Snowed In on New Year's Eve
“Take a look. I'm beat.”
“Until next time. Good work, sir.”
With all my business wrapped up anyway, I hit the end button two minutes early.
Remaining time of 2 minutes 11 seconds has been forfeited.
Face-to-face lecture has ended.
My vision flickered with the system messages, then slowly brightened until the wooden ceiling of my quarters came into view.
“Ugh, it doesn't even hurt physically, but it still stings.”
My skin wasn't actually sore, but my brain nerves clearly remembered the pain.
I'm the one paying for these classes—why the hell do I have to get hit?
Something was seriously wrong here.
And something was even more seriously wrong outside the window.
Whiiiiiir!
“Huh...?”
The eerie howl, like a gale-force wind, sent chills down my spine as I pulled back the curtain—and there it was.
White garbage raining from the sky.
“Fuck.”
Snow.
Snow in English.
Civilians love the stuff.
It enables sports like skiing, serves as material for snowmen, and symbolizes winter.
But that's only because apartment janitors and civil servants clear it away for them.
In reality, snow is garbage.
Worse than food waste, even.
“What time is it now?”
I quickly checked the clock: 9:36 p.m.
With it coming down hard right now, shoveling would be pure idiocy.
“Anyway... let's just sleep.”
The hellish tomorrow was all too predictable, so despite having just woken up, I threw myself back into bed.
“First Platoon handles company clearing, and Second and Third Platoons clear the paths to their sectors.”
I called the platoon leaders in first thing upon arriving and divvied up the snow removal zones.
“Looking at the weather, it'll probably snow again tomorrow. Damn. New Year's is tomorrow, and the sky couldn't care less.”
Sergeant Edric was already wiping his weary face.
It does feel like it'll come again tomorrow.
No weather forecast here, but you could tell just by looking at the sky.
“We have to clear it anyway. Can't leave the roads like this or the wagons won't get through.”
This was some seriously bullshit situation.
We bust our asses clearing it, and it piles up again tomorrow. An endless loop.
I was tempted to gather every snowflake and plug up the sky with it.
“Guess we push through today like always.”
“No choice. Alright, let's get to it.”
With the snow removal plan set, everyone hustled back to their positions.
“Wonder if we can finish by noon.”
Crunch crunch.
I trudged through the snow toward the shed where the snow pushers and shovels were stored.
“Sir! Company commander, you're shoveling with us again today?”
A soldier distributing gear from the shed spotted me and asked.
“Of course. If some do it and some don't, when the hell would we ever finish?”
Once one person slacks, others think, Why not me? and it ends up with only the juniors doing the work.
Which means junior officers and privates grinding away.
It was a depressingly common sight in uncivilized units.
And I'd witnessed it vanish exactly once during my service.
During snow removal.
The battalion's first snow had piled up decently—not a blizzard, but enough.
I figured the privates would suffer alone, but surprisingly, the battalion commander himself grabbed a shovel and came out.
Word spread through the entire HQ, and all the lazy officers bolted out.
We finished by noon, and that's when I realized it:
To fix something wrong, the top brass has to lead.
“Thank you for helping!”
“Snow removal's everyone's job—what's to thank? Hand me a pusher. Let's finish quick and rest.”
“Yes, sir!!”
The soldier, genuinely grateful, shoved a snow pusher into my hands.
Hmm, I've felt this before, but these things kinda suck.
This was my fourth snow removal, and the pushers bugged me every time.
Compared to the ones from Korea, they're short, heavy...
Probably the plastic difference, but I knew this world had similar materials.
With some R&D, we could make better ones. I'll mention it later.
Snow tools had eternal demand—solid investment in my book.
“Anyway... time to shovel.”
Thud!
My section was with Second and Third Platoons clearing the road. I jammed the pusher in at the starting point.
“Hoo.”
The key to snow removal: never stop.
Stop pushing mid-stride, and you're done.
Some physics principle or whatever—you had to keep the momentum going.
“Here we go.”
Gripping the pusher with both hands, I put my whole body into it and shoved.
Scraaaape!
The pusher charged down the three-meter-wide road.
With every step, the snow it carried grew heavier, piling up enough at the end for a mini snowman.
“At least it hasn't frozen solid.”
Good news, if you could call it that.
Bad news: I had to do this a hundred more times.
“This is fucked.”
No escaping reality, so I stepped aside, jammed it in again, and repeated.
