"Intracranial hypertension... medically induced comma... his brain needs rest... it may affect him once more... he will wake when he's ready..."

Seven years ago...

It was a shock to hear my name called for compulsory deployment just one month into my enlistment, but it also felt like an opportunity granted only for me. When I had no particular set of skills, did not stand out from the rest, and had no prior training or experience to warrant my participation in a crucial foreign operation. It scared Chanyeol for me, but I knew that he was proud.

The day of my departure, Chanyeol snuck out of his own training camp to see me off. When I saw him running through the airport, jumping over every hurdle or shoving people out of his way as he kept his bag secure over his shoulder with one arm. He looked so cool, so desperate, and the moment his eyes locked with mine, our bodies no sooner fell into an embrace. Chanyeol swung me into the air and then held me up with my legs wrapped around his waist. We stayed like this, hugging and grasping each other desperately.

We would be separated for no less than six months, which would be longer than any moment we spent apart since first forming our bond thirteen years ago. I clutched his shoulders, terrified to let go of him. My squad members walked on through the gates while I remained latched to Chanyeol, taking in his warmth, his strength, and his scent. I would miss it more than anything. When he finally let me go, my gaze fell to the floor. If I didn't focus my attention, I would be sure to burst into tears. My longing for him overshadowed any sense of pride I felt for being selected into this operation.

His finger moved under my chin and gently lifted my face to look up at him. His eyes searched mine, while his lips offered a comforting smile. They glazed over, but he was determined not to show me any weakness. I could sense that he wanted to be my strength, even if he did not feel so strong, himself. As desperately as I wanted to kiss him goodbye, I knew that would bring trouble for us both.

"Private Bom!" My commander called. "Get a move on."

I briefly turned to see that he had was standing at the glass doors, waiting for me before he entered the terminal. Chanyeol and I clasped our arms around each other one final time before we broke apart. I took a few steps backwards, not wanting to break eye contact with him. Not wanting to lose sight of him. I wasn't ready to let go of him yet... I would never be ready.

"Be safe," Chanyeol said. "I'll see you when you come home."

I nodded, trying to fight back the tears. It was hard, but I pushed myself to turn around and walk towards the terminal doors where my leader stood waiting. I kept looking back, watching Chanyeol standing there. Is this how I'd see him when I returned home in six months' time? Rather than the painful tug of the heart as we parted ways, I would be able to run back and jump back into his embrace. That bag on his shoulder would have gifts, a delicious warm drink, or clean clothes for me. And he would lift my hand and guide me home. All I could do was fantasize as I looked back at him, one last time. The glass doors opened and allowed me through, and the faded image of him standing far off behind the glass was distorted by the reflections of those moving beside and ahead of me. There was nowhere left to look but ahead.

Several weeks of exhaustion and testing our limits passed. My duties were limited to messenger and combat training with more experienced members of the squad, or otherwise engaging in unanimous support roles for the locals on the outskirts of Kabul. We were there to provide relief amid the war with the Taliban, so my role here was not entirely redundant. On good days, I got to kick a soccer ball around with the street kids. On not so good days, we might recognize a potential threat of terrorism attached to innocent children or women. During these events, I was forced to sit back and allow the squad to take reign while watching all sorts of matters unfold. I would sit back, watch, and listen. No matter how many days passed, I could not figure out my purpose for being here.

There was talk of the Taliban having kidnapped Korean and American civilians and continued to hold hostage for ransom. It had already been eight days since the news began to circulate the troops, and another three days before we finally received our mission. My role from that time became clear: I was to act as the middleman when it came to negotiations. Everything I had learned being amid the troops over these several weeks was the skill of negotiation and, if the situation called for it, to plead. If all went well, I would be rewarded with a promotion in rank so early into my conscription.

"Private Bom, your task has been assigned. You are to leave with Private First Class Sung Chae once dusk falls."

"Yes, Sir."

