Journal, page 130, Fort Roberts

Typhoon Damaris No. 4 has moved southward. The sky has brightened for the first time in a long while. Spring, which had been above the clouds, has descended to the ground. The rain has stopped, and only a slightly rough wind is blowing. Bathed in sunlight, Fort Roberts feels like a completely different place compared to before the change of seasons.

But people were still gloomy. The resumed air supply had not met expectations. Things were better than before. Yet, it was still not enough.

Numerous transport planes flew past the base, heading westward. Toward the citizens isolated in contaminated areas. The regions near the coast had not received proper support for some time. I thought ammunition would be more urgent than food. You can somehow ration food, but not ammunition. If mutants came, wouldn’t we have to fight?

The broadcasts showed flooded sectors day after day. No coastal city was an exception. Los Angeles, San Francisco, and San Diego. In particular, San Diego looked like a city built on water.

Yet people survived. Whenever the broadcasting helicopter passed by, people on roofs and rooftops signaled their survival with silent gestures. The anchor delivered the news with tearful emotion, saying the Lord had not yet abandoned the world.

The Department of Defense announced that it would conduct the maximum airdrop of supplies before the next typhoon. This was due to predictions that multiple typhoons would occur until March because of the abnormal rise in sea temperature.

I was worried about the maritime refugees. Even if they were protected by large ships inside the bay, they could not be completely safe amidst rough winds and waves.

Moreover, with air transport difficult for the time being, there would be a major shortage of food and fuel.

Would this not cause problems? There had already been a skirmish between a Chinese destroyer and a Japanese escort ship before…

#The Limits of Adulthood, Fort Roberts

It was the Friday just a few days before Lunar New Year. The funeral for Private Stan Page was held in the cathedral in the civilian quarter. Gyeo-ul had a set role. Standing at one end of the unfurled Stars and Stripes, facing the chaplain directly. A brief nod to signal the start. Fold the short edge of the flag in half, then fold it in half once more, and now, taking steps forward, reduce the remaining length.

The fully folded flag was a thick triangle. Gyeo-ul handed the flag to the chaplain. A step to check if it was neatly folded. Once checked, the flag was handed back to Gyeo-ul. Then, a crisp salute. The sound of camera shutters increased.

Gyeo-ul held the flag vertically and gently let it touch the casket holding the deceased. Only after that did he head to the place where the bereaved family sat. The parents and younger sibling were seated side by side. Gyeo-ul kneeled in front of the mother.

“Ma’am. On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defense, the Department of the Army, and our homeland, I present you this flag in honor of your son’s commitment and honorable service to the nation.”

The lady who received the flag burst into tears she had been trying to hold back. Her husband tried to comfort her as she sobbed silently, but he himself was already crying. The younger sister radiated a sense of guilt. She looked flustered, as if embarrassed not to be crying. Gyeo-ul saw his own sister reflected in the girl of a similar age.

‘Did she understand what happened to me?’

There were two people crying but only one handkerchief. From his breast pocket, Gyeo-ul took out his own handkerchief. Ever since he regretted not having it in Paso Robles, he hadn’t gone without it.

“Please take this, Ma’am.”

“… Thank you.”

Technically, you’re not supposed to say anything right now, but Gyeo-ul thought that everything created by people exists to serve people. Etiquette and rituals are no exception.

Gyeo-ul returned to his position. The number of Stars and Stripes to be folded was the same as the number of bereaved families. During two more trips, cameras from all kinds of broadcasters focused on the boy officer.

The temporary burial ground was somewhere within the base. Originally, he should have been buried in the National Cemetery, but the plan was to transfer him after California is retaken.

After the funeral ended, an unexpected guest came to Gyeo-ul.

“Excuse me, first Lieutenant. Do you have a moment?”

Led by Private Page’s younger sister, a group of boys and girls gathered nervously before the boy officer. They were visibly tense, but their eyes looking at Gyeo-ul also held admiration. Gyeo-ul nodded warmly.

