Chapter 108
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 108
Chapter Title: Journal and the Limits of Adulthood
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#Journal, page 130, Fort Roberts
Typhoon Damaris No. 4 had moved off to the south. The sky was bright for the first time in ages. Spring descended from above the clouds to the ground. No more rain—just a somewhat rough wind. Fort Roberts, drenched in sunlight, felt like an entirely different place from before the season had changed.
But people were still gloomy. The resumed airlifts fell short of expectations. It was better than before. Still not enough.
Countless transport planes flew past the base toward the western sky. Headed for the citizens stranded in contaminated zones. Areas near the coast hadn’t received proper support for a while. I figured ammo would be more urgent than food. Food could be rationed somehow, but not ammo. When the mutants came, you had to fight, right?
The broadcasts showed flooded districts day after day. No exceptions among the coastal cities. Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego. San Diego especially looked like a city built on water.
Even so, people had survived. Every time a news helicopter passed overhead, they signaled their survival from rooftops and building ledges with silent gestures. The anchors reported the news with tearful emotion. The Lord hadn’t abandoned the world yet.
The Department of Defense announced they’d conduct maximum airdrops before the next typhoon hit. All because of predictions that abnormal rises in sea temperatures would bring multiple additional typhoons by March.
I was worried about the maritime refugees. Even sheltered by large ships inside the bay, they couldn’t be completely safe amid the rough winds and waves.
On top of that, air transport would be tricky for the time being, so they’d be short on food and fuel.
Would this cause problems? There had already been an exchange of fire between a Chinese destroyer and a Japanese escort ship...
#The Limits of Adulthood, Fort Roberts
It was a Friday, just days before Lunar New Year. Private First Class Stan Page’s funeral was held at the cathedral in the civilian sector. Winter had a designated role. He stood at one edge of the unfurled Stars and Stripes, facing the chaplain directly. A short nod signaled the start. Fold the flag’s short side in half, then again in half, and with each step forward, reduce the remaining length.
The fully folded flag was a thick triangle. Winter handed it to the chaplain. A check to confirm it was folded properly. Once verified, the flag was returned to Winter. Then a crisp salute. The sound of camera shutters multiplied.
Winter gripped the flag top and bottom and let it lightly touch the casket holding the fallen soldier. Only then did he head toward the bereaved family. The parents and sister sat side by side. Winter knelt before the mother.
“Ma’am. On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defense, the Department of the Army, and the Nation, I present this flag in recognition of your son’s unwavering conviction and honorable service to his country.”
The mother who received the Stars and Stripes burst into the tears she’d been holding back. The husband consoled his silently sobbing wife. But he was already crying himself. A sense of self-blame emanated from the younger sister. She looked flustered that no tears would come. Winter saw his own sister overlapped in the girl his age.
‘Did she understand what happened to me?’
Two people crying, but only one handkerchief. Winter pulled his own from his pocket. Ever since the regret at Paso Robles, he never went anywhere without it.
“Here, ma’am.”
“...Thank you.”
Strictly speaking, no words were supposed to be spoken now, but Winter believed everything made by people was a tool for people. Etiquette and ceremony were no different.
Winter returned to his position. The number of flags to fold matched the number of bereaved families. During the two additional round trips, cameras from every broadcast network focused on the boy officer.
The temporary burial site was somewhere within the base. They were supposed to be interred in a national cemetery eventually, but the policy was to relocate them after California was reclaimed.
After the funeral, an unexpected guest approached Winter.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant. Do you have a moment?”
Led by Private First Class Page’s sister, a group of boys and girls clustered in front of the boy officer. They were visibly tense at a glance. Yet their gazes toward Winter brimmed with admiration. Winter nodded kindly.
“Of course. What’s up?”
“Relieved... We were hoping you could add a few words here too, Lieutenant. Is that possible?”
The Page girl held out the book she’d been clutching. Winter took it and examined it, feeling a touch awkward. It was a memory book for the deceased. It helped the bereaved family learn facets of the fallen they hadn’t known, aiding them in piecing their hearts back together. Winter hadn’t had much chance to write during the funeral procedures. Yet the girl had sought him out specifically.
It was Winter who had eased Private First Class Stan Page’s suffering. And he was also the one in charge of the operation. The Harris incident had started making the broadcasts from early February, so the Page girl would know that too.
‘Though they edited out the moment of death itself.’
Winter remembered the pale lips murmuring that he didn’t want to die. The DoD Public Affairs Office had dramatized the Battle of Santa Margarita Lake like some human-interest TV show, but they hadn’t aired Page’s death unfiltered. It would’ve been prime material to amplify outrage at Captain Harris, but the video covered it with just a few lines of subtitles. Consideration for the family.
Perhaps unsettled by Winter’s silence, the girl asked anxiously.
“Um, do you need a pen? I can give you one.”
Her voice trembled faintly. She seemed afraid he’d say something like he didn’t really know Stan Page all that well. Winter shook his head with a smile.
“No, I have my own. I was just lost in thought for a second. Sorry.”
Rank aside, a pen and notepad were basics for any good soldier. The problem was that the girl’s intuition was partly spot-on. Up until that night by the lake, Winter and the private had been mere acquaintances by name. Even so, Winter didn’t drag it out.
「Page. My comrade who vanished while upholding duty against those who betrayed it. Without you, that night’s battle might have lost all meaning. One person’s cowardice could have led to more deaths, one person’s cowardice could have denied new life to the world, one person’s cowardice could have let the vile escape judgment...」
It was closer to a eulogy than a personal memory, but it would suffice to comfort the family.