Tonight, I would seek out the assistance from a neighboring troop stationed South of here and was estimated to arrive before morning. My combat training was purely defence as opposed to offence, as my only priority was to reach the neighboring station safely. We trained together a handful of times, and I knew without a shadow of doubt how indescribably strong he was, it did not matter how much he held himself back with me.

Sung Chae was a private person who offered so little information about himself, that the only gossip amid the camp surrounding him was that he devoted his life to the military. Whether it was because he was fierce and thirsted for blood and war, or had no one in his life, our military brothers could only speculate. He and I barely shared words through these past several weeks, but his character was not unpleasant, and we embarked on this journey in untroubled silence. He gave me water when I was thirsty, food when I was hungry, and rest when I grew weary.

Large scales of industrial tents soon came into view, made visible through the pale moon light. Farther into the distance beyond them, I could vaguely make out the silhouette of what appeared to be a long barrack set apart from the rest of the camp, and the soft glow of an orange light somewhere to its right. By the time we reached them, it was already reaching the dawn of a new day. We passed the main camp until we reached a small tent located closest to an industrial barrack. Two soldiers stood directly outside the tent; dimly lit by the orange glow I saw from the distance and stood to attention upon our arrival.

We snapped our hand up to our forehead in formal salutation.

"Salute," we greeted.

"Salute," he responded.

Sung Chae spoke first, "Private First Class Sung Chae and Private Haneul Bom reporting to Sergeant Yun, Sir."

"Attention," came a voice from behind the soldier, somewhere inside the tent. We all snapped to attention, staring straight ahead, and each saying nothing. A hand emerged through a drape, lifting the material over his head as his body, though cast deep in shadow, slowly moved into view.

"Private Haneul Bom, at ease."

I switched my stance, following his command without question.

His eyes flicked to Sung Chae. "First Class Private Sung Chae."

"Yes, Sir."

"My men will you escort you to the camp for rest. You have carried out your duty well."

"On my honor," Sung Chae responded.

"All but Private Haneul Bom; dismissed."

"Yes, Sir!"

Sung Chae turned on his heel and paused next to me for only a fraction of a second, where we met each other's eyes side on. His face was covered by shadow, but I could see the faintest glistening of the camp lights reflecting off his eyes. It was that split moment where I understood that this was our farewell for now. He fulfilled his duty, and now the rest was left up to me. Without words, he was telling me that whether we would meet again soon would depend on the outcome of my negotiations. He looked swiftly forward, then marched in unison with Sergeant Yun's subordinates until I could no longer hear their steps crunching on the dry ground.

Sergeant Yun moved forward just enough to receive a touch of glow from the light, and I noticed that as he studied me, his eyes lingered with purpose. Though he appeared somewhere in his sixties, everything from the delicate curvature of his features, his small nose and round chin, his prominent yet softly outlined cheekbones; strangely, resembled mine. It was like seeing myself thirty or forty years from now.

"Private Haneul Bom," he said, while his eyes unhurriedly trailed the length of my body, appearing to inspect, or rather scrutinize me as I stood before him. His deep and authoritative voice carried resonance as his eyes finally lifted and watched me intently. "I trust they have trained you well."

"I will do my best, Sir."

Seeing this man before me felt unsettling, reminding me of my own father whom I had not seen since somewhere around the age of five. It was bizarre to compare this stranger to my biological father, but it was the feeling I got just by looking at him. My biological father did not share my mother's maiden name, that which I adopted from birth, but the surname Yun did not feel familiar to me.

Loud commands sounded from all around the camp, torches were lit from within the tents and bodies began to stir. The sun would rise soon, and with it, so would the camps. The sergeant's gaze looked slowly past me before exhaling, then stepped back towards the tent. "Follow me," he said, pulling the drape back. "You will be given food and rest during briefing and then transported to the designated location. Any objections?"

"No, Sir."

As promised, I was given food and the opportunity to rest while they explained the hostage situation between the Taliban and bilateral civilian missionaries. This was not only a military operation, but a political warfare. Sergeant Yun adorned my uniform with three stars and a badge of honor, not because I earned it in my three months of conscription, but to deceive the enemy lines about the position of my ranking.

