In the cabin behind him, more than a dozen soldiers clutching their weapons lay sprawled in all directions, fast asleep. Exhausted, they could only seize the precious moments of rest before the next operation to replenish their depleted strength.

All units had been dispatched to the defensive front lines, leaving the Army Aviation Regiment and the 64th Mobile Unit as the only available rescue forces.

Henry Clark, looking haggard, walked over from a distance. His face was covered in stubble, and his bloodshot eyes were filled with an unmistakable weariness.

“Here, this is for you.”

Brian Carter took the kraft paper envelope handed to him, and upon opening it, found a promotion order with his name on it, along with a complete set of second lieutenant insignia.

“Your performance has been excellent. This is a normal wartime promotion. But to be honest, if it weren’t for what happened to Jack, your promotion… I’m afraid you would have had to wait a while longer.” The colonel’s voice was tinged with melancholy.

Jack, full name Jack Harris, was an officer in the 64th Mobile Unit. Just yesterday, during a rescue operation, he was cut in half by two mutants attacking from both sides.

In the face of those terrifying mutant creatures, anyone could die.

Myself included…

Death is not frightening.

What’s truly regrettable is missing out on something beautiful because of it.

Staring at the promotion order in his hand for a long time, Brian Carter raised his hand, slowly removed the warrant officer insignia from his shoulder, pinned the brand-new second lieutenant badge to his button, stood up and walked to the side of the cabin. Using the reflection, he straightened his uniform, then vigorously rubbed off several dried bloodstains from his chest. Only then did he turn to the colonel beside him and, in a pleading tone, say, “There’s still some time before the next mission. Could I… have half an hour’s leave?”

“It’s nine o’clock now. You must return to the unit by eleven.”

Henry Clark glanced at his watch and nodded understandingly. “Go wash your face first. Sure, girls like rugged men, but you really are filthy…”

The field hospital was nearby, and Brian Carter just wanted to see Jason Grant one more time.

Perhaps, this would be the last.

Chapter 8: Farewell

Hundreds of dark green military tents were neatly arranged at the end of the corridor. Whether it was the pointed tops or the straight walls, all bore striking red cross symbols on a white background. Order and solemnity were the only themes here.

Now, the silent order had been completely disrupted.

There were people everywhere.

Due to a shortage of beds, many refugees could only sit quietly in the corners, holding up IV bottles as they received their drips. The glucose solution slowly flowing into their veins could revive their nearly exhausted bodies with new vitality. At every spacious intersection, there were temporary meal stations, and every pot of rice porridge unloaded from the military food trucks would spark a new scramble among the hungry crowd. Despite the staff’s repeated and earnest explanations that this was only a temporary nutritional supplement and that more food would be available in the rear, the survivors, their eyes red with hunger, simply wouldn’t listen. If a fully armed squad of guards hadn’t been urgently dispatched, forcing people to line up in pairs at gunpoint to restore order, everything here would likely have been trampled into a devastated ruin.

After careful verification by the guard soldiers, Brian Carter finally stepped across the hospital’s security line. He noticed that when his documents were returned, there was an instinctive respect in the soldier’s eyes. Especially when their gaze fell on his bloodstained, battle-worn protective suit, that young, responsible face showed an obvious reverence.

The attacks by mutants and the large-scale outbreak of the virus were no longer secrets. The rescued survivors all described, in their own ways, the horror and brutality of those inhuman monsters. To have fought and survived such brutal battles was, in itself, a testament to a soldier’s experience and strength.

This feeling became even more pronounced as he entered the hospital area. Wherever he went, Brian Carter could sense the gratitude and appreciation expressed in various ways by countless survivors.

The combat uniform of the 64th Mobile Unit was different from that of ordinary soldiers, and this had become the only way for survivors to identify their saviors.

Relying on his memory, Brian Carter quickly found the medical tent where Jason Grant was stationed. As he crouched and slipped through a row of white sheets and bandages hanging out to dry, just as he approached the entrance, he heard a heated argument coming from inside.

“Jiajia, if you don’t leave now, it’ll be too late. Come with me, quickly.”

“What right do you have to interfere with my freedom? I’m still an intern, and I will finish what I’m supposed to do.”

“Heh! What, are you really that worried about your so-called internship evaluation? That’s nothing but a useless piece of paper. If you want, you can choose any hospital in the country. Even the best—St. Paul’s Hospital in the US or the Margaret Rehabilitation Center in Switzerland—I can get you in. An internship certificate from the world’s most renowned doctors is far more valuable than anything from this lowest-level military medical facility.”

“This is my choice. It has nothing to do with you.”