“Of course. What is it?”

“That’s a relief… We wanted to ask you to write something here, sir. Would that be possible?”

The girl of the Page family handed over a book she was holding. As he accepted and checked it, Gyeo-ul felt a bit troubled. It was a book meant for people to write memories of the deceased, so the bereaved could get to know the aspects they never knew and console themselves. Gyeo-ul, tied up with funeral arrangements, hadn’t had the time to write anything. Yet the girl sought Gyeo-ul out.

Gyeo-ul was the one who had eased Private Stan Page’s pain. He was also the one responsible for the operation. Since the Harris incident had been broadcast since early February, the girl Page would also have known this fact.

‘They edited out the moment of death, though.’

He remembered pale lips that muttered, not wanting to die. The Department of Defense PR Bureau had dramatized the battle record at Lake Santa Margarita like some human-interest story, but hadn’t shown the death of Private Page unfiltered. Though it would have been a good way to fan public anger toward Captain Harris, in the footage, it was glossed over with a few subtitles. It was consideration for the family.

Perhaps uneasy at Gyeo-ul’s silence, the girl asked anxiously.

“Do, do you need a pen? I can lend you one.”

She trembled slightly. She probably feared the phrase, “Actually, I didn’t know Private Stan Page that well.”

Gyeo-ul smiled and shook his head.

“No, I have my own. I was just lost in thought for a moment. Sorry.”

Regardless of rank, pen and notepad are essentials for a good soldier. The problem was that the girl’s hunch was partly right. Until the night by the lakeshore, Gyeo-ul and the private were little more than acquaintances. Still, Gyeo-ul didn’t hesitate any longer.

‘Page. My comrade who disappeared fighting to uphold duty against those who abandoned theirs. If it weren’t for you, the battle that night might have lost its meaning. Because one person lacked courage, more died; because one person lacked courage, new life would not see the world; because one person lacked courage, the despicable might have escaped judgment…’

It was a sentence closer to a eulogy than a reminiscence, but more than enough to comfort the family.

‘Thank goodness the other two funerals are elsewhere.’

The other fallen were transported to where their families were. The funerals would be held there. If they’d held the funerals here, it would’ve been a joint ceremony, complicating the process somewhat.

The group of boys and girls sighed with glistening eyes after reading the finished lines. Girl Page expressed her thanks deeply.

“Thank you so much. My parents will be very happy.”

“I hope it helps. Is there anything else you need?”

“Ah…”

Gyeo-ul had asked out of courtesy, but the subtle response made him tilt his head. Was there more?

“If you’re not too busy, first Lieutenant, could you speak with us a little longer?”

The boy with the bugle in his hand asked. He was the student who played “Taps” at the memorial. Normally, someone from the military band does it, but Fort Roberts had no such band. Instead of playing a recording, they’d picked someone from the student band in the civilian quarter’s school.

“If it’s only a little while. I was off-duty from the afternoon anyway.”

Gyeo-ul assumed the students had no special business. Likely, it was just longing and curiosity for the youngest military hero.

His guess was a little off. Gyeo-ul felt a bit of confusion at the students’ request.

“You want to become soldiers?”

“Yes. If we have our parents’ permission, we can enlist. But they won’t let us… and there’s no recruitment center at this base.”

Under US military law, the minimum age for enlistment is 17, with physical exams conducted from 17 as well. When Gyeo-ul enlisted, Master Sergeant Pierce had frowned but accepted him with no further complaint for this reason. After some thought, Gyeo-ul gave a safe answer.

“There’s no reason to rush. You’re still students, aren’t you? You can finish your studies, get more physically ready, and still enlist later. The draft is in effect anyway, so when the time comes, you’ll have to be a soldier even if you don’t want to.”

The students looked disappointed. The boy with the bugle spoke as a representative.

“That’s just what adults say. What’s the point of going to school now? You don’t even need to graduate high school. Plenty of my friends have already dropped out.”

