Ch.66Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

Though I’ve served in the military twice, I’ve rarely experienced field-prepared meals in actual combat situations.

Most of the time, I made do with bagged rice or combat rations. The only proper field dining I remember was during KCTC training, and even then for just a few days.

Even that experience was cut short when our meal truck got raided during an opposing force’s flanking maneuver. If my memory serves me right, one of my fellow soldiers called the opposing force “commies” to their faces, which started a fight, and we all got chewed out by the control officer.

It’s funny looking back now, but at the time, everyone was on edge, and words slipped out without thinking. We were all irritable from not being able to eat or wash properly.

Anyway, I haven’t experienced field dining since then. Not on Earth, nor here. Honestly, I’ve probably eaten more retro food from Korean grocery stores than military meals.

“What’s on the menu today?”

“Let’s see… spaghetti, boiled potatoes, salad, mushroom soup… Yes, that’s it.”

Camilla and I held our trays as we received our portions from the meal truck. Today’s lunch menu was just… mediocre.

When eating food prepared outdoors, especially military food, you shouldn’t expect much in terms of taste. Too many mouths to feed, too few cooks, ingredients procured through lowest-bid contracts, and inadequate equipment. You can’t expect gourmet meals under those conditions.

Plop.

Nevertheless, seeing the glob of ketchup and clumped noodles sliding across my tray instantly killed my appetite.

“…This is supposed to be food?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Can you really ask that after seeing this…?”

“I think it tastes good.”

Camilla devoured the clumped noodles with an expression suggesting I was being too picky.

True to someone from a country where they stuff herring into pies, she had quite the strong stomach. Or perhaps her taste buds were just numb.

I placed my tray next to Camilla’s and stood up. She looked up at me, pausing her aggressive fork-stabbing of the noodles.

“Where are you going?”

I silently showed her my communication device.

“I need to make a call. Please go ahead and eat.”

It was time for work.

Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

Preparing for an operation is an incredibly complex process.

Just planning it is a task in itself. Setting the final objective is easy, but you need to estimate the time required to reach that goal, create detailed short-term, mid-term, and long-term plans, and determine methods for identity concealment and infiltration.

Then you need to calculate the personnel involved and their expenses. Food allowances and salaries for staff, bribes for immigration officers and customs officials, rent for office space to use as a base, vehicle rental costs, and so on.

Add to that the communication network connecting the field and headquarters, routes for material and financial support, identification of counterintelligence agencies and other threats, expected areas of operation, collection of preliminary intelligence needed for the operation, escape routes in case of emergency, and establishing emergency contact networks.

All of this had to be handled by the operations officer before even beginning the mission. Again, not “after” starting, but “before” starting.

This is why everyone doubted me.

Even experienced intelligence officers who had spent years in the field would fumble when given such tasks, so why would they entrust this to someone like me who hadn’t even received proper training?

Of course, that was completely irrelevant to me, but anyway.

I had spent the past few days preparing for the operation while cutting back on sleep.

I tracked the target using the intelligence network of official cover intelligence officers disguised as diplomatic staff, and established cover identities and infiltration routes for the staff with the cooperation of public enterprises. I also took the opportunity to hide initial funds and equipment in Dvork through a resident spy.

“…I received word from the switchboard, Administrator. You received the package?”

-“Yes. I was worried because the weather conditions at the port weren’t great, but things worked out well thanks to the consulate staff. Heh heh.”

This meant that the Kiyen Empire customs officials who were about to inspect the ship carrying our equipment had been bribed and placated by the military intelligence officers at the local consulate.

At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary conversation. But since the people talking were a military intelligence officer and an operations officer, it was anything but ordinary despite its innocent appearance.

“I’m glad it’s been resolved. I’ll visit soon to express my gratitude.”

-“Oh, by the way, how’s the situation there? I heard there was some noise.”

He was asking about the agrément.

“It’s under the Foreign Ministry’s jurisdiction, so I don’t really… Well, they say it’ll be resolved soon, so it should pass shortly.”

