Chapter 109
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: The Little Prince of the Columbarium
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#Journal, page 131, Camp Roberts
Army Blockade Commander General Schroeder visited Camp Roberts. The general pinned the Distinguished Service Cross and Silver Star on me, and awarded Meritorious Service Medals to Sergeant Jeffrey and Sergeant Riverman. A number of our platoon members also received commendations. So many medals were handed out that it almost felt excessive.
“That’s how heavy the fallout from the Captain Harris incident was.”
Public Affairs Officer Major Bliss explained it that way. He’d come as part of the general’s entourage and got right to his usual tasks: managing the press, preparing and distributing press releases, and so on. He wasn’t wandering around in a gas mask like before. Looked like he’d gotten used to it, which was a relief. When I greeted him warmly, saying it was nice to see him after so long, the major gave me an incredulous look.
“Long time? If anything, we’re seeing you too damn often, and that’s the problem. We’re always hungry for good stories, sure, but Lieutenant Han, you’re more than we can handle. Do you have any idea how much debate there was just over deciding your awards this time?”
It had struck me as odd. Receiving two medals from a single operation. The major shook his head at my question.
“It’s not typical, but evaluating different phases of one operation as separate merits for awards has happened plenty of times. The real issue is this.”
He sighed as he spoke.
“Your merits are overflowing, but we can’t give you another Medal of Honor.”
Hearing that made me think about the unique nature of the Medal of Honor. The only medal requiring congressional approval. That’s why Sergeant Pierce had pointed out its political implications. Objectively speaking, I should have received the nation’s highest honor much earlier.
Was it the same this time? I wondered, but the background the major shared was simpler.
“It’s what they call tradition. Since the end of World War I, no one has ever received two Medals of Honor. Even getting one while alive was a miracle back then. The surest way to earn it was throwing yourself on a grenade headed for your comrades.”
The major stressed he wasn’t joking. For example, three of the four recipients from the Iraq War had died for exactly that reason. And the last one became a recipient posthumously.
“Good thing the Afghanistan War happened. It was the first live Medal of Honor since Vietnam ended—32 years later.”
There was a hint of irritation in his sarcastic tone. It wasn’t aimed at me. He mentioned those who opposed my award.
“I get their side to some extent. Looking at what you get up to, no matter how much they chew on it, it doesn’t feel like this is the end. Do we hand out a Medal of Honor every time? If we start throwing them around like that, won’t it cheapen it for everyone else who only got one? Won’t that backfire with public opinion? Won’t it dampen the troops’ morale? That’s what the top brass is worried about.”
He spread his fingers wide.
“Plus, you’re ignoring every rule and unwritten convention on promotion timelines. If you got another Medal of Honor this time, it’d mean another battlefield promotion. You’d be a captain. And you haven’t even been commissioned a full year. That rubs traditionalists the wrong way.”
All reasons I could nod along to. Even if the U.S. Army was merit-based, it couldn’t fully escape the inertia of history. No, without tradition, there’d be no discipline. Just my take.
But Major Bliss, as a staff officer, offered a different view.
“What I’m saying is, if they were gonna do that, they should’ve buried this incident quietly. They milk the human drama for nationwide broadcasts, then say no Medal of Honor? Who’s gonna buy that? You can’t have it both ways.”
So the compromise was splitting the merits into the Distinguished Service Cross and Silver Star. Even so, he grumbled that it felt like a step down and mentioned the other recipients of this round of awards.
“Lieutenant Jeffrey… no, now Lieutenant. Same for him and his platoon. One of them could’ve gotten the Medal of Honor…”
In other words, since I was clearly the top contributor, no one else could receive anything higher than me.
When I later told Jeffrey himself, he brushed it off casually.
“Don’t sweat it. Just think of it as points docked for those three bastards who went to the other side.”
He showed no joy over his new medal or promotion. Even if his jokes fell flat and his demeanor was flippant, he was the model platoon leader.
#Journal, page 132, Camp Roberts
The blockade commander’s visit wasn’t just for morale boosting. Call it a pre-operation field inspection before full-scale action. At Monday’s regular briefing, Battalion Combat Team Commander Colonel Rafflin delivered surprising news. A massive military operation was coming soon.
Operation Name: “Manifest Liberation.”
The objective: complete reclamation of the U.S. mainland. Eradicate contaminated zones, rescue isolated civilians, advance to the Pacific coast. Over ten million troops to be mobilized. Set to launch in April. Just four months after December last year, when U.S. forces numbered eight million, they’d swelled past ten million.
Canada was sending two divisions too. Small numbers, but the fact they were sending any was shocking. I’d heard they’d secured safety by brutally refusing refugees, given their small population and forces… but they’d have been at risk without U.S. help.
Anyway, now I understood why reinforcements hadn’t come through properly until now. The top brass must’ve been planning this since last year. Holding back troops for it?
Camp Roberts’ role: supply base. We’d set up depots along the main force’s advance route.
