Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Page 175

“Huh? Captain Lancer?” Taylor recognized the officer; he was the one who had initially helped them adapt to “military life” in this new world.

"It's nice to see you again, Taylor. Let me introduce you to your new companion: Jones."

“Oh, brother, I think I’ve seen you before.” Garcia’s eyes were sharp as he came over to shake hands. “You were brought here wearing a pilot’s leather jacket. You took a tumble when you came in that day and broke your nose.”

"Ah, it's nice to meet you all. Call me John." The pilot looked them around, bewildered, then his expression suddenly darkened as he watched the last German civilian walk in. "Hey, I said they..."

"Calm down, calm down, there's nothing to worry about. Come on, there's a young lady over here, you can get to know her." Garcia reluctantly facilitated a handshake between the two—Jenia was still angry and didn't say much, returning to her sullen state.

"Well, I suppose you've come all this way and don't know much about things, right? Let me explain it to you slowly."

……

“Yes, I understand. They call us District 45 people. I’ve heard that before.” John nodded. “How long have you been wearing this?”

"They started training more than two months ago, around the same time these Germans started working," Captain Lancer replied. "I see a hint of doubt in your eyes about them, those you once defeated? Is there a reason for that?"

"There's no reason," he said, suppressing the rumors he'd heard about the concentration camps. "But I'm curious, how come all those civilians are in such good spirits?"

“Come, let me tell you what happened to these Hans after they came to this world.” Taylor felt he had found a story to tell. “First, there were about five or six hundred civilians who were brought here from Berlin with us. They were first placed in the slums outside the Tokyo Concession and watched by soldiers. Then, after a few days, someone came and told them that they needed to work, so they were taken to construction sites and farms to work.”

"Um, excuse me, has anyone ever died from overwork on the job?"

"Oh dear, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no, you really don't. You probably don't believe it, but these Germans who are pulled into the work can have regular rest."

"Wha...what?"

“Let me tell you how these Germans were arranged.” Garcia paused. “In the first few days after they were assigned to their posts, they worked one day and rested one day. Each workday was about 10 hours, sometimes with overtime, but they generally didn’t work past midnight. During this time, they were given something to eat to barely fill their stomachs. After finishing their work, the soldiers would take them back to the settlements they were originally assigned to in the slums.”

"What the hell?!" John's face contorted in shock. "Wait, let me calm down, let me calm down... You just said these were the original civilians, right? Does that mean there were Germans who were brought here later?"

"Yes, those who were captured were crammed into those slums, including those in resettlement areas around Berlin and those in cities and villages dozens or hundreds of kilometers away. Each person had to collect usable items from the garbage collection points, such as benches, toys, or whatever else they could put together. Of course, it was fine if you put something together yourself. Ah, of course, it's called a slum, but it's actually just a poorly managed, dilapidated area outside the Tokyo concession, you know?"

“I know, I’ve heard about the history of this world, those buildings are really tall.” John scratched his head. “They’re set up like this, but what about the jobs? Are they all the same?”

"Same here. You work one day and rest one day. Except for not leaving the designated restricted area, you can sleep at the resettlement site all day and no one will care."

"Damn... They have food to eat, a place to sleep, and things to use, so what kind of work do they do?"

"Captain Lancer?"

“Alright, let me continue.” The captain took a deep breath. “According to different age groups, children under 10 and the elderly over 60 are generally assigned to jobs like porters in supermarkets and shopping malls, where all they need to do is carry a cardboard box of fruit; while ordinary young and middle-aged people are more likely to be sent to factories, construction sites, and farms to do more strenuous physical labor. However, there are very few young men among these Germans who can do manual labor, so women make up the majority. Every day, the guards lead them to their work sites, and they bring them back together after work.”

"Disabled or too young children, or too old children?"

"Those who are too old to move will be left in the resettlement center to fend for themselves. As for the children, if they have parents, we will let them stay with their parents. If they have become orphans, we will gather them in one place and let them live according to our wishes."

"Uh... what about people with disabilities?"

“I guessed you were going to talk about this. After all, most of these disabled guys are exactly the kind of young men we really want.” The captain smiled. “If they’re willing to work, we can make special arrangements. For example, if you’re missing an arm or a leg, you can be a seated ticket collector or something; if you’re blind, you can be assigned to a position that only requires talking; and if you’re deaf, you can at least be a cleaner… Of course, all of this is based on their willingness to work. If they’re not willing to move, then we’ll just leave them to fend for themselves.”

"Emmmmmm..." John became more and more incredulous as he listened. After all, who knew if this kind-looking captain was a wolf in sheep's clothing? "So I'm very curious, what is your purpose in doing this?"

“Child, has anyone told you about the composition of our Britannian Empire? Although we value bloodlines to a certain extent, with so many races in our country, we are very particular about survival of the fittest. People of different origins have the right to integrate with us, and these Germans are one of them. Although they may have a low status now, as long as they are willing to work, there will be immediate rewards for those who perform well. After a few months, they will be able to get the life they desire.”

"How?"

"They only need to work under our supervision for two to six months, depending on their performance during that period. The time may vary, but after such a long period, once it is confirmed that there are no abnormalities, they can be called 'official' residents of District 45, and become protected by certain laws. They can also freely choose their workplace. As for where they work each day, that depends on where they go. If they want to work five days a week, eight or nine hours a day, and then rest on the weekend, that's entirely possible."

"WTF?"

"Oh ho ho, don't be surprised, child. You must believe that our Britannian Empire has annexed North and South America and so many countries and peoples, yet there is still very little internal strife. It's because we allow newcomers to do so, and we can give them a better life. Reaching a consensus is such a good thing... Oh right, those bastards in Area 11 are an exception, because no matter how the law is, it can't protect a group of people who make the whole world uneasy. Just exclude them."

“Believe your ears, man.” Taylor chuckled. “These guys aren’t exactly like the Nazis, always trying to make a big splash. They’re trying to assimilate different ethnic groups… You don’t mind me saying that, Captain?”

"Whatever you want, as long as you can understand." Lancer wiped his stubble. "So do you understand what the Germans who are coming into this building are doing now? Some of them are very good. They have already proven themselves in their second month of work. Then they come here with their information collection forms and they can successfully advance. After that, they can freely choose where to work. Oh, right, and they also get a basic salary to ensure their living expenses."

"How about that, pretty real, right?" Garcia smiled as he looked at John's incredulous face. "It's a good thing you chose to come with us, otherwise you would have been stuck in a prisoner-of-war camp forever, toiling away day and night."

"Oh?"

“Unlike the civilians who were captured, it’s a different story for us soldiers when we’re captured: either we stay in the POW camp forever, working under the watchful eyes of guards and the ticking of clocks, working half a day, resting half a day, with no end in sight, just like those Russians who refuse to bow their heads. The only way out is to put on the uniform you’re wearing now and start as patrol officers, with subsidies, brother.”

"Alright, alright, these civilians should be almost done registering." Captain Lancer led everyone to the military vehicle by the roadside. "We brought lunch with us, let's eat together."

……

Several people took food from the car, and Taylor was struggling to decide which flavor of pasta to choose when she felt a fragrant figure approaching from behind, barely able to breathe.

"Oh?" Upon seeing that it was Genia, before her angry face could unleash her tirade, he quickly bent down, picked out one of her favorite sandwiches, and respectfully handed it to her with a sly grin.

"So," Garcia, John, Captain Lancer, and the two other soldiers who had driven there were already huddled together eating, "what are we doing this afternoon?"

“Exporting Germans,” Garcia answered John’s question. “They say a petrochemical plant in Thopo has taken a liking to these hardworking guys and is eager to have them fill the vacancies in droves.”

"Oh...wait, a petrochemical plant? There's oil here?"

"Here? Are you referring to this world or this Honshu Island?"

"I've heard people say that Britannia's KMF and tanks don't run on oil? Some even say that the propellant in their bullets smells like cherry blossoms."

"Kid, is the education level of everyone in District 45 this low?" Captain Lancer curled his lip, continuing his explanation. "Does not using fuel oil mean we don't have the oil to make it? It's just that our scientists haven't made any breakthroughs in energy issues compared to Sakura Stone in dealing with those sticky liquids. As for the cherry blossom scent in the gunpowder? Did you really believe that prank where a batch of bullets had their gunpowder replaced with foundation powder during that military operation?"

"Is that still gunpowder? What did you do with all that oil?"

"Look at my rice spoon, it's plastic, and that stuff is made of petroleum. Look at these car tires, synthetic rubber is also made of petroleum. And this asphalt used for paving roads, it's also made of petroleum residue... Enough of this, come here."

The captain put down his bowl and took a can of lubricating oil out of the car.

"Hey, Zhao He." The captain called out to an Asian soldier who was having dinner with him and asked him to bring over a ceramic bowl that was next to him.

"Look at this." The lid was opened, and the ceramic bowl was full of steamed egg custard, with a layer of refreshing golden liquid floating on top.

"Sesame oil is a favorite condiment of Chinese people across the ocean and in Japan, but its uses are not limited to this. For example, if your bicycle gears are worn out and you don't have any engine oil, you can use sesame oil as a temporary solution."

Seeing John's blank expression, the captain had no choice but to put the steamed egg custard back.

"Imagine, buddy, if we really didn't have oil, as you say, then what are we using to make all this lubricating oil for our machinery? If we weren't using engine oil or lubricating oil on our engines and transmissions, but instead of sesame oil, I think our vehicle depots would have been cockroach nests long ago. If you still don't understand after all this, or if you're just stubborn, you should probably get a hole in your forehead and pour out all that sesame oil that's ruined your brain. Thanks for your cooperation."

Chapter 211, Section 282: The Scars of the Umbrella Flower (Part 1)

After getting the Germans off the trucks to the factory, Lancer, Genia, and Garcia were busy guiding them into the factory area. Then, a factory representative would come and explain things to them.

“Hey bro.” Meanwhile, John pulled Taylor aside and started chatting, “When did you guys get to this new world?”

"When did you first hear about the incident in Berlin?"

"No way, the troops stationed in Berlin haven't even been withdrawn yet?"

"Is there any other possibility? I'm not flying a plane." Taylor paused. "So, what's the reason?"

"About twenty days ago, my buddies and I were flying our Mustang fighters to Potsdam as usual. We were planning to bomb the enemy that was gathering there, and then... I got hit in the back by one of our own reckless guys who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and the tail fin broke off immediately."

"This……"

"I couldn't hold on at all at that time. I kept cursing on the radio, 'Fuck you, you're attacking friendly forces.' Then I saw more and more KMFs in the sky. The situation was too bad. I thought about turning the plane 180 degrees and parachuting, but I couldn't flip over... Can you believe it? In the end, I was hit by a dummy to flip over."

"Are you... alright after falling?"

"My only good luck that day was that, first, the parachute was working, and second, I didn't fall into the river."

"I suddenly feel sorry for you... Hey, Garcia? What's wrong?"

Taylor's shout pulled Lancer and Genia over—for some reason, the paratrooper suddenly put one hand on the wall, covered his head with the other, and was desperately taking deep breaths, coughing several times in succession.

"My God, is this kid having another episode?" The captain exchanged a glance with Taylor, then knocked Garcia unconscious and drove him back to the concession.

……

“He’s been showing symptoms of morphine addiction, and he’s been fine for a long time after treatment… but he’s acting strangely today.” After settling Garcia in at a hospital, Lancer explained the situation to Taylor and John. “You two stay with him this afternoon. Jania and I will go back and report to him, and also let Davis and the others know.”

Now, two soldiers are sitting on a bench in the hospital corridor, chatting away, seemingly oblivious to the medical staff coming and going.

“Let’s talk outside,” John said, sounding quite concerned. “What, another poor soul?”

"Would you like to hear his story? Let me tell you."

……

It was September 20, 1944. There was a city in the Netherlands called Radboud that would be of great interest to later generations. It had a bridge that stretched 240 meters from its streets to the other side of the Waal River. This place became a point on the military map that was disappearing but was eventually saved.

The Waal River is the name of this river in the Netherlands, while in Germany and world geography it is known as the Rhine River. And this is the seventh stop of Operation Market Garden, and the penultimate stop of this desperate journey: the Nijmegen Bridge.

That afternoon, the U.S. 82nd Airborne Division finally met the slow-moving tanks of the British 30th Corps, covered in mud—but it was all too late. Not only to comfort the two or three hundred paratroopers who had died in action, but also, 13 kilometers to the north in Arnhem, the Red Berets could only look regretfully at the distant bridge as they breathed their last.

The sounds of artillery fire and radio calls from Nijmegen, not to mention the constant footsteps advancing, they heard nothing and saw nothing...

"Shit..." The paratroopers, wearing the insignia of the All-American Division on their arms, had nowhere to vent their anger. All they could do was sit quietly on the roadside by the bridge, looking at the ruins of the city, trying to let go of the layers of weariness in their hearts.

Picking up a German soldier's shattered helmet might be a small consolation, but Garcia was also quite lucky to find a stripped wire somewhere—unbelievably, it was used to connect the detonator in the city to the explosives placed on the bridge.

Is it really worth keeping as a souvenir? You just casually poked it in the ear a few times, and then you can only leave it on the ground in a boring way.

It was at this moment that he saw a girl sitting alone with her head down inside a broken wall by the roadside, her back to the road, with thick smoke rising from the ruins next to her.

Hardly anyone passes by here; Garcia was probably the first to spot her.

"Hey?" He approached and greeted her softly, but the girl still ignored him. Only then did he notice that she was holding a diary with a black and white photo tucked between the pages, showing traces of tears.