-“The Economic Affairs Section at the mission says negotiations on mutual dispatch of private company employees for economic cooperation will be held today. Despite the current situation, there’s no need to pour cold water on it, so it will likely be resolved favorably…”

This meant there would be no problems with our staff infiltrating disguised as overseas branch employees of private companies.

This was possible because despite the complex political and diplomatic situation, the Magic Tower hadn’t restricted private investment. If our side had frozen the Magic Tower’s assets or declared default on government bonds owned by the Magic Tower, any infiltration under the guise of economic cooperation would have been impossible. That was fortunate, at least.

I finished my call with the intelligence officer and contacted someone else.

“…Operations Officer. It’s me.”

-“Ah, Section Chief. What can I do for you?”

“The identity concealment is complete. I just confirmed there are no issues.”

-“That’s a relief. We just finished taking photos for news articles. We almost risked exposing our faces.”

The military intelligence staff were disguised as private company employees, but that wasn’t enough.

With the cooperation of the Trade Promotion Corporation, we released a convincing news story about a private company’s overseas investment. To be precise, we created an article stating that “a major corporation is considering market research for expansion into the Magic Tower.”

-“But would cars even sell in the Magic Tower? I thought everyone there rode broomsticks.”

“Well, not everyone in the Magic Tower is a wizard. There are ordinary people, international students, expatriates, and businesspeople too. And I’m sure there are wizards somewhere who need cars.”

It was all fake, of course.

But since it couldn’t look fake, we even brought in a real journalist (one who received pocket money from a domestic military intelligence officer) to take photos. We even spread rumors in the stock market before publishing the article.

Moreover, institutional investors, foreign investors, and retail investors all took the bait, making it a perfect cover identity.

Stock manipulation? That’s not my concern. If people are upset, they shouldn’t have invested in stocks.

Anyway, the identity concealment was perfectly completed. Now the staff just needed to infiltrate, find office space, set up communication networks, and receive equipment and funds. By then, I would be in the Magic Tower too.

“I’ll continue monitoring information coming in from headquarters.”

-“The preliminary work will take about two weeks. Where will we track the target’s movements?”

“The local staff will handle that. They’ll upload it to the database every morning for the officers in charge to review.”

-“Thank you. So the briefing will be…?”

“I’ll conduct a formal briefing when I arrive on site. We don’t even have everyone assembled yet.”

-“I understand. See you at the operation site.”

“Good work.”

*

When I returned to my seat after finishing the work arrangements, the meal atmosphere had already become lively.

Irregular lifestyle patterns and meals are the root of all illness, but since I was so busy that eating on time was a luxury, I didn’t think much of it.

I quietly sat down and asked Camilla, who was resting her chin on her hand:

“Are you finished with your meal?”

“Huh? Where did you go?”

“I made a phone call, like I said.”

She seemed startled by my sudden return, then tilted her head in confusion.

“Why did your phone call take so long…?”

“Well, there were just so many people calling today…”

Actually, I was the one making the calls, but that wasn’t important.

Looking at my tray, I saw that the spaghetti had become completely soggy and clumped together. The noodles were already clumped before, but now they were completely stuck together and had gone cold. Even pressing with my fork confirmed this was no longer edible food, so I was considering getting a new serving when—

“Want me to heat it up for you?”

Camilla asked, creating a small flame at her fingertip.

“Won’t it burn? If the flame touches it directly.”

“I think it’ll melt if we warm it a bit.”

“It’s not ice…”

There was a high probability that heating the spaghetti over a flame would completely burn it.

I couldn’t find a mess kit somewhere, and it wouldn’t be polite to demand more food when they had prepared portions based on headcount.

“…Hmm.”

But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t come up with a good solution. If I wanted to make this look edible again, my only option was to ask Camilla to heat up the spaghetti.

Minimizing the flame, Camilla concentrated on trying to melt the spaghetti noodles. Small bubbles appeared around the edges of the sauce, suggesting it was actually heating up.

“Oh, that’s interesting. Have you done this before?”

“No? This is my first time.”

Perhaps with some experience from roasting marshmallows or melting chocolate with flames, the bloated corpse-like spaghetti was becoming something a human could actually eat. The sauce wasn’t bubbling vigorously, but it looked like I could at least stir it with a fork.