Later briefings included new intel on variants. The colonel said:
“This is just a hypothesis, so take it as reference. There’s suspicion that Tricksters always move in pairs. While one fights, the other quietly circles the perimeter. If true, the quiet one’s role is likely information preservation. Even in packs, at least one stays silent. They keep radio range distance, then if the pack gets wiped, retreat to safety and pass accumulated intel to another pack.”
Hearing that, I recalled the Trickster I’d trapped and killed at Lake Santa Margarita. The agonized screams lasting over ten seconds after the trap sprung. How much intel was in those? If another Trickster had been there, the same trick wouldn’t work twice.
“The Quarantine Strategy Research Institute calls this hypothesis ‘The Silent One.’ It’s based on just one sighting report, but it’s threatening enough to warrant caution in future ops. Questions?”
After several questions, I raised my hand. But not about the Silent One. I asked about the monster I’d seen near the lake: the Humpback. No detailed intel on it yet. Colonel Rafflin had mentioned Rangers tracking it before. When I asked, he shook his head.
“That one sighting I mentioned? It came from that Ranger platoon. They lost the prey they were originally chasing.”
Meaning the Trickster—a vengeful variant group—had intercepted the Rangers… Hard to call it coincidence. The hustler Trickster must’ve stepped up to protect the big brute Humpback.
Even when I fought, the Humpback stayed in the rear. What the hell kind of monster was it?
#An Jejung, Camp Roberts
Second Monday in February. Lunar New Year’s Day. Special for Chinese and Korean refugees, but no spare energy to celebrate. Still, the refugee zone’s mood had improved. Pre-training for civil affairs committee members had started for establishing the military government.
Winter, emerging from the briefing room, spotted prospective committee members gathered in small groups near headquarters. He checked his watch. Training couldn’t be over; must be a break. Everyone looked upbeat. Chatter big and small.
One Alliance group spotted their young leader. They lit up and approached.
An Jejung in the lead. One of the three who’d helped Winter in Paso Robles. The Alliance apparently called Yura, Jinseok, and Jejung the “Original Three.” The flashy, almost childish title hid a regrettable backstory.
‘An Jejung made it up himself…’
While Yura and Jinseok led combat teams, he’d felt left out with no role. Spotting that, Min Wangi recommended him as vigilante captain and Grade 5 civil affairs committee member for the conscription office. He’d do the work but wouldn’t earn respect. Couldn’t build his own following, so he’d lean on others—who else but Winter?
At easy conversational distance, Jejung nodded lightly.
“Hey, our boss. What brings you here? Come to see us?”
Winter shook his head.
“Nah. Regular briefing. Where are the section chiefs?”
“Still inside, probably. Want me to get them?”
“No need. How’s the training?”
“Whew. It’s in English, so it’s a bit much. I thought my conversational skills were decent, but the writing? Head just hurts. Hell, Korean books are tough too.”
He played it cool like a middle-aged guy his age, but didn’t look strained.
“You’re handling vigilante duty on top and seem fine.”
“Eh, did the same in the Marine Corps Veterans Association days. Patrolling with like-minded folks, volunteering, contributing to the community. Feels rewarding. Haha!”
The Marine Corps mention nagged. Hopefully not pointless boot camp antics. Winter half-doubted Jejung’s service record but knew discipline obsession wasn’t tied to actual service.
No, Min Wangi would handle that. He found work himself. If issues arose, Elder Kang Youngsun would inform. Winter thought that and let it slide.
Jejung spoke.
“Come watch shooting sometime. If you’re up for it, demo for us. Everyone wants to see the boss in action.”
“Didn’t TV show plenty?”
“Psh, live’s different.”
“Got it. Don’t neglect other training besides shooting. U.S. forces might allow vigilantes to carry firearms someday.”
“Huh? Really? Arming refugees? We were just raiding Chinese, Japanese, Korean thugs in order, confiscating illegal weapons.”
“Those are illegal. I mean vigilante ops might get official sanction.”
Jejung held his breath.
“Word from up top?”
“Nah, just my guess. America’s always been lenient on militias. Build more trust, and at least our Alliance might get it.”
A well-regulated militia is essential to free state security, and the people’s right to bear arms shall not be infringed. Straight from the U.S. Constitution.
‘Though some interpret “militia” as state guard…’
Anyway, countless militias operated in America. Gear and training rivaled the military. They recruited vets.
Even police sought their help.
That was America.
But Jejung, never lived there, saw U.S. forces’ periodic training demands—including shooting—as prep for support troops selection.
“Any training troubles?”
Winter asked. Jejung said no.
“Jinseok and Yura handle it. One of ’em always tags along to help. Heh.”
“Good to hear.”
“Jinseok demoed shooting once. Man, he nailed it. Logical guy—gunshot sounds different. Know what it is?”
“Dunno…”
“A logical man’s gunshot? ‘Bang-bang makes sense!’ Hahaha!”
Winter ignored the viewer quest to kill Jejung.