Chapter 67
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Seventh California, Camp Roberts (4)
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The sweep operation was nothing remarkable. The spreading fire was the real issue. Before the escape routes vanished, the commander issued the order to move out. The reinforced battalion snaked its way through the maze of smoke and flames. The mutants trailing behind with their eerie wails couldn’t keep up with the vehicles’ speed, nor match the pace of the encroaching blaze.
The fate of the abandoned ones ended in flames.
The nearest garrison now was Camp Roberts. But to evade the fire, they’d veered off course. They’d traveled about 20 kilometers northwest from the combat zone. Throughout the march, other combat units on rescue missions, rescued units, and civilians continuously joined the column.
‘Might run into some familiar faces.’
If the blockade command had thrown every available resource into the effort, the Rangers from Santa Margarita wouldn’t have been exceptions. Winter recalled Lieutenant John Frey, the Ranger platoon leader who’d gifted him the Zippo lighter.
But for now, it was impractical. The task force was regimental-sized just in terms of combat troops, and with civilians, it numbered around 10,000. Scouring the endless procession for a familiar face was pointless. And he wasn’t that desperate anyway.
The task force set up a temporary camp on a ridgeline overlooking a lake and a town. Helicopters flew in one after another, dropping off camping supplies before departing.
By the time they finished setting up, the sun was already setting. The troops were given time to rest. Officers had it harder. Considering the uneasy atmosphere, the battalion commander wanted them to encourage and comfort the soldiers during their break. One reason officers got paid more than enlisted.
Winter was no exception. The Bravo Company soldiers he encountered no longer saw the boyish lieutenant as just a kid. They vented their complaints and anxieties to him one by one.
“I don’t get why we’re dragging our feet here. Who knows when another attack might hit? Wouldn’t it be better to push straight to Camp Roberts and rest there?”
It was a fair point. The remaining distance to camp was shorter than what they’d covered that day. But it was impossible. Winter managed an awkward smile.
“We have to think about the people from Camp Obispo too. How rough must it be for them? And the civilians? We’re barely holding on with awakening agents ourselves.”
Those who’d clawed their way out of the dire situation—soldiers and civilians alike—began collapsing here and there once the tension eased. Utterly exhausted in body and mind. Awakening agents couldn’t help much here. Rest was the only answer.
“Fair enough, but what about that?”
The soldier pointed to the southeastern sky. Its base glowed reddish, mimicking the sunset in the west. Even from this distance, the acrid smell of smoke reached them.
Without intel, Winter would’ve been worried too. Considering the fire’s spread, it could grow into a blaze devouring a decent-sized country.
“It’s fine. I got the briefing too—rain’s likely before midnight. It’ll pour all day tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Why would I lie? It’s weird it hasn’t spread yet. Oh, with everything going on, comms are probably a mess. Pass it along to the others.”
“Got it.”
You’d think it’d ease his mind, but the soldier still looked glum. After chatting with a few more like him, Winter got the picture. They all wanted to get back to camp somehow.
Not as bad as the Camp San Luis Obispo folks, maybe, but Bravo Company at Camp Roberts had endured a brutal day… no, two days straight. Stress bred backlash. It was natural to crave rest in familiar bunks.
Weeping echoed from the civilian camp area. He’d heard the camp there was larger than Roberts, so the collapse must’ve taken a heavy toll.
“Private. Got a minute?”
The unfamiliar soldier overreacted to Winter’s gesture. Mild shell shock showed in him too. He kept rubbing his fingers compulsively, looking unsteady. Yet he was still armed. The Camp Obispo commanders must’ve been stretched thin.
Or maybe too many cases to handle.
The soldier stammered.
“Wh-wh-what is it, sir?”
“Nothing much. Just wanted to talk to someone.”
A single empathetic word. Truth be told, it was probably the soldier craving conversation, someone to be there. In situations like this, for people like him, it worked better not to coddle.
Of course, a normal person would pick up on it. But this soldier wasn’t normal. As he shuffled over unsteadily, Winter patted his back and led him along.
“Mind if we sit here?”
It was a campfire ringed by fellow battalion soldiers. They recognized Winter and welcomed him with various words and gestures. Among them was someone with an unfamiliar accent. Fitting for a multi-ethnic military.