Exactly three hours later, I was escorted by three of Sergeant Yun's underlings, two of which sat on either side of me plus a driver, and I was transported to a large camp filled with giant shipment containers. Despite the many tents and vehicles around, there did not appear to be many Korean military personnel within or surrounding the area. Instead, there were heavily armed Afghan soldiers, some standing on guard while others walked about, scouting the perimeters. The strange thing was their clothes seemed to range between US and Korean military uniform.

A group of soldiers approached our vehicle, guns pointed at us in cautionary offense. One man stood behind them, dressed in black robes and a matching headpiece. His beard was long and mixture of black and grey, reaching down past his chest. His arms were behind his back, with a demeanor that held both poise and authority. It was clear to me that this was the very one I would be dealing with in negotiations. My arms and legs turned weak while a white fog fell over my mind. Earlier, I wanted to believe that I was chosen for this task because of my capabilities, but after seeing who I was contending with, I began to doubt myself. And in doubting myself, an inevitable fear came rolling in.

As we stepped out of the truck, both Korean soldiers held their weapons forward in reactive defense. We took steps forward, matching the slow and cautious pace of the Afghan soldiers. As all parties came to a halt, I stopped too, glancing at the soldiers on either side of me as their stern expressions did not waver.

"Private Haneul Bom," cracked the soldier from my right. "Hold your hands to your head and take six steps forward."

I followed his command. "Now, get down on your knees and wait for the soldiers to conduct a body search for weapons or foreign objects."

Keeping my hands on my head, I slowly and carefully lowered myself to my knees, watching with unbridled terror at the several guns pointed directly at me. The moment I was down, an enemy soldier stepped forward and searched my entire body. Even going so far as to tear the buttons of my combat shirt and inspecting my skin. I could only guess that he was checking for any tracking chips or voice recorders.

He yanked me to my feet and tugged my pants down, forcing me to bend over while he checked every last inch of my body. The humiliation was unbearable while his fingers squeezed and prodded my bare skin, yet with so many guns pointing at me and my fellow soldiers, all I could do was remain silent and compliant. Once he was satisfied that there was nothing of concern, he took a step back and glanced behind him, signaling his satisfaction with a nod.

The soldiers parted to the sides, allowing a path for the leader to walk forward. He approached me and said something in their local language. I briefly waited for someone to speak up with translation, but there was none. I glanced back at the soldiers who continued to stand with their guns pointed at the enemy.

"I can't understand him," I told them before turning back to look at the leader. I was responded to with a sharp slap on the face, that left my cheek burning and ears ringing.

"Private Haneul Bom, you are ordered to remain silent," the Korean soldier responded. "There will be no need for translation going forward. We bid you farewell."

Stunned by his words, I bolted upright and swung around to look at the soldiers who were already withdrawing back into the truck. Footsteps came violently charging from behind and suddenly cold metal objects jammed into the back of each of my knees, forcing me back down to the ground. I yelled out in surprise as my knees hit the ground, and sharp rocks jabbed into my skin.

The leader spoke again, but this time, he was holding some kind of material in his hand. It looked like some sort of robe in a similar material to a burlap sack. It took mere seconds for that material to be shoved over my face and hands to yank my arms behind my back. My hands were tied. The sack was porous enough to allow light and an obscured view of my surroundings, and I swung my head around to see the Korean military truck driving away with the three soldiers inside. I saw one looking back at us, watching as I was pulled up from the ground and forced to move.

I wanted to remain optimistic, to be assured that this was a precautionary measure used before arriving at a government official office. But the truth was, nothing I had witnessed gave me any reason to believe anything besides the fact that this was a set up. From the strange camp to the even stranger mixture of uniforms worn by the Afghan soldiers, I came to the insurmountable conclusion that I was handed over as a captive to the Taliban. And if I was not here for negotiations, then I was here as a compromise. My hostage in exchange for something the Korean army wanted. A bargaining chip that was as dispensable as the fraudulent starbursts torn from my body.