WeTried Translations
Translator: Coughing Baby
Editor: Coughing Baby
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary
Chapter 108
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Journal & The Limits of Adults
#Journal, Page 130, Fort Roberts
Typhoon No. 4, Damaris, had moved farther south. For the first time in a while, the sky was bright again. Spring, which had been sitting above the clouds, had finally come down to the ground. No more rain, just occasional rough winds. With sunlight pouring over it, Fort Roberts felt like a different place from before the season turned.
But people were still gloomy. Air resupply had resumed, but it fell short of expectations. Better than before, but still not enough.
Countless transport planes flew past the base into the western sky, headed for civilians stranded in contaminated zones. Areas near the coast had gone too long without proper support. I thought ammunition was more urgent than food. You can ration food somehow, but not ammo. If mutants come, you have to fight.
Broadcasts showed flooded sectors day after day. No coastal city had been spared. Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego. San Diego, especially, looked like a city built on water.
Still, people survived. Whenever a news helicopter passed, people on roofs and rooftops signaled in silence that they were alive. The anchor delivered the report in tearful awe, saying the Lord still had not abandoned the world.
The Department of Defense announced it would carry out the maximum possible airlift before the next typhoon arrived. Sea surface temperatures had risen abnormally, and forecasts predicted multiple additional typhoons by March.
I was worried about the sea refugees. Even with large ships protecting them inside the bays, no one could be completely safe in rough wind and waves.
On top of that, with air transport difficult for the time being, food and fuel were bound to run short.
Could that lead to trouble? There had already been an exchange of fire between a Chinese destroyer and a Japanese escort ship before....
#The Limits of Adults, Fort Roberts
On a Friday, a few days before Lunar New Year’s Day, Private Stan Page’s funeral was held at the church in the civilian sector. Gyeoul had a designated role. He stood at one edge of the unfolded Stars and Stripes, facing the chaplain. A short nod to begin. Fold the short edge in half, then in half again, then step forward one pace at a time as the remaining length shrinks.
When fully folded, the flag became a thick triangle. Gyeoul handed it to the chaplain for inspection. Once the check was done, the chaplain returned it. Then came a crisp salute. The sound of camera shutters grew louder.
Gyeoul held the flag at top and bottom and let it lightly touch the coffin. Only then did he walk to the bereaved family. The parents and younger sister sat side by side. Gyeoul knelt before Mother.
“Ma’am. On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defense, the Department of the Army, and a grateful nation, I present this flag in honor of your son’s faith and honorable service to his country.”
The woman who received the flag finally broke into tears she had been holding back. Her husband comforted his wife as she sobbed soundlessly, though he was already crying too. Guilt showed on the younger sister’s face. She looked flustered, as if she did not know what to do because tears would not come. Looking at the girl, nearly his own age, Gyeoul saw his little sister.
‘Did she understand what happened to me?’
Two people were crying, and there was only one handkerchief. Gyeoul took out his own and offered it. Ever since that regret in Paso Robles, he had never gone without one.
“Please take this, sir.”
“...Thank you.”
He was supposed to say nothing at a time like this, but Gyeoul believed that everything people made was meant for people. Courtesy and formal procedure were no different.
Gyeoul returned to his original position. The number of folded flags would soon match the number of bereaved families. As he made two more round trips, cameras from every broadcaster focused on the boy officer.
The temporary burial site was somewhere inside the base. They were supposed to be buried in a national cemetery, but policy said they would be moved after California was recaptured.
After the funeral ended, an unexpected visitor came to Gyeoul.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant. Do you have a moment?”
Led by Private Page’s younger sister, a group of boys and girls gathered in front of the boy officer. They were visibly nervous. Even so, admiration showed in their eyes. Gyeoul nodded gently.
“Of course. What is it?”
“Thank goodness.... We were hoping you could write a message here too. Would that be possible?”
The Page girl held out the booklet she had been carrying. Gyeoul took it and looked through it, then felt a little awkward. It was a memory book for the deceased. Through it, the bereaved could learn sides of the dead they had never known, and it helped them steady their hearts. Gyeoul had been busy with funeral procedure, so he had not written anything. Yet she had come to find him specifically.
Gyeoul was the one who had eased Private Stan Page’s suffering. He had also been the operation’s commander. Since the Harris incident had started airing in early February, Page’s sister would have known that too.
‘The moment of death itself was edited out, though.’
Gyeoul remembered pale lips whispering that he did not want to die. The Defense Department Public Affairs Office had recut the Santa Margarita Lake battle record like a human drama, but it had not shown Page’s death raw. It would have been useful material for amplifying public fury at Captain Harris, yet the video reduced it to a few subtitle lines. Consideration for the bereaved.
Gyeoul stayed silent, and the girl grew uneasy.
“D, do you need a pen? Should I give you one?”
She was trembling faintly. She seemed afraid he might say, I did not really know Private Stan Page. Gyeoul smiled and shook his head.
“No, I have my own. I got lost in thought for a moment. Sorry.”
Regardless of rank, a pen and notebook were basics for a good soldier. The problem was that her fear was partly right. Until that night by the lake, Gyeoul and the private had only known each other’s names. Still, Gyeoul did not hesitate.
「Page. My comrade, who vanished while fighting to keep duty against those who abandoned it. If not for you, that night’s battle might have lost its meaning. If one person’s courage had been lacking, more people might have died. If one person’s courage had been lacking, a new life might never have seen this world. If one person’s courage had been lacking, the vile might have escaped judgment....」
The lines were closer to mourning than to memory, but they would be enough to comfort the family.
‘Good thing the other two funerals were elsewhere.’
