WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 67

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Seventh California (4)

The mop-up fight was nothing serious. The spreading fire was the real problem. Before their escape route disappeared, the commander ordered them to move. The reinforced battalion pushed through a maze of flames and smoke. The mutants groaning after them could not catch up to the vehicles, and they could not outrun the fire either.

Everything left behind met a fiery end.

Camp Roberts was now the nearest base. Still, they had to change direction to avoid the blaze. They moved about 20 km northwest from the battle site. Throughout the march, other combat units on rescue duty, rescued troops, and civilians kept joining them.

'There might be someone I know in there.'

If the blockade command had deployed every available resource, the Rangers from Santa Margarita were probably included too. Gyeoul thought of Lieutenant John Frey, the Ranger platoon leader who had given him a Zippo lighter.

For now, finding him was difficult. Even counting only combat personnel, the task force was larger than a regiment, and with civilians included it had reached ten thousand people. Walking that endless column to find one familiar face was pointless. He was not that desperate anyway.

The task force set up a temporary camp on a ridgeline overlooking the lake and the city. Helicopters flew in one after another, dropped camp supplies, and peeled off.

By the time camp setup was done, the sun was already going down. The soldiers were given a rest period. Officers were not so lucky. Given the tense mood, the battalion commander wanted officers to encourage and comfort the troops during that break. That was one reason officers were paid more than enlisted soldiers.

Gyeoul was no exception. The Bravo Company soldiers facing the young officer no longer saw him as just a boy. One by one, they voiced complaints and anxiety.

"I don't get why we're stalling here. We don't know when another attack might come. Wouldn't it be better to force-march to camp and rest there?"

It was a fair point. The distance left to camp was shorter than what they had covered in daylight. Still, it was impossible. Gyeoul gave an awkward smile.

"We have to think about the people from Camp San Luis Obispo too. You know how hard this has been for them. Same for the civilians. We're barely holding on ourselves, even with stimulants."

People who had survived that extreme situation, soldiers and civilians alike, started collapsing all over the place once the tension broke. They were completely exhausted, physically and mentally. Stimulants barely helped. Rest was the only answer.

"Fine, but what about over there?"

The soldier pointed to the southeastern sky. The lower edge glowed red, almost like sunset in the west. Even from this distance, the smell of burning reached them.

Without information, Gyeoul would have worried too. At that rate, the fire could have grown into a massive blaze large enough to burn an area the size of a country.

"It's okay. I got this from command too. They said there's a high chance of rain before midnight. And tomorrow it should pour all day."

"Really?"

"Why would I lie? It's strange you haven't heard yet. Ah, the reporting chain is probably chaotic because of the situation. Pass it along to the others too."

"Well... all right."

It should have eased his worries, but the soldier still looked downcast. After speaking with a few more like him, Gyeoul understood. They just wanted to get back to camp somehow.

Maybe not as badly as the people from Camp San Luis Obispo, but Camp Roberts' Bravo Company had also gone through a brutal day, no, two days. Stress always had recoil. Wanting to rest in a familiar bed was natural.

Quiet sobbing came from the civilian camp. That camp had been larger than Camp Roberts, and he had heard the losses when it fell were severe.

"Private. Do you have a minute?"

The unfamiliar soldier reacted to Gyeoul's gesture with exaggerated tension. Mild shell shock showed in him too. The way he kept rubbing his fingers looked deeply unstable. Yet he was still armed. The commanders at Camp San Luis Obispo must have had no room to breathe either.

Or there were simply too many people to handle.

The soldier stammered.

"W, w, what is it, sir?"

"Nothing much. I just wanted to talk to someone."

A single line of empathy. In truth, the one who wanted conversation, someone to stay nearby, was probably the soldier. In moments like this, with someone like him, it worked better when it did not feel like obvious care.

If he had been in normal condition, he would have noticed that context. He was not. As the soldier shuffled closer, Gyeoul patted his back and guided him along.

"Mind if we sit here?"

It was a campfire circle of soldiers from the same battalion. They recognized Gyeoul and welcomed him with all kinds of words and gestures. A few had unfamiliar accents. A military of a multiethnic nation, just as expected.

A place for two was made at once. Gyeoul sat the soldier he had brought down first, then naturally took his rifle. The men already there had leaned their weapons together too. Gyeoul's rifle and the shell-shocked private's rifle were added to the stack. It looked like the frame of an old teepee.

They had been tormented by fire and smoke all day, yet the warmth before them in the cold night felt welcome. Firewood was scattered near Gyeoul's feet. He picked up a log, tossed it in, and asked the soldiers,

"Where did you get firewood?"

"There's a cabin nearby. Probably a hunter's lodge, since it had a fireplace. Owner's gone now anyway, so we borrowed some nice and easy."

He said it with a grin, but in plain terms it was still illegal. The U.S. government had worked hard to maintain an optimistic mood, so people widely believed abandoned property could be reclaimed one day.

