Chapter 79
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Hardening Ground, Camp Roberts (2)
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At the tail end of January, a typhoon arrived. According to the warnings issued by the National Hurricane Center to various parts of California, Category 4 Hurricane Carissa was set to pass offshore from San Diego and head toward Mexico's Baja California.
Carissa was the third typhoon to form in the eastern Pacific that year, and the first to cancel all operations at Camp Roberts. The two prior storms, Angelique and Beryl, had passed far from the coastline, so their impact on California had been minimal. Carissa, however, was close and powerful enough to batter Camp Roberts—460 kilometers northwest of San Diego—with fierce winds and heavy rain.
The National Hurricane Center also warned of the possibility of a new typhoon forming before Carissa dissipated. Winter recalled part of the forecast.
「Formation chance through 48 hours...high...90 percent」
The projected formation point was at 38 degrees north latitude, 127 degrees west longitude—about 500 kilometers west of San Francisco in the ocean. If another typhoon spun up there, California would suffer from overflowing rainfall and raging winds.
As a result, flood prevention work became Camp Roberts' top priority. They restrung hooks and ropes to keep tents from flying away, hammering at least ten additional stakes into each one. They also piled sandbags around the perimeter and used heavy equipment to dig drainage ditches leading to low-lying areas.
This work had to be done simultaneously on both sides of the Salinas River to protect the makeshift airstrip and reserve vehicle depot on the east bank.
The last time the Salinas River had flooded was in early 2006. Record-breaking droughts had followed in California, exposing the riverbed and making another flood unlikely. Still, Fortress Commander Colonel Gerald M. Laughlin was preparing for the worst.
“There’s no such thing as overpreparing for a disaster.”
Winter agreed with him.
‘And it suits me just fine.’
Standing by the storm-lashed riverbank, the boy officer watched people battle the elements. Under the sunless sky of a gloomy daytime, laborers of every nationality threw themselves into the task with one mind and purpose. Gender and age meant nothing. It was a beautiful sight. Even if this reality was fabricated, beauty held meaning in itself.
From now on, accidental firefights could erupt in the refugee zones. To avoid pointless casualties, as many people as possible needed to be away from the potential hotspots. An opportunity like this wouldn’t come again.
Winter pressed the transmit button on his work radio.
“Director Jang Yeoncheol. This is Han Gyeowol. Do you copy?”
[Yes, Commander! Loud and clear! Go ahead!]
The wind howled noisily over the airwaves, but it didn’t hinder communication.
“I’ll be away for a while. Can you oversee the alliance members on your own?”
[Uh… yes. With the other administrators here, it’s not too tough. I don’t know what’s up, but go ahead without worry.]
Two directors were originally on site. But Winter had sent Director Min Wangi inside early. The middle-aged scholar wasn’t sturdy—age weakened him. Even with medicine, it took him ages to shake a cold. No sense exposing someone that vital to the foul weather. He was a key figure.
Above all, when trouble hit, someone had to keep the residential district calm. Winter had emphasized that when seeing Min off.
“Keep people from panicking, no matter what happens.”
The scholar had smiled through rain-specked glasses.
“You’re asking the obvious.”
Winter trusted him to handle it. A man who could guess why he’d asked the obvious in such an un-obvious way.
After Jang’s reply, Winter headed for the police command post in the civilian zone. The soldiers guarding the civilian residential checkpoint under a moon-like sun looked soaked to the bone despite their rain gear. They fidgeted uncomfortably, then snapped to attention with belated salutes upon spotting the boy officer.
The police command post was just beyond the checkpoint.
Police from Sacramento and a mishmash of other regions and cities had cobbled together a chain of command to handle Camp Roberts' public safety.
Rain leaked near the entrance of the large prefab building, but the offices and holding cells were mostly intact. Few officers stared anxiously at the rumbling rooftop—most police manpower was tied up supervising work details.
The entrance guard snapped to attention.
“What brings the lieutenant here?”
“I’m here to see Chief O’Connor. Is he in?”
Chief Willis O’Connor was Camp Roberts' top cop. He was also among the highest-ranking survivors from the California Highway Patrol. Their HQ had been in Sacramento, and the chief and deputy chief had gone missing when it fell.
Hearing the purpose, the guard stiffened further.
“Yes, he’s in his office. Did you have an appointment?”
“No. It’s urgent business, so I came on short notice.”
“Understood. I’ll notify him. Please wait a moment.”
Permission came quickly. After a brief call on the internal line, the guard nodded to Winter.
“I’ll escort you.”