“Good work, sir.”
Lieutenant Aisa greeted me after the marathon clearing.
“No big deal—you did it too.”
She'd cleared the company area and nearby sectors with First Platoon.
“We both worked hard, right?”
“Yeah, true. Sigh, wanna clock out.”
Unfortunately, the extra work piled up our plate, pushing quitting time even further.
“But tomorrow's New Year's. Hang in there.”
“Time flew that fast, huh.”
Never thought I'd see another New Year's in the army. What a shame.
“Feels like the year zipped by, doesn't it?”
“Yeah. Not for you?”
“Well... once I left the family, it sped up for me too.”
“Glad to hear it. Anyway, any New Year's events tomorrow?”
The Lycan Empire made a big deal of New Year's.
If memory serves, the palace hosts a grand banquet. For the people, they open the granaries for a feast.
One of the few imperial events even the Oclo third son could attend.
“It's New Year's, but with monsters rampant this season, Seventh Legion tradition is just special rations.”
“Makes sense.”
No holiday trumped duty.
“New Year's means duck meat, right?”
“Of course.”
She answered like it was as obvious as rice-cake soup, eyeing me like why ask?
“Gotta write and tell them to bring extra, even if it's a loss.”
They needed to eat hearty.
Why? More snow removal tomorrow.
“You always think of the men.”
“Me? Am I like that?”
“Very much so. Never seen anyone step up like you among the commanders I've known.”
I reflected on my track record at her words.
Yeah, I've put in some effort.
Obviously, as an ex-enlisted man.
I know exactly the bullshit and discomfort they're dealing with—how could I ignore it?
Unless I was as rotten as my cushy older brothers, impossible.
“Just treat 'em right. I hate getting bitched at.”
Who likes that? But shockingly, some in the army did.
Officers who took incoming shit as proof they were guiding the troops right, deluded.
Even some privates.
Ah, thinking of that asshole pisses me off.
Could be late for roll call himself, but juniors couldn't.
His mistakes? Fine. Others'? Harshest judge.
Then he'd spout nonsense about being indispensable, and shit-talk was inevitable.
Psycho got booted midway; no clue how he discharged.
Decent college too. Personality and brains are separate, huh.
I'd thought good grades meant baseline decency pre-army.
Totally unrelated.
“So humble. I'll learn from it.”
“Me? Uh, thanks.”
Doubtful there was much to learn, but flattery's flattery.
And the next day.
Two unexpected gifts arrived.
“Aigoo! Young master! Happy New Year!”
January 1st.
The crisp date's morning brought Branch Manager Pennell hauling a wagon to the unit.
“You too, Branch Manager. May all your endeavors succeed.”
“My only endeavor is Oclo Trading Company's prosperity! I'll carve my bones to achieve it.”
This guy would've made at least a brigadier general in the army.
Merchants weren't merchants for nothing.
“Set some personal goals too.”
“Haha! Naturally! May all your endeavors succeed as well, young master.”
“Thanks.”
My goal this year? Safe discharge, obviously.
Which means ending the war quick. Sigh.
Far from quieting, the emperor's kill-or-be-killed decree had cranked tensions to max.
Winter ends, and it's either us hitting Belgium Fortress or them hitting Rimir Castle.
Probably us attacking—their Rimir wounds ran too deep for a rematch.
“Here to pay respects?”
“Would I come just for that? Didn't you send a letter yesterday asking for ample ingredients?”
“I did.”
“Even before that, the boss ordered heaps of New Year's food for your unit.”
“Did he? Didn't know—Dad came through.”
Felt like the class rep's mom treating everyone to burgers.
“The boss's warm thoughts for you, young master. So much it needed my personal delivery.”
“Must've been tough.”
“I hand-picked and inspected each item for variety. Hope you all have a great time.”
Made you wanna hand him a tissue it was so touching.
Master braggart. Gotta pick up some of that skill.
His ironclad face was at least a hand thick.
“I'll remember that.”
“Haha! Not what I meant. Anyway, happy New Year!”
“You too. Careful on the way back—roads are cleared but slippery.”
“Yes, sir! See you!”
Escorting Pennell naturally led me to the supply company to check the haul.
“Move the meat first!”
“That's gotta be a whole duck per person? Plus pork...”
The supply troops gawked at the mountain.
Since I was kinda the culprit, I slipped away quietly.
Sorry. And I love you guys.
A quick moment of silence—they'd get it.