Spark, Fort Roberts (2)

The regimental commander spoke.

“I know it’s a bit late to say this now… but about the last operation, you did a great job. You fought well against those lunatics.”

“It was a tragedy.”

Hearing the young officer’s answer, the regimental commander, colonel Laughlin, gave a faint smile.

“A model answer. Yes, you’re right. Still, it could have been an even greater tragedy. The baby would never have seen the light of day, those thugs might have murdered patriots, and this nation could have lost you… Who could have imagined this sort of incident would happen?”

Sighing, the regimental commander offered Gyeo-ul a seat.

“Have a seat for now. This isn’t going to be over quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gyeo-ul filled the empty chair and, the moment he sat, the window flashed. Moments later, the glass started trembling. Though the typhoon had entered a lull, distant thunder still rumbled now and then. The sky outside was so thick with clouds that the heavens’ bare face couldn’t be seen. It looked like it was only a matter of time before the rain started up again.

The regimental commander raised the main topic.

“I’ll ask directly. Aren’t you afraid?”

“……”

As it happened, it was a question he’d heard once already on the way here. The echo of a girl’s voice overlapped in his mind, and Gyeo-ul hesitated for a beat before answering. The commander could easily mistake that hesitation. The dark-skinned colonel nodded.

“I thought so. I reviewed your recent combat record. You nearly died.”

“It was a freak accident.”

“Luck counts as skill on the battlefield. To be a good soldier, it’s important to accept misfortune. Someone as fortunate as you has to accept that, especially. Admit it: you could die at any moment.”

This didn’t sound like an empty platitude. Gyeo-ul was curious. Was this relevant to why he’d been called here today?

“That being said…”

It was relevant.

“First lieutenant. Have you ever considered stepping back from the front line?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean exactly what I say—if you want it, you don’t have to risk yourself any longer.”

The colonel took out two forms and laid them side by side on the table.

“You’ve earned the right to choose. Even at your young age, you’ve already shown more courage and devotion than most people could muster in a lifetime. The Medal of Honor proves it. I’m not telling you to leave the army, of course. There are other ways to help people besides fighting directly.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to lay down my rifle yet.”

“Look through these first, then decide. They’re worth considering.”

Despite suspecting what they contained, Gyeo-ul followed the colonel’s suggestion. One was a letter of appointment, the other a transfer application for another unit. The name of the second unit was striking.

‘Epidemic War Tactical Support Group?’

Transferring between units was usually by order in the military, but some special units selected members by reviewing applicants. Gyeo-ul knew of several such groups, but had never heard this unit’s name before. It seemed to be one of those setting-specific “random scenario generation” results.

‘He said I have the right to choose, so it means I have to pick one of these two?’

Truthfully, even the title for the appointment letter was unfamiliar. He didn’t have enough information either way.

As he looked up from the papers, the regimental commander naturally continued.

“I’ll explain each. First, this one. It’s a letter of appointment to the soon-to-be-established military government office’s audit board.”

“Military government office?”

“Hm, to be precise, it’ll be called the Central California Refugee Military Government Office. It means refugee management by the military will become more official. To be honest, so far, administrative support has been pretty lacking.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the colonel elaborated further.

“In fact, that’s not the whole reason… It seems the higher-ups are worried about public opinion.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could give me a bit more detail.”

“To put it simply, the presidential election is coming up. Political fights don’t stop even now. It’s ridiculous… The troublesome public opinion, first, is a group sympathetic to refugees. They heavily criticize the government’s policy of using refugees as a manpower resource, saying the government is exploiting their desperate circumstances.”

“You mean they say you’re shifting sacrifices that ought to fall to American citizens onto the refugees?”

“Exactly. They say it’s morally wrong. To some extent there’s also a belief that this country is superior—but that’s just my perspective, so take it with a grain of salt.”

Though the regimental commander labeled it his perspective, Gyeo-ul thought it was a pretty valid insight. People come here asking for help, so they are protected. America is a great country, after all. Not everyone feels this way, but some might be inclined toward that kind of idea. Gyeo-ul gave his view.

“While it’s partially true, I find it hard to agree. I think everyone must do their best to survive right now. There’s no reason to distinguish between refugees and American citizens.”

“I agree. We’ll have to fight together soon enough anyway. This is a war on which the survival of humanity depends. What does order matter? The people at the top don’t know the realities on the ground—though I suppose that includes me, a little. Hm, a little? Just a little, right? Or maybe not?”

Colonel Laughlin questioned himself with a tone of uncertainty. It was almost comic, though he wasn’t acting.

Gyeo-ul asked,

“Regimental commander. May I ask something? It’s hard for me to grasp… Is the presidential election really going to proceed as normal, even now that a state of emergency has been declared?”

“This country held elections even during the Civil War, you know. Of course, this crisis is much worse, but since the cordon’s held for nearly a year, the opposition party says there’s no reason to postpone the election. The citizens agree. People are generally unhappy, probably in part because of hard times. Some say the election is even more necessary to soothe public discontent. Who knows, maybe the president himself wants to resign out of sheer exhaustion. That was a joke, obviously.”

Even as he said it, the colonel’s expression was awkward.

“Soldiers aren’t supposed to care about politics, originally. Anyway, this public opinion I mentioned—your share in it isn’t small. People say, ‘Conditions for refugees must be dire if someone your age needed to pick up a weapon.'”

“That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“Of course not. There’s all sorts of people in this world… But the other side of the troublesome public opinion will seem even worse to you. These are the maniacs who say we should expel the refugees altogether. They’re swept up in groundless rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“Yes, rumors. There are a few, but the nastiest is that the refugees are spreading disease. Ever since the CDC made some ambiguous announcement, believers have multiplied rapidly.”

