WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 52

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#Journal, Page 83, Camp Roberts

Jeffrey's prediction had been right, after all. Another medal. Major Bliss from the public affairs office showed up as punctually as ever, wearing an expression that said, you again? Gyeoul almost felt sorry for him.

The Distinguished Service Medal ranked below the valor medals he'd earned before. Even so, more journalists turned up than last time. Major Bliss had his work cut out for him keeping them in line.

They asked for a word of encouragement to the American people. The lines, of course, had been prepared in advance, Major Bliss had briefed him on exactly what to say. Gyeoul wasn't sure what any of it was supposed to accomplish, but he did it anyway. Even lines this embarrassing.

"Protect your families and your homes! I'll be there to help!"

Forcing the smile was the hardest part. It felt awkward no matter how he turned it over, but the journalists loved every moment and snapped away. Their sensibilities must have been something apart from ordinary people's. Or maybe the world had gone mad and they'd gone right along with it.

Invitations started pouring in from the civilian residential districts. To people living day after day in restlessness and dread, Gyeoul was a convenient reason to throw a party. The combat camera footage had already aired by then. They'd said it would be used as a training reference, making promotional material had apparently taken priority.

Ignoring the invitations wasn't easy. They'd decorated the district entrance in full expectation that he would come, and if he didn't show, a lot of people would be disappointed. All the preparations would go to waste.

He went. It didn't make him comfortable. People were angling for his attention from every direction, some personal, some political. A California state senator made a point of taking interest, pulling journalists over for a photograph.

And then there were the propositions. One night, how about it? They framed it as natural: wanting a strong man in dangerous times. But underneath, Gyeoul sensed something else. Hard to name, but it was close to the desire to show off.

Not wanting him as a person. Just wanting him.

He wasn't sure. In a country with more relaxed attitudes toward sex, it probably wasn't considered much of an issue.

Still, it drove home that these things weren't just the stuff of movies.

He turned them down. Being underage was still a usable excuse. Most people took it as a cultural difference and dropped it, though a few just laughed. As if it were nothing.

Something he understood a little better now: the process of being made into a hero was never comfortable for the person it happened to.

#Journal, Page 84, Camp Roberts

As Christmas drew closer, the tone of the TV broadcasts shifted.

Not just carols. The programming that had been wall-to-wall disaster alerts and news bulletins started making room for talk shows, stand-up comedy, dramas, the ordinary rhythms of everyday life. Videos depicting infected mutants in a comical light dominated the new lineup.

Channels that had gone dark came back, one after another. People crowded around TV sets in numbers they hadn't before.

To Gyeoul, it read as a show of confidence, a belief that the disaster could actually be beaten. An effort to push something positive out into the world.

Among the new programs was this:

「DIY for Patriots! Welcome to the very first episode!」

The concept: building the supplies and equipment the nation needed, right from home. At first he'd figured it couldn't amount to much. Then he actually watched.

「Greetings, patriotic citizens of America. I'm McAlister Guiver Johnson, your all-purpose technician, here for you. Over the next seven weeks, I'll be carving wood alongside each and every one of you! What are we carving, you ask? Brace yourselves. A cargo transport aircraft!」

He thought he'd misheard. The host said it again.

「No need to doubt your ears. You heard exactly right. We are going to build a flying cargo transport! Don't be intimidated. Everything you need is already collecting dust in your own garage!」

The tools he mentioned were ordinary only by American standards. Making or repairing things yourself was simply part of the culture there.

「The name of this project is... yes! Let's call it the Wooden Wonder! History buffs among our patriotic viewers will be saying aha! right about now! That's right, back when we were giving the Nazis an absolute pounding, the eccentric British built a magnificent bomber entirely out of wood! That's where I got my inspiration! Though of course, what we're building isn't quite the same thing!」

The screen cut to blueprints. A phone number appeared. Call to order the plans by mail, for a fee. All proceeds donated to the national defense fund.

「The aircraft we'll be building doesn't need armor, doesn't need to fly high, doesn't need to go fast! Our enemies have no anti-aircraft guns! No wings of their own, obviously! Our hope, the Wooden Wonder, just needs to carry cargo and people through the air!」

McAlister ran through the specs. Properly built, it could carry up to two tons of supplies and fly a thousand kilometers.

The closing lines:

「Materials have been prepared at community centers across each region! Completed parts will go through a standards and quality inspection and be purchased by the Department of Defense! We're counting on you, patriots!」

"Completed parts" was a generous term, what they were actually asking individuals to do was the rough initial fabrication. The host even showed himself running his own piece through a lathe to finish it off.

More than anything, what mattered was motivation. Having something to do went a long way toward beating back the feeling of helplessness.

The military recruitment ads had gotten noticeably fresher, too. War heroes pushing enlistment was nothing new. The gravity had just faded, replaced by an equal measure of humor.

First on screen: a muscle-bound white staff sergeant, sitting astride Grumble's carcass. A reporter asked him a question.

「What do you think it takes to defend humanity?」

「More weapons, more ammo, and even more bastards.」

「Bastards, you say. Does that exclude women?」

The sergeant frowned.