After concentrating for quite some time, Camilla extinguished the flame completely and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Done!”

“Can I eat it now?”

“Yes!”

Trusting her words completely, I used my fork to flip over a large portion of the spaghetti.

Splat!

“……”

“……”

“…Camilla. Was your major in humanities or sciences?”

“Um, conflict studies, so…”

“…Even the name sounds like humanities.”

The spaghetti was perfectly heated.

On top only.

*

Two humanities majors trying to heat spaghetti was a failure. We only applied heat to the top rather than evenly throughout the food, so the result was predictable.

So this is why my mother kept telling me to study sciences instead of humanities. No wonder she told me not to even look at humanities majors when taking the college entrance exam unless it was business or economics.

Still, at least no one was hurt, and no one was watching this fiasco. We could have died of embarrassment. Not from the fire, but from the shame.

“I’m sorry…”

“As long as you’re not hurt, it’s fine.”

I sat down next to Camilla with a newly received tray. Fortunately, the mess officer had prepared more food than the headcount required and kept it warm, so I could enjoy a hot meal. As it turned out, the cooking equipment was a product ordered from the Magic Tower.

Eating a meal made with equipment from the organization we were sending spies to infiltrate. It was somewhat ironic, but that’s just how the world works.

I stirred the spaghetti noodles in the sauce with my fork and started the conversation.

“Camilla, are you planning to continue participating in Operation Wasteland for the time being?”

“…Yes? It’s good practice for my magic.”

“Then let’s sign a contract.”

I took out a contract from my pocket and handed it to her. Camilla opened her eyes wide and asked what this was all about.

“It’s a contract from the Ministry of Defense. They’ll pay you a certain amount for participating in Operation Wasteland.”

“To whom?”

“To you, Camilla.”

“Me? Why?”

“You’re not a soldier. Even the Ministry of Defense can’t have people working for free—that would be a big problem.”

To be precise, they wanted to avoid political controversy about treating civilians, especially a hero, like slaves. But Camilla didn’t need to know that.

What’s important is this:

“Think of it like how the Ministry of Defense contracts construction companies every year for construction management services.”

Facility management is outsourced both on Earth and here. If the Korean Ministry of Defense outsources due to lack of manpower, why would it be different here? Even the Royal Intelligence Service and Military Intelligence Agency buildings were constructed by major Korean construction companies. The same goes for diplomatic missions abroad.

Diplomatic missions can contract with local companies, but due to security concerns, they prefer to use domestic materials and workers when possible.

Therefore, the Ministry of Defense offered this contract to Camilla to reduce political responsibility and, if possible, to create positive image-making through the public relations office to parliament and the media.

“As far as I know, there are no unfavorable clauses. But just to be safe, hire a lawyer to review the contract.”

“I don’t have money for that.”

“Then take it back to the hotel and look it over. There’s a lawyer among the visitors from the Church.”

It would be a big problem if the contract leaked outside, but given my connections with the Inquisition, I could set up a confrontation between Director Bernard and Shodan. Or I could contact Chief Peter.

Camilla examined the contract carefully. Then she said:

“…Hmm, okay!”

As she was gathering up the contract, I asked her:

“How does it feel to be contracting with a country? I’m curious.”

“…Not particularly exciting, actually?”

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to act cool or if she genuinely felt nothing. It wasn’t important anyway, so I twirled the spaghetti noodles. I was hungry.

Just as I was about to have my late lunch—

-HONK!

“Kuhup-!”

“Huh? Are you okay?”

“Ch-choking… Huff, tissue please…!”

The distant sound of a car horn made me choke.

As I hurriedly wiped the sauce that had splattered around my mouth with a tissue, Camilla patted my back. I continued to cough intermittently. After coughing for quite some time, I stood up like everyone else.

What kind of lunatic honks a horn while people are eating? I felt like I needed to see their face.

And,

Soon enough, I met the person who had honked the horn.

“We meet again. It’s a pleasure.”

“……”

“Would you mind coming over here for a chat?”

It was the Royal Intelligence Service.