“Do they have a particular dislike for Chinese people?”

“Indeed. Have you heard something? Or just guessing?”

“Both, sir.”

Gyeo-ul thought of Li Ai-ring. When they’d taken the little town north of the base, she’d confided her fear of Chinese people being scapegoated for public frustration.

The CDC had suggested the pandemic might be a biological weapon. A weapon made by China, a product of failed Chinese oversight. That’s what the fanatics believed. The possibility that China was just the first victim didn’t seem to cross their minds.

Colonel Laughlin continued.

“It’s not just about Chinese people—fear of refugees in general is spreading. People hate those coming over the Mexican border, and also those making illegal landings on the east coast. With more small-scale outbreaks in the east, even extremist groups advocating for shooting all refugees are gaining support, especially in the South. It’s a minority, but the fact they’re growing bothers me. Politicians, though, must care.”

“So, either way, the creation of the military government office is controversial. That’s why I’m needed?”

“It can’t be helped. You have supporters everywhere. After the Captain Harris incident, I imagine there are even more. Or maybe there can’t be any more at this point? Even the stubborn rednecks probably can’t bring themselves to dislike you.”

“That incident—is it really going to be made public?”

“It seems almost certain. The higher-ups must have calculated the cost and benefit. Having reviewed the combat record myself, I think it’s better to disclose it. The incident itself is extremely sensitive and negative, but it’s quite dramatic, depending on how it’s spun.”

There was a long pause as the colonel searched for the right words. He seemed to have a lot to say.

“There were so many impressive parts. From your warning to Captain Harris, to launching an attack despite being outnumbered—that was outstanding. You personally flank-attacking the enemy’s detachment was a sound decision if you believed you could pull it off. It turned out to be correct. I heard your instructor was Lieutenant Colonel Capston of the 3rd Battalion—did you learn that from him?”

In Gyeo-ul’s experience, this had been a brief moment in his journal. Guided by his augmented-reality intellect correction, Gyeo-ul replied calmly.

“Yes. I heard there were officers and NCOs in Iraq who acted similarly.”

“The lieutenant colonel taught you well. Yes, there were some brave people like that. But for better or worse, none were quite like you. The line between self-confidence and recklessness is pretty thin, you know…”

“I apologize.”

“No need to apologize. Anyway, it all felt like watching a movie. The way you used a trap to catch the Trickster, being buried alive, even the mutants running across water. And above all, the moment the baby was finally born at dawn, after that long night, was moving. The Defense Department’s public affairs office was delighted. But—”

He stopped, for emphasis.

“Even if it all seems like a movie, your life is not a movie. You can’t reshoot, you can’t rewind. There’s talk from above, too, about how you almost died. They asked me to check your intentions.”

Once again, the regimental commander urged him.

“Think about it seriously. A hero’s tale that ends in death is just a tragedy for everyone else.”

Gyeo-ul offered a polite smile.

“When they say they respect my wishes, it just means both choices are equally beneficial for them, doesn’t it?”

“So blunt…”

“In that case, my answer is the same. I still want to fight.”

The colonel shrugged.

“Your mind’s made up… Somehow I felt it would turn out this way from the start. There’s no point urging you further. But since it’s headquarters’ order, at least look at this.”

He tapped the remaining form on the table. Gyeo-ul asked,

“What does this Epidemic War Tactical Support Group do? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It was just formed, so of course not. It’s under the Special Operations Command, supposedly handling only the most dangerous missions. In reality, it’s quite the opposite.”

“For PR, then?”

“It’s not that they never see combat. But their missions are all done in environments where safety is fully ensured and with plenty of rear support. Naturally, the public affairs team will be filming them around the clock. You’ll see politicians and civil-military operations officers more than fellow soldiers.”

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t hesitate for a moment. Master Sergeant O’Connell’s going in, though.”

“Who’s that?”

“You don’t know? He caught three Grumbles so far, did all kinds of things, and has earned the Silver Star several times. He was even in the recruitment ads. Though he did act kind of weird, always ranting about sons-of-bitches.”

“Oh.”

More ammo, more sons-of-bitches. Gyeo-ul thought he recognized the person.

While Gyeo-ul was certainly in a league of his own in this world, there were other war heroes as well. That’s the sort of news you always see on TV, anyway.

—————————= Author’s Notes —————————=

#Earnings

At this point, Gyeo-ul’s earnings, combining his Medal of Honor pension, now exceed $60,000 per year.

Tremble tremble. I can’t believe an author is envious of a character in their own novel…

#Q&A

Q. Kongja: As someone who knows theology, I tend to drop or skip books when churches appear. Usually, the author has no expertise but likes to pretend otherwise…

A. The Full Gospel Believers’ Association isn’t a normal religious group. The characters explicitly call it a cult in the story, so don’t equate it with real-life churches, or you’ll put me in a bind!

Q. ChicCat: @ O great old one… I’ve come down with a terrible flu… Bless me, please…

A. My blessings only cover childhood innocence… Hmm… should I call over Yog-Sothoth from next door?

Q. Dohwa-won: @O Great Old One, coming down on a meteor makes him seem not that high up on the cosmic scale!

A. That meteor was my booger…

Q. BlueSkyForever: @ I’m handing out 1 coupon for the author’s childlike heart.

A. I received a coupon… The author’s willpower has increased by one point.

Q. Saengryak: @Secret Files Tunguska—do you know that game?

A. Hmm… never heard of it. Is it a horror game?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep