Trauma of GOP fence guards

While the facilities are great now and the front-line fence posts have become the best, with no major discomfort for those on duty,
I am a former guard from the 12th Division fence.
Back then, we spent our military service split into six months of "Hveba" (rear area duty) and six months on the fence.
If those six months fell during the winter, there was nothing to eat at the front-line fence.
The only thing we waited for was the "Yellow Wagon"—the yellow military trucks that brought goods from the PX.
But since this is the Punchbowl Gachilbong area, where it snows from late October until early May,
even the Yellow Wagon couldn't make it.
Until that wagon arrived, we would suck on our hands, and some soldiers would even drink what the medics called "glucose" from the medical unit, mixed with water.
And the only single moment of peace we had
was the sound of the large temple bell at the Eulji Observatory.
I used to hear the Division Commander say that a devout Buddhist lady named Jang Young-ja donated it to pray for the unification of North and South.
The sound of the bell ringing toward the North Korean soldiers at dusk after dinner was a truly magnificent sound that purified the soul, even for those of us who weren't Buddhists.
The music the South used to send to the North back then
included songs like Songgolmae's "By Chance Encountering You," Jung Soo-ra's "Ah, Republic of Korea," and Jeong Kwang-tae's "Dokdo is Our Land"... and so on.
The reason I am talking about trauma is
that for those on duty at the Eastern Front fence, when the morning relief arrives, they climb up while rotating a small wooden marker made of white and black sides.
If the morning guard rotates the white wooden board, it becomes a black sign.
If a black sign is discovered in any sector during the morning, even if nothing happened overnight, the soldiers are forced to run around all day long, digging holes and pulling weeds under the pretext of "investigating the situation."
One wouldn't dare even try to sleep.
Also, something that morning guards find terrifying before climbing the fence
is the carcasses of roe deer and wild boars.
Back then, we had Claymores laid out, so humans couldn't approach, but wild animals wandering near the fence would accidentally enter the restricted danger zones and die from the Claymores or electric shocks from the fence.
Since wild boars, in particular, are highly aggressive, straight-moving animals, pieces of carcasses blown apart by Claymores would be seen scattered here and there. Even after several hours, the characteristic fishy smell of blood was so strong that soldiers with weak stomachs would vomit, and some couldn't eat for days, surviving only on red bean bread and soy milk from the PX.
If soldiers can feel trauma and fear from seeing animals in such situations,
imagine the soldiers who were exchanging stories right before being deployed for an operation, or a comrade who slept in the same bunk until tonight, witnessing their own ankle being severed by a mine explosion right before their eyes. The explosion must have been incredibly loud and terrifying; imagine how the soldiers and commanders around them must have felt.
People might keep quiet about it now, but if you think about the feelings of the parents who sent their children to the front lines, the fact that such things happen within the territory of the Republic of Korea is devastating. Those who speak recklessly as if it's nothing are truly devilish human beings.