Chapter 40
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Silver Star and Field Training
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#Journal, Page 65, Camp Roberts
The medal ceremony took place. Just as Captain Maguire had predicted, it was the Silver Star.
The person dispatched from the Department of Defense was the same as before. His name was Bliss. A major from the public affairs office. He still looked anxious and irritable, but he wasn't wearing a gas mask like last time. It had become almost certain that "Morgellons" wasn't airborne.
The major's gaze toward me was complicated. A mix of admiration and dissatisfaction. If you looked closely, it felt like, *What the hell is this guy that keeps making me come out here?*
This time as well, the citation was read by the battalion commander. Given the occasion, I was in my Army dress uniform. The accumulating medals felt quite heavy. Far more cameras captured this moment than before. Reporters who had risked crossing the blockade line. They clung to me like starving animals.
“How does it feel to have achieved the fastest and youngest promotion to lieutenant in U.S. history?”
“Please tell us about the situation during the Santa Maria operation!”
“One word on your resolve going forward, please!”
Up to here, it was fine.
“Do you have a girlfriend? If not, what’s your type?”
“What kind of food do you like?”
“Any words for your fans?”
Why on earth did questions like these come up? And what the hell were "fans"?
Throughout the ordeal with the reporters, Major Bliss stuck by my side. He skillfully managed them. That question was inappropriate, show me what you wrote, change this part like this, don't air this. It was blatant media interference, but the reporters accepted it readily. It was one facet of the patriotic reporting that Lieutenant Capston had pointed out. It was probably amplified by the global crisis.
Ah, I should call him Captain Capston now. His promotion date was today, so it hadn't stuck in my mouth yet. It was a special promotion for discovering me, apparently. Good news, but the man himself was frowning about it. Embarrassed, he grumbled that I deserved even more awards.
The other soldiers who came to congratulate me said similar things.
“With your battle record, you could have gotten the Medal of Honor and it wouldn't be enough. What’s a mere Silver Star?”
“Exactly. Even if you comb through all past Medal of Honor recipients, no one performed like you in a single battle. At best, John Basilone or Audie Murphy?”
“Those two were definitely... but in my opinion, Lieutenant Gyeowol did better?”
A conversation between Sergeants Latchman and Sirius. I just smiled.
Sergeant Pierce chimed in.
“It's political games.”
“What do you mean, Sergeant?”
“Their intentions from the top are obvious. They want to create a refugee leader, but they don't want to give one person too much power... something like that. They've learned their lesson from Afghanistan.”
The example Sergeant Pierce gave—I'd heard it once before. Maybe when I was assigned an admin role just because I spoke good English. It was a plausible analysis. To prevent the emergence of an uncontrollable armed group. You don't put all your eggs in one basket.
“You're surprisingly well-versed in that stuff, Sergeant. You look like just a musclehead.”
Guilherme said that and got smacked. Even a light hit made him groan. The sergeant replied.
“How many years do you think I've been in? The stuff I hear from buddies in the regiment and division is plenty. Politics exists in the soldiers' world too. If you want stars in this business, you have to play politics well. Even ordinary officers or hotheads like you guys are the same. Ever hear of William Swenson? If you piss off the higher-ups, no matter how well you fight, it's hard to get recognition.”
The sergeant used "stars" in a double sense. I didn't know who William Swenson was, but everyone who heard nodded knowingly, so he must have been someone who got screwed over.
“But Lieutenant Han, is this really the end?”
Guilherme's question. I shook my head. For now, just the medal, but a promotion was scheduled later. According to Major Bliss, "after acquiring suitable qualifications."
Suitable qualifications meant more solid officer training. With the refugee volunteer force formation plan under constant reevaluation because of me, expectations had shifted.
First, additional training from field officers, then qualification exams at military training facilities later. The major said he'd inform me through his subordinate once the schedule was set. Turns out, his subordinate was Captain Maguire.
I recalled the captain's words about how the sergeant would hate it. The fatigue and discomfort visible in the major's eyes. That must have been what he meant.
After the ceremony, a celebration party was held in the U.S. citizen residential area. It wasn't official; the camp commander had approved it at the citizens' request.
I received flower bouquets from many people, including a little kid. Adults asked for handshakes.
“Thank you for your service.”
The phrase U.S. soldiers hear most from civilians. Hearing it myself felt strange. How do you respond? I barely recalled in time.