“Excuse me…” Garcia quietly sat down opposite the girl, took off his helmet, and pondered some potentially useful Dutch. “What are you doing? Are these your parents?”

"My brother and sister..."

"And your parents?"

"They were murdered by the Nazi fascists three years ago... My brother and sister also passed away just a few days ago..."

"Was it also done by the Nazis?"

At this moment, the girl suddenly looked up at him, her eyes filled with anger, and her tone changed from bitterness to resentment.

“Bombing. Allied planes flew over here, set our homes on fire, and then…”

Garcia was now in an awkward position; he didn't know how to answer her.

"Please tell me," the girl cried uncontrollably, beginning to accuse the paratroopers, "was this also part of your plan for victory?"

"I...I'm so sorry, ma'am..." Garcia stood up hurriedly, raising his hands. "I...I can only say that I completely understand how you feel. I also have friends who died in battle, and others who were sent home because of serious injuries...You might not believe it, but I've also struggled on the edge of death myself, and sometimes I've thought about deserting..."

The girl didn't seem to understand what he was saying. She tore a blank page from the last page of the diary and handed him a pen.

"Come, let me draw it for you. In July of 1943, I parachuted from a plane and was hit by our own anti-aircraft guns with white stars painted on them. A strong wind blew me into the mountains. I was wounded and encountered German soldiers. I was not killed, but I almost starved to death in the wilderness. My friends thought I was dead, but they insisted on finding me, even if it was just my body, to bring me home. After all this, we won the battle, but we did not go to find the people on those anti-aircraft guns."

"Do you want to know why? Because we believe these are just things we have to go through before we can live in peace. What we need to do is forget the bad things. Whether it's me, you, or my friends, we all need to move towards the future. A better life in the future is our goal, not to dwell too much on the unexpected deaths of our loved ones and brothers and sisters, and to lock ourselves in a dark little room forever."

Garcia launched into a long speech, but the girl merely nodded, seemingly understanding.

"I'm so sorry for your family." He stood up, bowed to the girl, and pointed to the crumbling building. "It's dangerous here. Can I take you away?"

When the girl reached the street, Garcia didn't know what to say. Just as he was about to leave, the girl called out to him.

"Excuse me, what's your name?" She flipped the notebook to the last entry she had written in her diary, leaving a blank space below, and handed the pen to the paratrooper. Then she opened the paratrooper's palm and wrote her name and address on it—probably her friend's house.

"Mira, hmm, that sounds beautiful."

……

The autumn wind swept across Western Europe, and the bleak sky gave people a gloomy world. The paratroopers silently warmed themselves by the fire in their camp at night. Only Garcia had a smile on his face as he looked at the bright moon in the sky, as if a ray of light shone into his heart.

He had never felt this way before. He was only 24 years old and used to living a solitary life. Today's encounter was somewhat unexpected.

The sky quickly answered him—when the sun rose the next day, warmth spread across the soil and grass, and flowed from Garcia's heart like water along the road from the military camp to the house, and soon naturally reached the mouths of every soldier with the same number.

As if God were watching over this introverted young man with budding romantic feelings, the 82nd Airborne Division experienced a long period of relative calm afterward, retreating to the rear in France for rest and reorganization. What surprised him even more was that Mira had secretly escaped from the Netherlands to France with the retreating Allied troops—and when Garcia walked out of the camp that day, her radiant smile, after so many days and nights of longing, was suddenly within reach.

This gave Garcia many opportunities to see her. Although France was not entirely peaceful, there were no longer occasional shells or Germans with murderous intent. Even later, when the winter snow in the Ardennes Forest was shaken off the branches by German tanks, he didn't encounter the most intense fighting. God was also looking out for Mira; thankfully, she escaped from the Netherlands and avoided the German supply blockade of the western Dutch provinces in 1944.

The "Hunger Winter in the Netherlands" claimed the lives of 18000 Dutch people, with many more suffering from severe malnutrition. This figure was based on the fact that British troops stationed in western Netherlands provided food for civilians.

By 1945, the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack were about to make their way across the Rhine from Germany. I can't recall which small town it was, but as Garcia and his company stepped into it, a flash of light blinded the soldiers.

"Ah!" He was standing next to a Sherman tank when a shell hit something hanging on the tank. When the smoke cleared, his men saw him rolling around on the ground, his body ablaze.

"Take him away!" Several soldiers dragged him behind a cover and used every means to extinguish the fire on his body. By then, the skin on Garcia's legs had been burned so badly that it stuck to his clothes and turned black.

"Medic!" The soldier collapsed to the ground, exhaling hysterical pain from his trauma as he looked up at the sky.