The other dead besides Page had been transported to where their families were. Their funerals would be held there too. If they had been held here, it would have become a joint service, and the procedure would have been more complicated.
The boys and girls who read the finished lines had tears in their eyes. Page’s sister thanked him deeply.
“Thank you so much. My parents will be very glad.”
“I hope it helps. Do you need anything else?”
“Ah....”
Gyeoul had asked out of courtesy, then tilted his head at her subtle reaction. Did she still have something to ask?
“Lieutenant, if you are not too busy, could we talk a little longer?”
A boy holding a bugle asked. He was the student who had played Taps at the memorial service. Usually a military band member handled that part, but Fort Roberts had no military band. They had considered using a recording, then selected a student performer from the school ensemble in the civilian sector.
“If it is just for a bit. I was off duty from the afternoon anyway.”
Gyeoul guessed students his age probably had no special business with him. Just admiration and curiosity about the youngest war hero.
He was slightly wrong. Their request left him a little flustered.
“You want to become soldiers?”
“Yes. If we have parental consent, we can enlist. But they absolutely will not allow it.... There is no recruiting office on this base either.”
Under U.S. enlistment law, the minimum age was 17, and physical test standards also started at 17. That was why Sergeant Pierce had frowned but accepted him without much argument when Gyeoul became a volunteer soldier. After some thought, Gyeoul chose a safe answer.
“I do not think you need to rush. You are still students, right? Learn what you need to learn, prepare your bodies a little more, then enlist. It will not be too late. The draft has been activated anyway, so when the time comes, you will become soldiers whether you like it or not.”
The students looked disappointed. The male student with the bugle spoke for them.
“You are saying the same thing adults say. What is the point of going to school and learning at a time like this? It is not like we have to graduate high school. A lot of my friends already dropped out.”
“....”
“Also, you became a soldier at our age too, Lieutenant.”
“Well, I had no parents, and as a refugee I did not have a better choice.”
“Exactly! We think adults are extremely cowardly!”
Gyeoul tilted his head again.
“I am not sure I understand what you mean.”
“You just said it. You had no other choice as a refugee.”
Ah, that point. Gyeoul recalled his conversation with the regimental combat team commander. One criticism of U.S. refugee policy was that it exploited refugees’ position and pushed them into danger.
It was partly true. The volunteer system assumed voluntary enlistment, just as its name said, but when Gyeoul first volunteered, the mood had been that if you stayed still, you died.
One student who admired the hero asked:
“Lieutenant, do you know why people in the civilian sector do not cross to the east side of the blockade line?”
“I heard treatment over there is not very good.”
“Yes, exactly. The displaced-person protection zones are in places like Detroit and Camden. That is what our parents say. They say they would rather stay here than live in neighborhoods like that. They also say lots of people beyond the blockade line want to come here instead. Especially because you are here, Lieutenant.”
Detroit was one of the worst cities in the United States for public safety. There was even a catchphrase: “Send that bastard to Detroit!” Electricity and water were not supplied, and garbage was not collected either. Countless high-rise buildings in the city had been left abandoned with no real use.
The U.S. government had packed western displaced people into cities like that, because at least those places had roofs. Other cities with many empty buildings, like Camden and Baltimore, were all designated as displaced-person protection zones too.
‘There is probably no other way. The number of displaced people must be over thirty million.’
On top of that, they had to handle refugees pouring in from all over the world. The U.S. government was actively resettling displaced people, but the limits were obvious. The rapid expansion of the U.S. military was also possible because displaced people with nowhere else to go kept lining up to enlist.
Another schoolgirl spoke in frustration.
“In the end, people here are living comfortably by taking the refugees’ share. We see everything. We see how refugees live beyond the barbed wire. But there are idiots who say that is natural. Even some teachers do. I do not want to go to a school like that!”
Then a big-built male student spoke. He looked surprisingly old for his age.
“We want to fight too. Maybe not at your level, Lieutenant, but we can do at least as much as ordinary people.”
Gyeoul gave a strained smile.
“I understand what you are all saying. But I am sorry. Today I saw parents in tears after losing their son. I cannot make a cruel request of your parents. You understand how I feel, right, Miss Page?”
“...Yes.”
From the start, Page’s sister had been relatively passive.
In a soft voice, Gyeoul tried to calm the students.
“This war will not end in a day or two. It will probably continue for decades. So do not be too impatient. Just like I am protecting you now, you will be able to protect someone later too.”
The students, except for Page, did not accept it easily.
============================ Author's Afterword ============================
#childlike innocence
Looks like the time is slowly coming to set this world on fire again... childlike innocence, let us see childlike innocence...
#Donation Account
People really keep asking about the donation account. About as steadily as requests to switch to premium... haha...
Are you really sure you will not regret it later?...
#Q&A
Q. OneChance: @This is so close to the edge.. He swallowed his hatred for the person he loves.. but if something happens to his little brother and sister, I wonder what kind of resolve he will have...
A. Well of course, his childlike innocence would become completely full.
Q. qoewh: @I cried while eating after reading this episode. Does that mean my childlike innocence is full, or lacking?
A. I think it depends on whether those were tears of joy or tears of sadness!
Q. LifeSaver: @He got driven out with no one to trust, even lost his own body, yet he says he will not hate the world for the happiness of two people... what is this, some enlightened monk... p.s. My friend says it is not that their childlike innocence is overflowing, they just cannot handle this work’s childlike innocence. Said they are about to burst lol
A. Aha... your friend is not a childlike innocence life-form... impressive. You became friends even though you are different species...
Q. YesterdayThatDay: By the way, what does “The stone cannot get any heavier now” mean?
A. Gyeoul said many times that he had a stone inside his chest. It means something like an emotional knot in the heart.
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