00034 - The Little Prince in the Ossuary
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#Journal, page 55, Camp Roberts
"We are in control of the situation."
Today's broadcast started once again with an optimistic comment.
"After the 'Grumble Shock', and the collapse of the defenses in Los Angeles and San Diego, we thought we had to abandon the remaining major cities west of the blockade line. However, it was a premature despair. Brave citizens of America have armed themselves and turned streets and buildings into fortresses. Surviving police and military forces have joined them. As a result, astonishingly, 170,000 citizens who couldn't escape in time have secured a safe haven."
One of the advantages of the officers' quarters was the TV in each room. Although it only broadcasted news and disaster reports, it was valuable just to keep updated with outside events.
An early morning brought a sense of leisure. This was because he belonged to the Federal Army. There was no clear regulation on how to handle dispatch officers from refugee backgrounds yet. Until the militia platoon was fully established, his position was ambiguous.
"That's not all. Survival signals have been detected from San Francisco, San Jose, and even Sacramento where there was a nuclear attack. How could this be possible?"
The screen showed an aerial view of Sacramento. An expert opinion followed, noting it was possible due to low-yield tactical nuclear weapons.
The nuclear blasts had occurred in the eastern parts of the city, along routes leading out toward the blockade. Survivor outposts were located more than 15 km west of the explosion center. It seemed that the numerous buildings in the city center might have blocked out radiation. Even so, fallout would have likely descended.
A delayed death.
"Behold, American flags hang everywhere in the city. Do you see people waving? They have not yet given up hope. We must not abandon them because we live in America!"
Stirring patriotism during a crisis was the same in any country. The anchor's uplifted voice continued to resonate.
"In thousands of polluted areas west of the blockade, presumed to be death lands, an estimated 800,000 citizens are waiting for rescue. The government is allocating air capabilities for supplies transport and has commenced converting passenger planes to transport planes. The defense ministry spokesman announced plans to achieve a daily transport capacity of 5,000 tons before the Christmas holidays. They say it's enough to sustain over 2 million citizens."
The screen filled with supply packages descending on parachutes.
"Even in this moment of global peril, the United States remains a strong nation."
The sky filled the camera shot. The world inside the TV was perpetually bright.
#Clown (1), Camp Roberts
Though the journal ended, the broadcast was visible in the cafeteria too. Since utilizing the U. S. military dining facility, Gyeo-ul had never seen the ceiling-hung TV turned off.
Breakfast. Lieutenant Robert Capston and Charlie Company's officers sat together at the same table. They waited for Gyeo-ul every meal. They said they worried he might feel alienated since he was close to the soldiers, but thought it better for him to be with the officers for show. They acted as a shield against officers who would hold a grudge. A gesture full of consideration.
Gyeo-ul recalled what he'd seen on the journal broadcast and asked what everyone thought.
"You should take the news with a grain of salt. All that patriotic reporting custom...."
Lieutenant Capston was careful. His stance was that you couldn't take government briefs or reliable media outlets at face value. During a national crisis, American media tended to avoid reporting unfavorable to the government. Sergeant Pierce shrugged his shoulders.
"That's a tradition from the Second World War, isn't it? Back then, they were truly fighting evil bastards. It makes sense."
One of the platoon leaders, second Lieutenant McCoy, chimed in.
"Transport by helicopter might be more reliable. Rescue is also possible. But there's a shortage of helicopters, aren't there? Maintenance issues, transport volume issues, crowding at landing zones due to noise, and the fuel that gets consumed like crazy are additional issues. It's problematic in many ways."
Jeffrey responded in agreement.
"True. But it's not right to just fixate on air transport. Survivors are scattered throughout cities, and how much can you retrieve by dropping with a parachute? If supplies land in dangerous areas, they have to be given up. That's likely why the top brass plans to drop 5,000 tons a day. Funding excess has always been this country's special move, hasn't it?"
Indeed, that seemed accurate. Jeffrey voiced his complaint.
"That's why supplies have been lacking. The PX (Post Exchange) opens only two days a week. Isn't that supposed to be the opposite? The lack of alcohol is particularly dire. It's always sold out as soon as it arrives...."