They quickly made space for two. Winter sat the soldier down first, then casually set his rifle aside. The others had already propped their weapons against each other. Winter and the shell-shocked private’s guns joined the pile, forming something like an Indian tepee frame.
After a day choked with fire and smoke, the warmth facing the cold night was welcome. Kindling lay scattered at Winter’s feet. He picked up a piece, tossed it in, and asked the soldiers.
“Where’d the firewood come from?”
“There’s a cabin nearby. Hunter’s lodge, looks like—they had a fireplace. No owner around now, so we borrowed it nicely.”
Cheeky way to put it, but it was looting. The U.S. government was pushing optimism hard, fostering the idea that abandoned property could be reclaimed later.
‘Who knows how that’ll play out after today.’
He had no clue how many had died in a single day. Not the time to ask grieving folks. But for America, stable for so long, this was a rare catastrophe. The mood would shift big-time.
The soldier Winter brought crouched by the fire, still rubbing his fingers.
“Hey, Penwood. Drink this.”
An impatient buddy handed him a cup. Hot liquid sloshed inside.
Penwood took it but still looked anxious as he glanced around and asked.
“Wh-what story should we t-tell now, sir?”
Winter formed a smile as calm as starlight.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“N-no. N-not at all.”
“Forget rank—think of it as making a friend. What do friends talk about in America? I’m Korean, so I’m not sure.”
It wasn’t much of a joke, but they all burst out laughing. They just needed any excuse to laugh. Penwood cracked a stiff smile too.
Sergeant DiAngelo, a woman, grinned.
“We usually don’t wanna be friends with officers, sir, but you’re the exception. You saved our asses earlier.”
“Hm?”
Looking closer now, they were familiar faces. Including the two who’d restrained the panicking Private Gillard, they were all from that scene. Winter nodded.
“Ah, right. We go way back. Glad you’re all okay.”
“Your situational awareness back there was unreal, sir. Shooting too. And damn, I’ve never seen anyone swap weapons that fast. Hands like that belong in a Vegas casino. Born gambler, huh?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not into card games.”
“I don’t befriend anyone who can’t handle cards.”
“Ha.”
The soldiers chuckled again. When it died down, Winter asked the sergeant.
“Is Sergeant Gillard okay?”
“Evac’d. They say he’s 100% getting a medical discharge over his hand. Bones in the back shattered, two fingers gone—who’s coming back to duty after that?”
Recent U.S. ammo was designed for maximum stopping power against humans. It traded penetration for blunt trauma impact. Necessary against tougher-than-human mutants.
Winter’s pistol rounds were the same. Five hits like that? The hand might be done for. Even with good treatment, lifelong issues. Winter’s voice softened.
“That’s a shame. Tell him I’m sorry if you see him.”
“Huh? Nah, come on.”
DiAngelo scowled like it was absurd.
“He’ll thank you. You stopped him screwing up, got him to the rear. Now he’s heading home for good. Damn, I’m jealous. Pension city.”
Normal U.S. military pensions required 15+ years, but wounded vets got different ones. Winter didn’t know the details yet. No way to memorize everything across loops. So he asked.
“He’ll definitely get a pension?”
“Over 30 months served, front-line action, Purple Heart for sure, one hand useless—50% disability easy. Even if partial use, 30-40%. Plus… other issues short-term. That seals it. Hey, what’s 40% pay?”
DiAngelo glossed over Penwood’s instability out of consideration. The questioned soldier answered hesitantly.
“Uh, five hundred? Six? Something like that? Purple Heart adds bonuses. Family bumps it more. Not sure exactly.”
“He got dependents?”
“Dunno.”
Winter tilted his head.
“That’s around $600, right? Not enough to live on.”
Intellect bonus gave him early-21st-century exchange rates. About 700,000 won. 「Insight」 kicked in via control AI, confirming it fell way short of minimum living costs then.
But the soldier dismissed Winter’s doubt casually.
“Nah. He’ll work too.”
“Easy to find a job?”
“Well… government’ll help.”
Winter was mildly surprised by the optimism. This ‘government’ felt worlds apart from what he’d known in life. Utterly alien.
VA benefits went beyond pensions, as the soldiers explained. Literal lifelong care and respect. Even loan guarantees.
Yet plenty of U.S. vets ended up homeless. Winter, briefed by intellect, sighed inwardly.
