had begun to refuse to work with the 11th.

The Asian commander took care of his men with his life, would take a dishonorable discharge to honor dead men, had such a precise aim that the enemies were left with no choice but to hide in fear, and had great leadership skills.

Almost all the special forces soldiers admired the Asian commander. Once they saw what he was capable of, they would immediately get hooked and try to join his unit. As a result, other commanders became reluctant to work with him.

“Hah!”

Grinning like a madman, Miguel looked at the back of the document.

It was a first-class order from the DGSE that Miguel couldn’t dispute. If he couldn’t carry out a first-level order sent down in code…

“Hahaha.”

In the next month or so, he’d be an unemployed man traveling on a pension.

Thinking of the look in the Asian commander’s eyes made Miguel want to cry.

‘Please find the people who issued the order to execute the Abara mission.’

He could still recall the look in that unit commander’s eyes when he said that.

Still, he had to meet him. There was no other choice.

Gripping the desk with both arms, Miguel pushed himself to his feet.