‘Lucky the other two funerals are elsewhere.’
The other fallen had been sent to their families’ locations. Their funerals would be held there too. If they’d been here, it would’ve been a combined service, of course—but the procedures would’ve been even more complicated.
The boys and girls reddened at the completed words. The Page girl was immensely grateful.
“Thank you so much. My parents will be thrilled.”
“Hope it helps. Anything else you need?”
“Ah...”
Winter, who’d asked as a formality, tilted his head at the subtle reaction. Was there more?
“If you’re not too busy, Lieutenant, could we talk a little longer?”
The boy clutching a bugle asked. He was the student who’d played Taps at the committal service. It was usually a military band member’s job, but Fort Roberts had no band. They’d considered playing a recording, but instead selected someone from the civilian sector school band.
“If it’s just a bit. I’m off duty from the afternoon anyway.”
Winter assumed the kids his age had no real business. Just the longing and curiosity for the youngest war hero.
His expectations were slightly off. Winter felt a twinge of surprise at their request.
“You want to become soldiers?”
“Yes. With our parents’ consent, we can enlist. But they flat-out refuse... And there’s no recruiting office at this base.”
Under U.S. military law, the minimum enlistment age was 17, with fitness standards set from there. That was why Sergeant Pierce had frowned but accepted Winter without protest when he’d signed up as an auxiliary. After some thought, Winter chose a safe response.
“No need to rush, I think. You’re still students, right? Learn what you need to, get yourselves in better shape physically, and enlisting later won’t be too late. Conscription’s already in effect anyway—you’ll end up soldiers whether you like it or not when the time comes.”
The students looked disappointed. The bugle boy spoke up as the representative.
“You’re saying the same thing as the adults. What’s the point of school now? We don’t even have to graduate high school. Lots of my friends have dropped out already.”
“...”
“Besides, you enlisted at our age, Lieutenant.”
“I had no parents, and as a refugee, no better options.”
“That’s exactly it! We think the adults are total cowards!”
Winter tilted his head again.
“Not sure what you mean.”
“You just said it yourself. No other choices as a refugee.”
Ah, that topic. Winter recalled his conversation with the brigade commander. One criticism of the U.S. government’s refugee policy: exploiting their plight to shove them into danger.
It was partially true. The auxiliary system presumed volunteers, but when Winter first signed up, the atmosphere was “stay put and you die.”
A kid hero-worshipping him asked.
“Lieutenant. Do you know why people in the civilian sector don’t cross east of the blockade line?”
“Heard the treatment’s pretty bad over there.”
“Yeah, exactly. The refugee protection zones are in places like Detroit or Camden. That’s what our parents say—better stay here than live in those neighborhoods. Apparently tons of people beyond the line want to come here. Especially since you’re here, Lieutenant.”
Detroit was one of America’s worst cities for public safety. There was even a saying: “Send that guy to Detroit!” No electricity or water, no trash pickup. Countless skyscrapers left abandoned with no purpose.
The U.S. government crammed the western refugees into cities like that. At least they had roofs. Places like Camden and Baltimore, full of empty buildings, were all designated refugee protection zones.
‘No helping it. Over 30 million refugees.’
Plus refugees pouring in from around the world. The government was actively resettling them, but there had to be clear limits. The military’s rapid expansion owed a lot to refugees lining up to enlist out of desperation.
Another girl spoke up bitterly.
“Here, they’re just taking what’s meant for refugees to live comfy. We see it all—how refugees live beyond the barbed wire. But there are idiots who say it’s only natural. Even some teachers! We don’t want to go to a school like that!”
This time, a big boy who looked surprisingly mature for his age.
“We want to fight too. Not like you, Lieutenant, but at least like regular people.”
Winter managed a strained smile.
“I get what you’re saying. But sorry. I just saw parents weeping over losing their son today. I can’t make that kind of harsh request to your parents. You understand, Miss Page?”
“...Yes.”
The Page girl had been the most reserved from the start.
Winter soothed the students in a gentle voice.
“This war won’t end in a day or two. Probably drag on for decades. So don’t be too impatient. Just like I’m protecting you now, you’ll be able to protect someone else someday.”
The students, except for Page, weren’t easily convinced.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#Childlike Innocence
The time’s approaching to reignite the worldbuilding... Childlike innocence, let’s talk childlike innocence...
#Donation Account
Donation account mentions keep coming up steadily. As persistent as the premium conversion requests... Heh...
You really sure you won’t regret it later...?
#Q&A
Q. OneChance : @So precarious... Swallowed hate for the sake of loved ones... But if something happens to the little sister and niece, what then...?
A. Of course, childlike innocence would overflow.
Q. qoewh : @Cried while eating after this chapter. Is this overflowing childlike innocence, or lacking it?
A. Probably depends on whether they were tears of joy or tears of sorrow!
Q. Lifesaver : @Thrown out with no one to trust or rely on, lost her body too, yet vows not to hate the world for the sake of those two’s happiness... What an enlightened monk... p.s. My friend says it’s not that the work overflows with innocence, but that he can’t handle the work’s innocence—says he’s about to burst from not being able to accept it lol
A. Aha... Your friend isn’t a childlike innocence lifeform, huh... Impressive. You became friends despite being different species...
Q. YesterdayThatDay : But what does “no more stones can get heavier” mean?
A. Winter’s mentioned multiple times that he has a stone in his chest. Like a knot of resentment lodged in his heart.