‘Means even this much isn’t enough to stop it completely.’
Key was giving soldiers faith. Even if I fail, the nation will take care of me. In every loop Winter lived, this was why America held as civilization’s last bastion. The intangible system backing U.S. troop morale.
‘How many countries are still somewhat intact…?’
Russia came to mind. Its vast, rugged land aided quarantine.
Winter’s thoughts didn’t linger.
Talk of discharge heated up the chat. In any army, it was a hot topic for battlefield grunts. Like retirement for career soldiers?
Penwood, still fighting his twitchy hands, joined in.
After a few exchanges, he suddenly broke into sobs.
“Huuuuh, hu, uuuuh.”
He wiped tears frantically with shaking hands. The laughter faded. Some reddened eyes, others patted shoulders in encouragement. Winter did the latter. Faking a gentle tone was second nature.
“Cry it out. Holding tears in makes you sick, they say.”
Penwood buried his head in Winter’s chest and wept for a while.
“Seriously, take care of us from here on out.”
DiAngelo’s words to Winter carried real weight.
After Penwood calmed, Winter left the fire. Higher command had radioed for him. First time meeting the 1st Battalion CO of 「Seventh California」.
The Latino battalion commander waited alone, no staff. Tough-looking, but somehow fragile. Marks of the grueling day since dawn. A leader’s burdens differed from a soldier’s.
Winter saluted.
“Lieutenant Han Gyeowol. You called for me, sir?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Farrell Ramos, battalion commander. Good to meet you. Sit.”
Seating the boy officer across, he started with formal praise.
“You fought well today.”
“You saw it?”
“By chance.”
Silence fell. Staring at Winter, the colonel propped his chin wearily.
“How’s the mood out there?”
“Not great, but stabilizing.”
“You’re different from the other officers…”
What did he mean? Because of his feats, he could reassure troops easier? No, different nuance. Something unspoken.
Winter still couldn’t guess why he’d been summoned. The colonel noticed.
“Wondering why I called?”
“Honestly, yes.”
“Nothing big. Wanted to meet you. We got through thanks to you—had to say thanks.”
Fatigue and self-reproach showed in the colonel’s eyes, unhidden. Fleeting, but Winter caught it. Heavy.
The colonel changed topics.
“We’ll be garrisoned at the same camp from now on.”
“My unit’s changing?”
“No. Our garrison’s moving.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Camp San Luis Obispo got a RCT because it’s a chokepoint south and to the sea. Securing Morro Bay gives a Pacific foothold. But with this mess, they’ll reinforce Camp Roberts.”
Logical, but no reason to tell Winter this. First meeting, different units.
Ah. Winter got it now. “Different from other officers.” Maybe they had no time to spare?
The colonel was just another soul needing purposeless talk.
Sometimes presence alone comforts. Just being there suffices. But rank forced him to stiff, formal chat.
Winter sat quietly, wordlessly comforting the colonel.
============================ Author's Notes ============================
1. Before starting serialization, the author had zero confidence in daily updates. I make up for lacking talent with time, you see. So initially, I submitted to a contest.
Even if no win, decent works get serialization offers, right?
But Columbarium didn’t place or get contacted...
And now that site’s closing this month.
This novel too.
...
Anyway, I inquired about serializing at Lezhin Comics novels, but they said it didn’t fit and declined.
And now Lezhin Comics is blowing up.
...
Is this actually a blessing...?
2.
Q. PotatoPeel : @Jermis Steam 1,000...? I got 57 and regret every penny... 1,000 means you blew thousands on Steam games lololol Who's playing Rust? LFM :)
A. So it seems. Rust players, take out PotatoPeel and report back to the author.
Q. Muffler : @It's not that I buy and don't play—buying means I won't touch it unless right away. Recommend Rainbow Six Siege over Ubisoft's masterpiece The Division.
A. Wanna try Overwatch if I get time. Haha. A pipe dream for an author still up at this hour.
Q. PeachBlossomGarden : @Usually by 10th loop, Swordmaster vibes in human realm?
A. Varies by person and how you spend loops. Possible.
Q. BombzKi : If author spent half QA time on the novel...
A. Q&A takes 5 mins. That’d get one or two lines. Don’t feel too bad. :)