'Not sure if today changed that.'

He did not know how many had died in a single day. Not the kind of thing to ask people sitting in mourning. Still, for America, which had been relatively stable for a while, this had to be a major catastrophe. The mood would change a lot.

The soldier Gyeoul had brought over stayed crouched, still rubbing his fingers.

"Hey, Penwood. Drink this."

A teammate who could not watch anymore handed him a cup. Hot water sloshed inside.

Even after taking it, the anxious Private Penwood glanced around and asked,

"S, so... what should we t, talk about now?"

Gyeoul gave a calm smile, like starlight.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"No. N, not that."

"Forget rank for a minute and think of making a friend. So what do friends in America talk about? I don't know, I'm from Korea."

It was not even a great joke, but everyone laughed out loud. People who just needed any chance to laugh. Penwood laughed too, though his face stayed stiff.

A female Sergeant named D'Angelo grinned.

"We usually don't like being friends with officers, but we'll make an exception for you, Ensign. You saved our lives earlier."

"Hm?"

After hearing that, he looked again. Faces he had seen before. These were the people from that daytime incident, including the two who had pinned down Sergeant Gilliard during his panic attack. Gyeoul nodded.

"Ah, right. We've met. Glad to see none of you look hurt."

"I was shocked by your judgment back then, sir. Your shooting too. And good lord, I've never seen anyone switch weapons that fast. Hands that quick, I only saw in Vegas gambling pits. You're a born hustler."

"Don't worry. I have zero interest in card games."

"I don't make friends with people who can't handle cards."

"Ouch."

The soldiers chuckled again. Gyeoul waited for it to settle, then asked the female Sergeant,

"Is Sergeant Gilliard safe?"

"He was evacuated. They said his hand alone puts medical discharge at basically 100 percent. I mean, the bones on the back of his hand got wrecked, and two fingers were blown off. Hard to come back as a soldier after that."

Recently issued U.S. rounds were designed for maximum stopping power against personnel. Stopping power was the opposite of penetration. Instead of punching through, they delivered maximum shock to the target. A natural measure for fighting mutants tougher than humans.

The pistol rounds Gyeoul had fired were the same type. Gilliard had taken five of them, so he might lose use of that hand entirely. Even with successful treatment, the aftereffects would last for life. Gyeoul lowered his voice a little.

"That's unfortunate. Please tell him I'm sorry when you see him."

"Huh? Come on, what are you saying."

D'Angelo frowned as if she had heard nonsense.

"He'd be thanking you instead. You stopped him from causing trouble, and you got him out of the front. Hell, now he might be discharged for good. Damn. Can't lie, I'm jealous of that part. Chance at pension life."

Regular U.S. military pensions required at least 15 years of service, but disabled veteran pensions were different. Gyeoul still did not know the details. No matter how many iterations he had lived, he could not memorize every piece of information. So he asked,

"Will he definitely get pension payments?"

"Service over 30 months, fought on the front line, he'll obviously get a Purple Heart, and if one hand is unusable that'll be a 50 percent disability rating. Even if he can use it a little, maybe 30 to 40 percent? Plus for now he'll have... that issue too. Then it's a lock. Hey, if it's 40 percent, how much is that?"

D'Angelo mumbled that part to spare Penwood, who was still unstable. The one she asked answered uncertainly.

"Uh, not sure. Five hundred? Six hundred? Around there? He'll get extra if he gets a Purple Heart, right? More if he has family too. I don't know exact numbers."

"Did he have dependents?"

"No idea."

Gyeoul tilted his head.

"Even so, around 600 dollars isn't enough for someone to live on, is it?"

Through Intelligence correction, he knew the converted amount in early 21st-century exchange rates. Around 700,000 won. 「Insight」 worked here too. With advice from the Control AI, Gyeoul learned this amount was far below the minimum cost of living at the time.

The soldier brushed off his doubt.

"Come on. He can also work and earn money."

"You think getting a job is easy?"

"Well... the government will help him."

That optimistic answer surprised Gyeoul a little. The "government" this man spoke of seemed very different from the one Gyeoul had known while alive. It felt strangely unfamiliar.

In reality, benefits from the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) went far beyond simple pension payments. He could confirm it from what the soldiers kept saying. Ongoing care and treatment, in the most literal sense. They even guaranteed loans.

And still, many U.S. veterans ended up homeless. After receiving that Intelligence correction data, Gyeoul sighed inwardly.

'Put another way, this is a problem they can't fully stop even after doing all that.'

Giving soldiers faith mattered. Even if I go down, my country will honor my service. Across every iteration Gyeoul had lived, this was one reason America remained a final bastion of civilization to the end. An intangible system supporting U.S. military combat power.

'How many mostly functional countries are left now anyway...?'

Other than Russia, none came to mind right away. There, vast and harsh territory itself sometimes acted as a natural barrier that helped quarantine and containment.