As he followed, police they passed en route snapped to attention in salute. Some smiled—those who’d built some personal rapport with the boy officer. Winter returned their goodwill with light nods.
The escort ended at the door. Even so, the chief’s office was respectably appointed. Opening the door, O’Connor greeted him with a salute.
“Come in, Lieutenant. A surprise visit from our hero.”
“Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
“Nonsense. You’re welcome anytime, no questions asked. Except when I’m having a quiet dinner with my daughter.”
“You treasure her.”
“She’s my pride. Not easy becoming a federal marshal at twenty-five. Top of her class at Quantico. Said since she was little she wanted to be just like her old man. And she stuck to it.”
Hard to call O’Connor a doting dad. She really was that exceptional.
A large Camp Roberts map hung in the chief’s office, marked with future development plans, patrol routes, assigned sectors, and schedules. Insider info, normally. Winter wondered why a big empty lot was planned smack in the middle of Winter Alliance territory.
Willis O’Connor shifted in his seat.
“So, what’s this important business that brings you to an old-timer like me on a day like this?”
“I’d like your help rooting out illegal weapons in the Chinese refugee zone.”
Winter skipped the drug angle. Searching under the pretext of weapons would uncover drugs and whatever else in one go.
“Illegal weapons? Refugees have guns? How?”
The middle-aged chief understandably tensed. The boy officer wouldn’t make a fuss over mere blades.
Refugees armed was a dire threat to the fortress's survival. Refugee zones were far worse off than civilian ones—under tight control and discrimination. Plenty of resentment simmered toward Americans living comfortably beyond the wire. Conditions were improving, but given past squalor and lawlessness, complacency was impossible.
Winter shook his head.
“No. Probably not guns. Even if any, not many. I suspect mostly bows, crossbows, slingshots.”
“Quantity?”
“At least a hundred units.”
No exaggeration. Just the Chinese groups he’d personally checked exceeded three digits. Broader sweeps would yield more.
“Hmm. Even crude weapons threaten in numbers. Raid an armory… or take civilians hostage.”
The chief’s concerns were low-probability. Rational folks wouldn’t try it. But he knew these refugee outfits were half-criminal gangs. Rationality wasn’t guaranteed.
“How’d you learn this?”
“I suspected for a while. Got an anonymous tip recently. Can’t name the source—whistleblower’s request.”
Winter fabricated the tipster. Couldn’t say augmented reality warnings from system tweaks tipped him off. Control AI would flag it as computation error and rollback. Repeated rollbacks meant penalties.
“So, what do you want? Police backup?”
“Yes. The more, the better.”
“Why not request troops from fortress command?”
“I believe maintaining order should be police business going forward. Report to command before the sweep, sure—but I don’t want soldiers involved.”
Troops weren’t off-limits due to insiders. Winter knew who in the military was fully in his corner. Insisting on police alone aimed to reshape refugee zone dynamics.
And American cops weren’t pushovers. Shotguns to assault rifles—they were well-equipped.
“I see. You want to restore normalcy for the refugees?”
“Yes. Troops handling security isn’t normal—it’s martial law. I want people feeling life inching back to pre-disaster norms. Problem is, police presence has been too thin, and thugs too thick.”
“Show force so they stop seeing you as easy marks?”
“Perfect chance.”
Stroking his chin, the chief spoke cautiously.
“You said Chinese residential area. Hate to doubt you, but I have to ask. You’re not using us to settle scores in the refugee zones? Rumors say you back a Chinese faction.”
Rumors? Intelligence. Police might slack outside civilian zones, but not info the chief lacked. During Bradley seizure, Winter had proposed—and filled it with—Triad muscle.
Cops wouldn’t look kindly on thugs flaunting Triad names. They’d ignored refugee infighting before, but with a hero barely out of boyhood driving refugee welfare reforms, no reason to keep overlooking criminal syndicates like Triads or Black Society.
Winter nodded frankly.
“True. We agreed to help each other. But no special treatment this time—that was the deal. They got in a bind fighting among themselves, so I helped in exchange for no more dirty gains. Weapons made to target people—guess where those went? No reason for me to cover that.”
“I see. Sorry for the rude question. Shouldn’t suspect a man who staked his life on honor.”
Regret colored his face—genuine. The halo of the Medal of Honor, plus Winter’s record, weighed heavy. Formality might yield to a smile. The boy flashed one, practiced.
It worked as always. Willis O’Connor gave final approval.
“Alright, do it. I’ll handle the colonel. Wait outside—personnel’s coming.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
Winter saluted and left the office.