Lieutenant Capston frowned.
"Be thankful it's not closed down permanently. Under the circumstances, sorties that aren't essential are being assigned to keep morale up. That speaks to how desperate the upper echelons are to maintain morale in frontline units. Don't let this slip in front of the soldiers."
"Haaa. Understood."
The young platoon leader, who looked barely young enough to lead, grumbled as he suppressed his dissatisfaction. Lieutenant Capston, musing over the PX, asked the boy suddenly.
"How are you being paid, as a proper officer?"
After his commission, Gyeo-ul was casually called by Tobias as either "you" or 'lieutenant'.
Among the things Gyeo-ul received after becoming a second lieutenant were an emerald-green active-duty ID, a salary account, and a card. Gyeo-ul replied that he'd received a salary card.
"Is the payment based on O-1?"
"I'm not sure. My commissioning was a special case, and it all happened abruptly. I was only told I'd receive just under $3,000 a month."
The Lieutenant shook his head.
"That's precisely the base pay; life allowances, clothing allowances, and hazardous duty pay should be included. It sounds like there was no detailed explanation because of the ongoing circumstances. I'll look into it."
"Thank you for always looking out for me."
"No need for thanks. The debt I owe you is far greater than this."
He was a remarkably straightforward man.
"If you need cash, use the ATM in the quarters, Lieutenant. There's none in the PX."
Sergeant Pierce offered advice.
"Will there be a need to use cash?"
When the boy asked, the sergeant pondered.
"You might not know yet, but some soldiers are trading with refugees. They buy something from the PX and sell it at an inflated price. They say refugees surprisingly have a lot of cash...ugh, disgraceful soldiers. Thinking of just saving money in a situation like this...."
Sergeant Pierce clicked his tongue once, then asked the Lieutenant a question.
"Doesn't it seem like the upper echelons know about this and are using it?"
"I can't be sure, but... it seems so. It looks like they're planning to set trade limits based on rank for officers from refugee backgrounds and applying separate discounts for decorated personnel."
Gyeo-ul understood.
"They want to empower officers like me from a refugee background. Motivation, as well."
"Exactly."
The Lieutenant looked displeased. But Gyeo-ul was pleased. It was good information. Whoever in charge came up with this, they were quite resourceful.
「Boom! Ratatatatatat!」
Explosions and gunfire burst from the TV. While distracted, the screen had changed. The subtitles scrolled below.
"Is that San Diego?"
Jeffrey mumbled. What appeared was a fierce battle. A white sandy beach with a resort visible in the distance. There was only one road leading through—it was narrow on both sides. The Marines blocked the thin sandbar. Along the road cutting through the sandbar and the crashing beach, a terrifying number of infected mutants charged in. Several Grumbles were mixed in.
But no matter how immense the firepower concentrated at the narrow path, they could not break through.
The explosion sounds were layered with a veil of distance, and the anchor's voice overlaid the background.
"What you are watching now is the successful defense of North Island by the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force yesterday afternoon. By concluding this battle after more than two hours, they managed to safeguard the Navy Feed Depot and Halsey Field Airport in San Diego."
"How long will they hold on over there?"
McCoy's question. The Lieutenant was optimistic.
"It'll hold for a long time. There's only one road and one bridge leading in, so it's easy to defend. The upper echelons will be desperate to support it, won't they? If even that were to fall, there'd be no place to receive troops coming in from the Pacific. They also need a foothold to rescue San Diego citizens. Refugees who fled by sea would receive supplies from there."
Sergeant Pierce sighed.
"But those things that should be dead are still numerous, aren't they? It seems endless."
"They say the mutated population is immense. If we keep killing and killing, eventually, we'll hit the bottom."
Despite McCoy's reply, the sergeant still looked uneasy.
"Look, Lieutenant. That's not what I mean. Don't the infected mutants have to eat something to keep their energy up? It's strange that so many are still running around lively."
Then McCoy chuckled.
"Haven't you seen horror movies? Zombies don't starve to death."
