WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 359: A Splendid Invitation (11)

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The next day, their last day in Las Vegas, a marathon was held.

The marathon was hosted by a private foundation that supported soldiers. It was the same organization where The Alamo 3 pilot, Captain Pamela Pelletier's hometown friend, worked as chief clerk. Gyeoul had thought a festival like this would be a good idea, so he had asked the public affairs office for cooperation in advance. The public affairs office vetted the civic group, carefully screened the applicants, and then gave permission.

This would be the first and last full marathon, but half marathons or quarter marathons were scheduled in every city they visited. The participants would change each time as well. The sight of war heroes mingling with citizens and running alongside them would mean a great deal to people who still carried division in their hearts. People enjoying the event together as one, regardless of race, political beliefs, or religion. That was what Gyeoul wanted, and it was also the direction of government policy.

Gyeoul completed all 42.195 kilometers while wearing personal combat gear and carrying weapons and ammunition. For the entire run, he had borne an extra 40 pounds, or about 18 kilograms. It was one of the challenges U.S. military personnel sometimes attempted. Since he had beaten the existing record, however slightly, it would also help dispel the minor but persistent doubts raised about Gyeoul.

Jin-seok, who had avoided alcohol since the day before and steeled himself for this, crossed the finish line in 6 hours and 19 minutes under the same conditions as Gyeoul. Then came a frustrated grinding of teeth. The time was about an hour and a half slower than the old record holder Jin-seok had been aiming for. Even so, simply finishing was material enough to improve the image of the 201st Independent Battalion, and by extension, of military personnel from refugee backgrounds.

After the marathon came a tactical shooting demonstration at a civilian shooting range. First, the war heroes gave demonstrations, then they provided instruction to citizens and notable figures. Gyeoul's 「Instruction」 also received a positive response. The notable figures who had treated it as nothing more than an excuse to meet Gyeoul found it unexpectedly worthwhile.

The public affairs office expressed satisfaction as well.

“Once word of mouth spreads, we can charge more for tickets. I should have held some reservations back.”

It was Major McGuire, whom Gyeoul had not seen in a while.

“Do you get a performance bonus?”

At Gyeoul's question, the Major gave a small laugh.

“There is no such thing. I am simply pleased because the work is going well.”

Then McGuire added a serious prediction.

“We have to do well. As far as war bond sales go, this will effectively be our last chance.”

“Last chance?”

“Yes.”

McGuire looked around the shooting range as the event was wrapping up. It was hard to find a shadow on anyone's face, from the heroes and participants down to the ordinary staff.

“There is no longer any sense of crisis. Most people believe the danger of the end has practically passed... and in truth, it has. So sales of war bonds, which we have been selling by relying on the desperation of citizens, are bound to fall. That makes this our last chance.”

“Now that you mention it, that makes sense.”

“Yes. So we will be counting on you for a while.”

The Major smiled at Gyeoul. There was not the slightest trace of resentment over their reversed ranks.

“By the way...”

McGuire changed tone.

“Is the schedule not too hard on you?”

“If I feel like it is straining my stamina, I will say so right away.”

The shooting demonstration after the marathon was also a chance to show that he could maintain combat strength even after running that far. But if Gyeoul took ill, the financial losses would be considerable, so many people were worried even without any personal connection to him.

“Hmm...”

McGuire, one of those people, looked quietly at Gyeoul, then gave a slight nod.

“If you ever get the chance, you should visit this city again. I think you will have an interesting experience.”

It meant records from the marathon and the shooting range would probably have become tourist attractions. Challenge Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul's record! A phrase like that might be posted at the shooting range.

“I hate it just thinking about it.”

Gyeoul's answer, accompanied by a slight grimace, made the public affairs officer laugh aloud.

The plane leaving the city of pleasure took off after sunset. From here on, the plan was for them to take civilian airliners instead of military aircraft. Gyeoul, assigned a first-class seat with the war heroes, excused himself from the people who wanted to talk and spent a while looking out the window.

In the middle of the desert, pale under faint moonlight, the brightly glittering city sank away as the ground fell. The sight left Gyeoul steeped in an unfamiliar feeling. It was a sense of estrangement, like the occasional moment when familiar letters suddenly looked strange.

What had become strange now was the twenty-seventh world of the end itself, the world he had built up until now. It came from the quiet atmosphere inside the aircraft, sealed away from the outside; the receding earth; and the images Gyeoul had begun carrying in his mind lately, all coming together.

‘If things keep going well all the way to the end... After that, do I just live here? Until I grow old and die once, for the length of one person's lifetime?’

Even if living was only an idiom for those who existed after death, the prospect Gyeoul was pondering was probably what most beneficiaries of lower-grade Afterlife Insurance wished for.

Gyeoul imagined that time.

Would it not be decent enough, in its own way?

In the past, he had lived to be someone his older sister could rely on. Gyeoul had had no one to rely on himself. But now it was different. Star Child alone was a truly deep comfort. As for Anne... he was still hesitant, but his confession that he hoped he could come to love her had been exactly what he honestly felt.