“Thank you for your support.”
Some kids wanted photos. They called me a hero without hesitation. It wasn't special. Kids here grow up learning that soldiers, firefighters, and police are heroes, confirmed by their parents. The atmosphere is cultivated policy-wise.
It was novel. Even after commissioning, I'd never been to the U.S. citizen area. This first visit was a completely different world from the refugee zone. Not abundant. But people hadn't lost their smiles, and kids didn't know hunger. The double barbed wire beyond the lawn looked like the boundary between civilization and savagery.
I reunited after a long time with the people rescued from Paso Robles. Even among those who had been hostile to the end, some had changed their stance after hearing about the "Santa Maria miracle"... Embarrassing to keep calling it that, but anyway. I accepted their apologies graciously.
Principal Stuart Hamill still saw me as a student. He had a troubled expression throughout our talk. A good man, but stubborn.
Later, while resting seated, an elderly Vietnam vet struck up a conversation. Lots of wrinkles, deep-set eyes. After asking about my battles, he shared his past.
“The war I fought had many dishonorable battles.”
His recollections were heavy. Battlefields where enemies and civilians couldn't be distinguished. Mistakes born of hatred and rage. As he told them, he said to me:
“You're fighting the right fight. Don't leave regrets to the end.”
I took the old soldier's advice to heart.
#Journal, Page 68, Camp Roberts
Today's news had a few noteworthy pieces of information.
The strange variants I encountered in Santa Maria. They now had an official name.
“Ghoul.”
Their form wasn't much different, but they were said to be vastly superior in ability to ordinary variants.
The CDC announced that "Morgellons" had passed the adaptation phase in hosts and was unlike any known disease or parasite. Just as humans use, develop, and create tools from the environment, "Morgellons" uses, develops, and turns humans into tools.
Accordingly, variant classification criteria were being redefined. Enhanced variants classified by ability level, special variants by function and form, each assigned separate ranks and names.
Meanwhile, the Department of Defense proposed new measures to block variant groups. Installing networked "Noise Makers" at 3,000 points beyond the blockade line to lure variants with noise. They'd been testing it in the field until now.
The plan was to disrupt surrounding areas when deploying ground troops to secure safety. If realized, containment camps everywhere would be much safer.
The DoD further announced plans to establish forward bases in contaminated zones. Positioning artillery there to strengthen firepower support in contaminated areas.
Related missions would probably come my way soon.
#Inner Room (2), San Miguel
A few days after training began, Winter decided on field exercises. The reservists were afraid to even leave the camp. This psychological barrier needed to be broken.
One refused to the end. A woman, so terrified she'd lost her reason. Winter dropped her without hesitation.
Even as field, it was far safer than elsewhere. As the closest outpost to Camp Roberts, mission units passed through several times a day.
“Don't let your guard down, though. They're still infiltrating from outside. Aerial recon this morning showed a few across the whole city. Could be more inside buildings.”
Winter's light warning. A few swallowed dryly.
They entered the city northbound along the road paralleling the tracks. First came the half-destroyed mill. Train wreckage lay abandoned. Traces of fierce combat remained. Bomb craters and black bloodstains sprayed on the road. Corpses had been piled and burned aside—work of a later mission unit.
“This is where the young lieutenant fought his first battle, right?”
“Yeah. We were grabbing food from the mill when the derailed train slammed into it. Variants packed every passenger car.”
The reservists cautiously inspected the train. Like tourists following a guide in a line.
“Escaping civilians, probably?”
“Must've been infected among the passengers.”
“Look, there's a doll! Kids were on board too. So pitiful...”
Whispers among them. Still more civilians than soldiers.
The streets were utterly desolate. U.S. military markers everywhere. Shelters, weapons, food cache locations prepared for emergencies. Contact methods for potential survivors too.
“Get used to the atmosphere first.”
“Ah, yes!”
Someone tense replied too loudly. Startled themselves, glares from around.
Yura's state wasn't much better. Even after one prior external mission, she was still scared. Hands trembling. Only holding it together because she thought of herself as leader. Not much time had passed since Paso Robles, after all.
“Ah, variants over there.”
Winter spotted them. One lurking near a roadside motel. People flinched just as it noticed them—nearly simultaneous.
Kreeeaaah—!
The shape of death charging. The boy turned to the group.