「What does being a bastard have to do with being a man or a woman?」

Cut to the reporter beaming at the camera.

「You heard it here! God bless 'Merica! Yeah! You too can be a bastard! Call now! Dallas! 972-392-9158! Fort Worth! 817-467-3266!...」

The ad reflected the recently revised conscription law. Previously, only men between eighteen and sixty-five had been draft-eligible. Women could now be drafted just as easily.

As of today, December 22nd, US military strength had surpassed eight million. Refugee volunteers kept pouring in. How far the military would expand from here was anyone's guess.

He was turning all of this over in his head when he appeared on the TV. Stars and Stripes waving behind him. Fighter jets cutting across the screen for no apparent reason. And there he was, right in the middle of it, holding a heroic pose.

「Protect your families and your homes! I'll be there to help!」

What even was this.

#Acting with Purpose (1), Camp Roberts

What the journal described was playing out at Camp Roberts now, too. The US military had begun recruiting skilled workers from among the refugees.

For the Gyeoul Alliance, Gyeoul handled the recruitment himself. He went through the roster, sorting people by occupation and specialty. Given the alliance's size, they filled an entire tent to the brim when gathered.

"Those selected this time will be assigned primarily to base construction or facility restoration. There's also the possibility of being dispatched to factories, power plants, or field maintenance depots. They're offering private-level pay plus a hazard allowance. Any volunteers?"

The mention of hazard allowance made people flinch. Nobody rushed forward. Someone raised their hand cautiously.

"Excuse me, I'm not volunteering just yet, I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Is citizenship not on the table?"

Gyeoul put on a regretful expression.

"There's no word on that yet. They seem to think troop recruitment is the bigger priority."

Quite a few people looked disappointed. Another question came right after.

"You said private pay, but concretely speakin', how much are we actually talkin'?"

Gyeoul flipped through the recruitment directive appendix, running his finger down the pay table.

"Starting at one thousand, seven hundred and fifty-six dollars a month. Additional adjustments based on skill level, experience, and English proficiency. The base hazard allowance is one hundred and fifty dollars, paid automatically for work outside the camp. If there's combat during the work, that goes up to two hundred and twenty-five."

"That's still close to two million won when all's said and done. Not much to do around here anyway, so I 'spose someone's gotta go..."

More hands went up. Questions from all directions. Gyeoul called on them one by one. Most of it was about safety.

By the time everything was settled, seventeen people had signed up. More than half had held back. The more volunteers the Gyeoul Alliance sent out, the stronger its influence would grow, but he hadn't pushed anyone. Stability came before results right now.

Among the volunteers was a welder with a speech disability. His skill was something else entirely. Enough to impress the American evaluators. At first there had been reluctance over his inability to communicate in English, but the other technicians were just as stunned as the evaluators. They crowded around his work.

"Lord almighty. Get a look at these beads he's laid down. Now there's a master craftsman, I tell you."

"Asked him to do some welding and he's gone and stacked dragon scales up there."

"Had a quick look at his weave. That right there is art."

Even to Gyeoul, who knew nothing about the trade, the joint looked immaculate. Scales of perfectly identical size and shape, layered one over the next in clean succession. His passing was practically guaranteed, and a pay adjustment seemed likely on top of it.

His name was Park Byeong-hu. He smiled, a little embarrassed.

Gyeoul pulled him aside.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Byeong-hu reached for a pen and a notepad.

「What do you mean? Are you thinking I shouldn't because I'm disabled?」

"It's not about discrimination. Honestly, if you do the work, it's good for me. Another financially independent alliance member is a good thing. And people's attitudes toward the disabled in the alliance will change too."

A pause. Then:

"I just worry you might feel pressured to volunteer because you're disabled. That in itself would be discrimination. And it's true that working outside puts you at greater risk than others."

There were people in the Gyeoul Alliance who resented the disabled. They couldn't openly defy Gyeoul, so they kept quiet on the surface. Behind closed doors, the contempt and mockery never stopped.

The notes he'd been getting from Lee Hoon-tae made that plain. People would walk right up to Hoon-tae, who was pretending to be hard of hearing, and hurl insults or laugh in his face, assuming he couldn't hear a word. It happened constantly.

Was Byeong-hu being pushed into this by that kind of pressure? That was what Gyeoul genuinely wanted to know.

The difference in risk was real, too. Acknowledging a difference and discriminating were two plainly separate things.

Byeong-hu wrote.

「Thank you for thinking of me that way. I do feel a sense of obligation, I won't deny it, but it's not something I dislike either. Even knowing the risk, I want to try.」

Gyeoul nodded.

"Alright. Go on then."

The American evaluator was already calling the successful candidates forward. Byeong-hu hurried off to join the line. Gyeoul stood watching, and then heard footsteps coming up behind him.

Chinese. He greeted the person at the center of the group.

"It's been a while, sojeo."

Li Ailing gave him a quiet bow.

She looked different. Before, there had been something deliberate about her appearance-a little over the top. Now she was understated. White clothes. Given the Triad's situation, it was almost certainly mourning dress.

She looked up at him.

"Does what you said before still stand, sir?"

He had been waiting for this. Gyeoul nodded.

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