“…”

“Besides, aren’t you a soldier at our age, sir?”

“Well, I had no parents, and as a refugee, I had no better choices.”

“That’s just it! We think adults are really cowardly!”

Gyeo-ul cocked his head.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You just said it: you had no other choice as a refugee.”

Ah, that story. Gyeo-ul recalled a conversation with the brigade task force commander. A common criticism of US refugee policy—that the situation of refugees is exploited, forcing them into danger.

It’s partially true. The ‘volunteer’ system is supposed to be for those who choose it, but when Gyeo-ul first enlisted, the atmosphere made it feel like if you stayed put, you’d just die.

One student, longing for a hero, asked,

“First Lieutenant, do you know why the people in the civilian zone don’t cross east of the cordon?”

“I heard the treatment over there isn’t very good.”

“Yes, that’s right. The disaster relief zones are in cities like Detroit and Camden. My parents say they’d rather stay here than live in those neighborhoods. I heard lots of people want to come here from across the cordon, especially since you’re here, sir.”

Detroit is one of the most dangerous cities in America. There’s even a saying, “Send that guy to Detroit!”

Electricity and water aren’t supplied, and there’s no garbage collection. The city has countless high-rise buildings left abandoned and unused.

The US government herded Western refugees into such cities. At least there’s some kind of roof. Camden and Baltimore, other cities with many vacant buildings, were also designated as refugee zones.

‘It’s inevitable. There must be over 30 million refugees.’

On top of that, they had to cope with refugees coming from around the world. While the US government claimed it was actively resettling them, it was clear there were limits. Rapid expansion of the US military was also due in part to all these refugees with nowhere else to go lining up to enlist.

Another girl, her tone resentful, said,

“In the end, life here is just comfortable at the expense of the refugees. We all see it. We see how refugees live beyond the barbed wire. Yet there are idiots who think that’s normal—even some teachers! I don’t want to go to a school like that!”

Now came the words of a large boy, strikingly mature for his age.

“We want to fight, too. Maybe we can’t be like you, first Lieutenant, but we could do as much as ordinary people.”

Gyeo-ul gave a difficult smile.

“I understand what you’re saying, all of you. But I’m sorry. I saw today parents crying for their lost son. I can’t ask the same of your parents. I hope you understand, miss Page?”

“… Yes.”

Girl Page had been relatively reserved from the start.

In a gentle voice, Gyeo-ul comforted the students.

“This war won’t end in a day or two. It will likely last for decades. So don’t be impatient. Just as I’m protecting you now, you too will one day be able to protect someone.”

Except for Page, the students were not easily convinced.

—————————= Author’s Note —————————=

#Innocence

It’s about time to fan the flames in this world-building again…innocence, let’s look for innocence…

#Sponsorship Account

The topic of sponsorship accounts really persists. As constantly as the requests for premium conversion…huhu…

Are you truly confident you won’t regret it later?…

#Q&A

Q. OneChance: “That’s a narrow escape… If it’s for the sake of loved ones, you suppress hatred. But what if something happens to your brother or sister… how would you handle your heart then…?”

A. Of course, one would be filled with innocence.

Q. qoewh: “Reading this episode, I cried while eating. Is this being full of innocence, or lacking it?”

A. I guess it depends on whether those are tears of joy or of sadness!

Q. LifeSaver: “Pushed out with no one to rely on, lost even the body, and yet says he won’t hate the world for the happiness of two people… like an enlightened monk… P. S. My friend says it’s not that he’s full of innocence, but that he can’t handle it in this work and is about to burst, haha.”

A. Ah… your friend isn’t an innocence-being, then… amazing. You’ve become friends despite being different species…

Q. YesterdayThatDay: By the way, what does “There won’t be any heavier stones in my chest” mean?

A. Gyeo-ul has said many times that he feels like there is a stone in his chest. It refers to the knot of emotion stuck in one’s heart.

—

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