As small talk wrapped up the meal, the internal broadcast called for Gyeo-ul.
"Second Lieutenant Han Gyeo-ul, proceed to Operations Division by 0900 hours. I repeat. Second Lieutenant Han Gyeo-ul..."
"It's my name, but it always sounds odd hearing it."
Mild laughter from those seated. It wasn't odd for the battalion commander to summon Gyeo-ul. The dispatch officer's command remained under the battalion commander's authority.
Gyeo-ul picked up his food tray and stood.
"Then I'll take my leave first."
"I hope it's nothing unpleasant."
Lieutenant Capston's worry lingered to the end.
At the Operations Division, three officers awaited Gyeo-ul. The haggard-looking battalion commander, the battalion operations officer, and an unfamiliar captain. The captain wore a displeased look. Gyeo-ul saluted the battalion commander. The half-bald commander gazed at Gyeo-ul with droopy eyes.
"You're here."
The smell of alcohol. On the table sat a half-empty bottle of strong liquor. He'd drunk quite a bit already this morning. His focus seemed off, shaking his head and furrowing his brow intermittently. The unfamiliar captain's face soured further. Observing this, the battalion commander chuckled faintly as if asking, "What can you do?"
The world was collapsing. A mere battalion commander now doubled as a refugee camp director, thus facing additional stress. Although that wouldn't serve as an excuse.
"Make yourself at ease, Lieutenant."
At ease. Gyeo-ul adjusted his stance. The battalion commander introduced the unfamiliar captain.
"First, let's have introductions. This is Captain Nils McGuire, from the Public Affairs Office. Captain, here's the Lieutenant Han... Han something you were waiting for."
The boy and the captain exchanged nods.
"Alright. Let's get right to why I called you, Lieutenant."
He explained the special mission assigned to Gyeo-ul.
"It seems the Department of Defense needs a promotional and educational video. Don't worry; it's simple. Head to Santa Maria and skillfully capture a few creatures reported there. Avoid NGs, and it'll be over quickly."
Santa Maria was about 100 km south of Camp Roberts. Considering that Paso Robles, much closer, barely remained in operation, the mode of transport wouldn't be a vehicle.
Indeed, helicopter support was available. Instead of the bothersome battalion commander, the operations officer laid out a map.
"The operation commences at 0600 hours the following day. Report to the central parade ground ten minutes prior, in full combat gear. It's too noisy to fly directly into the city by helicopter, so you'll land here, at a cultivation area northeast of Santa Maria. Estimated arrival time is 0630 hours. It's a secure area by a Ranger company, so no danger at this stage. You'll join support troops there and then proceed 7 km on foot to the operation area. Wait there briefly. A scouting party will lure the target to you, and you will hunt it. This concludes the operation. Any questions?"
Up to this point, it was a straightforward briefing.
Being a soldier is inherently such a job. Gyeo-ul nodded.
"You mentioned baiting the target. How do you plan to do that? It's too dangerous for a person."
"We plan to use sound-producing drones."
"Is that feasible?"
"It has been verified through several experiments. The infected mutants' intelligence isn't very high."
That intelligence is only increasing.
But it wasn't time yet. After some more time, 「Morgellons」 would start utilizing hosts in more diverse ways.
The public affairs officer, observing the boy, tossed in a comment.
"I heard statements from soldiers who acted with you, but you really don't seem to have fear."
"Because I can do it."
"Hmm."
He fell silent, wearing an inscrutable expression.
"Can I bring someone I choose along?"
When Gyeo-ul asked, the operations officer decisively rejected the notion.
"Not allowed."
Their interest was singularly focused on Gyeo-ul.
He thought it regrettable. In a fairly secure environment, it could've served as invaluable experience for crew's trainee platoon members.
Following that, details were conveyed. They weren't particularly substantial.
---------------------------= Postscript -------------------------------=
Q. User LeeHughes: Is it true that clicking 'Recommend' skips 40,000 years?
A. Yes, it's true. Time flies, doesn't it? Already, 40,000 years have passed...