“Don't shoot. I'll catch it.”
“Huh? Catch it?”
People freaked out. But couldn't stop him.
From the variant's view, closest prey. It lunged. Boy sidestepped left and spun. "Close Combat" rank 10, perfect roundhouse kick smashed its lower jaw. Crack! Tongue it had been sticking out severed. A small black chunk plopped onto the roadside.
Winter pummeled the dazed variant a few more times, stuffed a prepared rag in its mouth, gagged it, tied it tight behind the head, grabbed the nape, and dragged it back. Blood trail left behind—from drooling mouth.
“Whoa...”
Bewildering for the reservists. Infected variants had been vague terror. Intangible fears only grew. Now shattered so simply. TV and real life were totally different.
“Come, look. Closer. This is an infected variant. Most of you seeing one real for the first time, right?”
The group barely nodded, awestruck. Woman who'd fallen on her butt, man wanting to flee, others frozen.
Winter gripped the nape from behind. Fingers digging in hard. Overlapping strength buffs from multiple skills—ordinary variants couldn't withstand Winter's power. Futile thrashing. The boy said:
“First, experience what it feels like to be grabbed by a variant.”
“Huh?!”
“Purpose today is overcoming fear. Yura, you're leader—first. Then left to right.”
It took considerable time. Yura teary-eyed, hesitant, entered arm's reach. Discolored hands seized both arms.
“Eek!”
Yura froze solid. Also practice for shaking off, but she couldn't move. Watching Winter smacked the variant's occiput with his free hand. Heavy thud. Stunned variant loosened grip momentarily. Yura pulled free, collapsed steps away, sobbing. Women gathered to comfort.
Winter rotated the order several rounds. Until the variant wouldn't grab anymore.
Uuuugh...
Muffled groans through rag and gag. Even variants had basic intelligence. Beaten every grab—learning effect overrode hunger and instinct. Now just rolled eyes when people approached, no grabbing. Looked dejected. People no longer flinched like before. Some even laughed boldly.
“Ah, right on time again. Must've heard its scream earlier.”
As Winter said, five variants charging from far down the road, screeching. Still distance. Winter readjusted grip—from behind to frontal hold. Offered to the men.
“Who wants to try twisting its neck to kill it?”
“Huh?... Huh?!”
Panic. Eyes darting between distant chargers and boy. Some raised guns. Winter blocked them. Calmly urged.
“Not much time. Hurry.”
“...”
“Guess I'll pick. You, come out.”
The picked man looked miserable. Pushed by others, he stepped forward. Winter nodded.
“One hand on occiput... no, opposite direction. Yes. Other hand under jaw. Forward risks bite. Now squeeze both hands tight. And twist—snap!”
Crack. Definitely turned. Man retched and collapsed.
Simultaneously, Winter drew pistol, spun back. Half-turn, ten shots in a fan. At just 10 meters, knee-shattered variants tumbled noisily. Fell hard, flesh scraped where they hit.
Legless, they crawled on arms. Winter went over, yanked all arms off. Punched solar plexus—couldn't breathe for a bit. Quiet. Twisted arms, shattered knees. Five variants sprawled, twitching on ground.
“Anyone, come shoot one each.”
Moments later, Winter sighed.
“Gotta pick again.”
Five picked trembled, aiming with shaky hands. Three men, two women. All hesitated or feared without exception. Even variants looked human-ish. Just rotten and dirty. Resistance inevitable.
“Shoot.”
Flat, firm command. After eyeing each other, one pulled trigger. Triggered chain reaction of shots.
Bang bang! Thud! Thud! Bang!
Chorus of different firearms. Some missed point-blank, fired again. One woman shot eyes closed. Lucky hit.
Still, good outcome. Some never would've shot otherwise. The neck-twister too. "Instruction" influence shortened their actions. Would also reduce side effects.
One woman protested through tears.
“Too much. How can you make a girl do this?”
Fear-spouted words. Emotions overflowing. She'd be ashamed once calm. Pushing further was foolish.
Winter pointed to fallen variant. Made gentle voice.
“See. Strength needed to fight? Just enough to pull a trigger. Nothing great. Women can fight too, get as strong as men.”
Met eyes one by one, continued softly.
“In this world, strong means survivor, in the end.”
Protesting woman bowed head. Only soft sobs. Winter consoled lowly.
“Survive. I'll make sure you do.”