Once, he had wanted to rage at things that resembled people but were not human. By now, however, that anger had quieted considerably. Whether this was composure born from the passage of time, or whether he had simply given up on meaningless emotional release, even Gyeoul himself found hard to tell.

Only... he felt an unidentified ache of regret.

Because of that regret, a life spent simply living, the peaceful rest after death whose possibility he had only now barely glimpsed, did not feel real to him.

What exactly was he missing?

As Gyeoul pondered for a long while, a conversation he had once had with Star Child passed through his mind.

‘Fish Out of Water?’

He did not know why he had thought of that. The vague thought was closer to a sudden flash of inspiration. And for some reason, it was followed by the feeling that he did not want to know. Would it not be fine to remain ignorant? The reason for that was just as unclear.

Gyeoul broke off the swamp-like contemplation with a deliberate sigh.

The ground, now beginning to disappear here and there beneath scattered clouds, was still a dangerous world. How many sparks were still left to smother? He could put off worrying until the interglacial period of the end had firmly settled in.

So for now, he looked at the stars floating above the clouds. As always, regardless of their essence, beautiful things had value in themselves. Gyeoul liked the moments when he erased everything else and left only starlight behind.

After touring major cities in the southern Bible Belt region by way of Salt Lake City, the Company of heroes finally entered the capital of the United States on October 15.

Since there were so many recipients, the Medal of Honor ceremony presided over by the President went on for a full week. Every single person was the main character. The intention was admirable, of course, but Gyeoul worried that President MacMillan's workload was too heavy. Even while the triumphal ceremonies held day and night took up his time, he could not neglect his actual duties either.

The President personally pinned on Gyeoul's second Medal of Honor and the rest of his delayed medals one by one, then offered him a handshake with a bright smile and said,

“When we spoke on the phone before, I said we should have a beer, remember? I have set aside time at the end of this month, so I will see you again that day.”

“I was notified, but... Mr. President, it would be all right to push that appointment farther back.”

Strictly speaking, it was hard to call it an appointment. It had only been the President's goodwill toward a war hero. The President Gyeoul met here was the textbook image of someone crushed by exhaustion. Gyeoul did not want to take his time over something minor.

“Oh, dear. Even you are saying the same thing as those naggers.”

As the President said this, he glanced at his aides. Each aide either made a sullen face, pressed a hand to their forehead, or shook their head as if giving up. They all looked equally tired.

“Do not worry.”

The President spoke with good-natured ease.

“This month is already half over, and from the start of next month, I will begin the handover process. Thinking that this hardship will only last a little longer almost makes me sad. Compared to the days when every day felt bleak, it is hard to even call the work heavy.”

“...”

“More than anything, after I leave office, it will not be easy to arrange an opportunity like this, will it? Do you know how much my grandson is looking forward to it? So even if you dislike it, do not decline any further. That is an order.”

“Understood.”

“More importantly, how does it feel to be in the East?”

“...It feels very different from the South. Much more stable.”

At Gyeoul's answer, the President looked troubled.

“Well, now. Skipping over the Western Front where you were originally stationed and comparing it directly to the South, are you?”

“Would the South not be more important?”

“It is important. But you do not need to worry about it.”

It seemed he had simply wanted to hear Gyeoul's impressions of coming to the rear, far from the front. Given Gyeoul's response, that was also the more natural expectation.

“Well, anyway.”

The President left the rest for next time.

“I should go for today. I need to handle other work whenever I have spare moments.”

“Yes.”

“Then I will see you again. I guarantee it, you will like the beer very much.”

As he had said before, it was craft beer he had brewed himself. Gyeoul wondered whether he had really had time to make alcohol in the middle of being so busy, but as someone once said, humans were animals who could not live without pleasure. If the President's hobby was brewing, it was understandable enough. No matter how much a person was made of steel, there had to be a limit to spending days on end doing nothing but work.

Another day later, a joint decoration ceremony was held for those posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. The venue was the Memorial Amphitheater inside Arlington National Cemetery. The outdoor theater, built in a classical colonnaded style, stood across from the famous Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Holding an award ceremony in the national cemetery like this was unprecedented in American history. There had never been so many people receiving medals posthumously.

At the front hung the Stars and Stripes, along with a flag on a sky-blue field bearing thirteen stars. The stars on this flag, given one per recipient, each symbolized one of the original thirteen states of the United States.

The Arlington Old Guard, the national cemetery's guard unit, fired a salute in time with solemn commands.

Standing at the podium, the President recited the names and achievements of every fallen hero before the memorial address. What they had fought for, whom they had devoted themselves to, and in what battle they had sacrificed themselves. Also whom they had loved, who had loved them, and how precious and valuable the lives they had lived before becoming soldiers had been.

So the speech had no choice but to be long.

Like the Old Guard in uniform, the President's posture remained straight from beginning to end.

Footnotes:

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