Gyeoul's thoughts did not last long.

Once the topic of discharge came up, the conversation heated up. In any country, soldiers on a battlefield were bound to get fired up about leaving the service. For career soldiers, maybe it felt like talking about retirement.

Even Penwood, who still could not fully control his twitching hands, was the same.

He joined the conversation a few times, then suddenly broke down sobbing.

"Huuuu... huh... uuuh."

His shaking hands kept wiping tears. The laughter around him faded. Some grew red-eyed with him, while others patted his shoulder and told him to hold on. Gyeoul was with the latter. He had been used to making a gentle voice since before he died.

"Cry. They say holding back tears only makes you sick."

Penwood buried his head in Gyeoul's chest and cried for a long time.

"Please keep taking care of us from now on."

That one line from D'Angelo to Gyeoul carried real weight.

After Private Penwood finally calmed down, Gyeoul left that campfire. Higher command had called him over radio. It was his first time meeting the commander of 1st Battalion, 「Seventh California」.

The Latino battalion commander was waiting for him alone, with no staff around. His face looked firm, yet somehow precarious. Traces of the brutal hours since dawn. What a man felt as the one responsible had to be different from what a soldier felt.

Gyeoul saluted.

"Ensign Han Gyeoul, sir. I heard you called for me."

"I am Lieutenant Colonel Farrell Ramos, battalion commander. Good to meet you. Have a seat."

With the young officer seated across from him, the battalion commander opened with formal praise.

"You fought well today."

"You saw it in person?"

"By chance."

Then silence, briefly. The lieutenant colonel stared at Gyeoul and propped his chin on one hand.

"How is the mood outside?"

"Not good, but it looked like things were stabilizing."

"You're different from the other officers..."

What was he trying to say? Did he mean Gyeoul could calm soldiers more easily because of his recent actions? No, the nuance felt different. There was meaning Gyeoul had not caught.

He still could not guess why the battalion commander had called him. The battalion commander noticed that too.

"Wondering why I called you?"

"Honestly, yes."

"Nothing major. I wanted to meet you once. Thanks to you we got past a critical point, so I thought I should thank you."

As he said it, fatigue and self-reproach he could not fully hide showed in his eyes. It was brief, but Gyeoul did not miss it. Heavy, very heavy.

The battalion commander brought up something else.

"From now on we'll be stationed at the same camp."

"Does that mean my assignment is changing?"

"No. It's our station that's changing."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Camp San Luis Obispo was close to the city, and we placed the regimental combat team there because it was the southern route. It was also the route to the sea. If we secured Morro Bay, we'd gain a simple Pacific-side forward hub. But now that things have turned out this way, higher command will try to reinforce Camp Roberts."

It was logical, but still no clear reason to explain all that to Gyeoul, who had just met him and belonged to a different unit.

Ah. Gyeoul finally understood what he meant when he said he was different from the other officers. It probably meant the other officers had no emotional room left.

In the end, the battalion commander too was one of those people who needed conversation without a purpose.

Sometimes a person's presence alone gave comfort. Just staying with someone was enough. But because of his rank, the battalion commander could not show weakness. So he had no choice but to speak in stiff, formal language.

Gyeoul sat quietly and comforted him without a word.

============================ Author's Afterword ============================

1. Before serialization started, the author had absolutely no confidence in doing daily uploads. I'm the type that makes up for weak talent with time. So at first I applied to a contest.

Even if you don't win, if your work looks decent, they usually send you an offer asking if you want to serialize, right?

But Ossuary failed to win anything, and nobody even contacted me...

I heard that site is shutting down this month.

It was called I-Soseol.

...

Anyway, next I inquired about serializing in the novel section of Lezhin Comics, and they rejected it saying it wasn't a fit.

And now the news says Lezhin Comics had a fire.

...

Should I just call that lucky...?...

2.

Q. PotatoPeel-nim: @Jermis-nim A thousand Steam games...? I have 57 and I'm going crazy over wasted money.... If it's a thousand, how many thousands did you spend on Steam games lololol. Anyone play Rust? Recruiting teammates :)
A. So they say. If anyone here plays Rust, please take down PotatoPeel-nim and report to the author.

Q. Mupler-nim: @It's not that I buy games and can't play them, it's that if I don't play right away I stop reaching for them. I recommend Rainbow Six Siege. Better than Ubisoft's masterpiece Division.
A. If I get time, I want to play Overwatch. Haha. For an author who's still doing this at this hour, that's a dream.

Q. Dohwawon-nim: @By around the 10th iteration, do you become like a Swordmaster of the human world?
A. It depends on the person, and on how each iteration was spent. The possibility exists.

Q. Bombat-zgi-nim: If the author spent half the time used for Q&A writing the novel instead...
A. Q&A takes about five minutes. If I wrote fiction in that time, maybe one or two lines would come out. Don't feel too bad about it. :)

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