It must have been less than half an hour since breakfast.I was standing outside in my uniform, waiting to be called into the room where I'd soon give my report. My eyes caught the time. 9:02. I should've been inside already. They were about fifteen minutes late calling me in. Who knows what kind of nonsense was going on in there...
For a while, I just stared at the ceiling. I was doing it to try and shake off the grogginess. I was already soaked in sweat—feeling drowsy was the last thing I wanted.
To keep my mind from playing tricks on me, I stared blankly at the white wall in front of me. The plaster was lightly chipping, but it wasn't bad enough to need renovations yet. Still...
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the door opened. They brought me in as if nothing had happened—as if I hadn't been kept waiting. After the formal salute, I pulled the chair in front of the chief attaché toward me. Normally, doing something like that without direct order would result in serious consequences—especially considering my rank—but no one seemed to care.
"It was Celal, right, Captain?" the bald colonel started. His face wore an expression somewhere between determination and exhaustion. Like someone tired of doing his job, but unable to quit for some reason.
"Yes, sir. That's correct," I replied.
"First of all, welcome to Vietnam," he said, adjusting the disproportionately large glasses on his face. "You know what your job is. And why you're here…"
"Because of the Cyprus issue," I added before he could finish. He was aware that I had disobeyed orders. It was obvious he didn't like talking much. He kept his words short and to the point.
"I've read the reports on you," the colonel said, leaning back. "You and your brother—both highly capable officers. It's a shame. The higher-ups wasted you both with their petty politics."
It almost felt like he was saying this to provoke me on purpose. He was clearly part of the clique opposed to the top brass—one that wasn't exactly small either. Still, he looked at me with a strange air of condescension. And yet, in some contradictory way, it was clear he also respected me.
"In the coming period," he continued, taking a large sip from his coffee, "all intelligence for this place will go through you. Possibly more than that. Try not to make any mistakes. You know what'll happen if you do…" he added. His tone wasn't threatening. He spoke completely matter-of-factly. Not even a hint of emotion. The colonel was clearly a grey man—the kind whose name you wouldn't remember, but whose presence you'd feel through his actions. His name, if I hadn't mentioned it yet, was Remzi Astarcı. I hadn't had much of a chance to say anything during our conversation anyway.
"Given your background in intelligence, I assume you're already familiar with paperwork and such... Your job is fairly straightforward. Sort the documents that come in and put them in the right department's inbox. The necessary equipment for communication is already in the attaché building. Oh, and... don't even try to flirt women in department or you'll end up in trouble."
"Colonel, no offense, but… that was the strangest monologue I've ever heard. If you'll excuse me."
Of course, the guy also knew about the mess I'd made. Still, he said so many unrelated things that I felt like I was reading a character's dialogue from some mediocre French novel written just to sound avant-garde.
"Go on, you're dismissed. Your desk is up ahead on the right. It has your name on it."
I gave a salute and left the room slowly, with a few steps. It was like my brain had gone numb. Probably the closest thing I've experienced to a lobotomy.
When I got to the desk, what I saw was… a pile of papers. Scattered everywhere, as if the person who dropped them off had never heard of the word "organization"—or maybe they were deliberately making the job harder. There were random papers flying in every direction. They couldn't have found a better way to mock me if they tried. I half-muttered a few curses under my breath, then reluctantly started sorting through it all. Everything was all over the place—completely mixed up. I spent nearly an hour just sorting and properly filing everything. In fact, the more I worked, the worse it seemed to get. The papers got more and more chaotic.
"Celal, right?" a voice called out while I was organizing. I didn't even turn to look. I kept working."Yes," I replied as I gathered the papers. "Celal Gül."
"So they really did send you here, huh... Those old goats always do whatever they want," the voice said, with a tone that reminded me of a child trying to reach something they admired. Not admiration exactly—something more abstract, harder to explain. Something… odd.
"Something like that," I replied, brushing off the question. "Some crap went down, and here we are."
"Your brother told me about what happened this morning…"
"My brother?"
"Yeah. I met him while you were out having a smoke. I was going to introduce myself to you too, but... he told me not to bother you while you were smoking."
Muzaffer, you clown... Did you go and saddle me with a fan now? Strangely, though, I had a gut feeling these two would get along very well. He probably did it just to mess with me—and enjoyed every second of it.
"Oh, by the way…" the guy started to say something but cut himself off. At that moment, I noticed a document on the desk. It was open and written in English."If you'll excuse me," I said, and immediately left the desk.
That was enough headache for one day. My eyes landed on Muzaffer by the water cooler near the desks. He was leaning against the wall."Muzaffer..." I whispered. "Brother, why is one of your files on my desk?"
"They probably mixed it up, man. What else could it be? Chill. If it's a problem, just toss it back on mine."
"Oh and by the way… you see that guy over there?" I leaned in and asked.
"Yeah, yeah. We met this morning. You were smoking—he introduced himself then."
"Why'd you stick him on me like that, huh?"
"Man, the guy just said a couple words to you, Celal. You're so antisocial…"
"We're seated right next to each other, dude," I whispered. "He won't shut up."
"Let it go…" he said with a big grin. "Just try to get used to it. Plus, this is the military—we don't just let people get away with being undisciplined."
"Heh, Muzaffer..." I said, grinning ironically. "That's what you think."