America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"I don't know if the rain will stop or not, but this lady is the head nurse of the army—if you don't let us examine the wounded, she will deduct your cigarette ration for this week."

Upon hearing this, the old man's gaze lingered on Sofia's face for two seconds. A deep-seated awe for female logistics personnel in the military quickly overcame his madness.

"Damn it... why are nurses dressed like Broadway dancers these days?"

He muttered something, but his body honestly moved to the side.

"Hurry up, physician."

The old man's voice suddenly became tearful, like that of a wronged child.

"Jamie isn't moving. No matter how I feed him my rations, he just won't open his mouth... He's only a little chilled, right?"

Chen Ming silently stepped forward.

The closer you get, the stronger the smell becomes.

He crouched down, put on gloves, opened Jamie's eyelids, and pressed his abdomen.

The cause of death was likely respiratory depression due to a fentanyl overdose, complicated by hypothermia...

Chen Ming sighed and turned to look at the old man.

"I'm sorry, sir, he has already been killed in action."

"Killed in action?"

The old man's withered body swayed, and the steel pipe in his hand fell to the ground with a clatter.

He didn't cry; he just stared blankly at the corpse.

"Killed... No, this can't be... I promised Mary I would take care of him..."

"He did not experience pain; he passed away in his sleep."

After saying that, Chen Ming made a shushing gesture, and then took a box of Marlboro cigarettes out of Sophia's pocket.

"Calm down, sir...would you like a puff?"

The old man shivered as he lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the nicotine seemed to bring him back to reality from the cold winter for a brief moment, and the madness in his eyes faded considerably.

"Report the situation."

Chen Ming slowed his speech, as if he were inquiring about the patient's condition, or conducting a battlefield inquiry.

"Why did you abandon your rear positions? You should be back home, or in a ward at a veterans' hospital."

"The hospital...the hospital has become an enemy fortress...we can't get in anymore."

The old man's tears streamed down his cheeks and into his beard.

He mumbled incoherently, his logic chaotic, but he still managed to piece together the truth.

"I need to fill out forms... so many forms... I don't understand any of them..."

"To pay for Jamie's medical treatment, we sold our farm in Iowa, but even then, those Nazi bastards in suits still said I couldn't afford to pay for the operating room setup..."

"I went to the Department of Veterans Affairs and waited in the lobby for three whole days!"

The old man coughed suddenly, and cigarette ash fell onto the medal.

"They said my file couldn't be found, that it might have been burned in the fire... I don't know what's wrong with the country. I wrote to President Roosevelt, but it seems he didn't receive it."

Chen Ming remained silent.

A shattered, standard version of the "American Dream".

Whenever a major event occurs, exorbitant bills can grind up the savings of the middle class like a meat grinder, followed by insurance companies passing the buck and never-ending calls to government agencies...

"Jamie was in a lot of pain, he kept yelling. We couldn't afford the regular army's drug rations, so we had to go to the street and find a black guy named Larry to buy some small white pills. They would stop the pain after taking them."

"Later, all the money was gone, and the car was towed away... We could only dig this foxhole."

"But I held the position, sir!"

The old man suddenly straightened his back.

"Last night those damned Nazis tried to steal Jamie's medicine and even tried to drag him away... but I punched them in the head with the tube, and I held them off!"

……

Stepping out of the tent, Sofia took a deep breath of the polluted air.

"This is too much for you, Chen."

"What do we do now? According to the rules, we only accept items... but are we just going to leave this old man here to die?"

"How about we pay him a little more?"

Sofia suggested in a low voice.

"A few hundred yuan would be enough for him to buy a bed in a public nursing home, at least he wouldn't have to sleep on dog food bags, and a caregiver would be there to clean him up..."

"It's pointless now, Sofia."

Chen Ming interrupted her, his tone cold.

"Look at the swelling in his lower limbs, that's a sign of severe heart failure, and the breathing sounds... his lungs are already leaking air."

"For a centenarian who has suffered from long-term malnutrition and severe psychological trauma, it is a miracle that he has survived to this day."

"He was living entirely on the belief of protecting his son, and now that he's gone, he probably won't last a week... or even tonight."

"He has the right to know; let him choose for himself."

Chen Ming lifted the curtain and entered again, no longer pretending to be an officer, but calmly standing in front of the old man.

The old man leaned against the discarded tire, his hand on his son's shoulder. The madness in his eyes had completely faded, leaving only decay.

"The exercise is over, sir."

"I'm sorry, we're not a medical team, we're here to collect bodies..."

The tent fell into dead silence.

After a long while, the old man gave a bitter smile.

"I know... Larry said... you're vultures."

At this moment, his logic became exceptionally clear.

"Vultures are fine too... at least it's better than being gnawed by rats."

The old man, panting, unbuttoned his jacket, revealing his withered chest.

"Young man... since this is what you do, could you please give me an estimate?"

"A hundred-year-old skeleton, a veteran of Normandy... what value does it have to these guys in white coats? Enough to get Jamie a new tombstone with his name on it?"

"It doesn't need to be too nice... as long as it's not in this stinking ditch."

"If they're worthless, here are some more..."

With a crashing sound, a string of medals that once represented honor was forcibly pulled off by the old man.

"I should have sold them a long time ago..."

"If we had turned these scrap metal pieces into money earlier, Jamie might have been able to sleep in a heated room, and he might have had the money to buy proper antibiotics instead of dying in this pit because of two painkillers."

Chen Ming looked at the medals and felt they were somewhat dazzling.

A Purple Star medal might be proof of this old man's life-or-death struggle on Omaha Beach, but it's only worth a dozen dollars on the market, less than a secondhand handgun...

"make a deal."

Chen Ming put the medal in his pocket.

He had no liking for most American soldiers, except for those who served from 1941 to 1945.

For whatever reason, and regardless of whether the countries they served had fallen into depravity, at least eighty years ago, they had tried to prevent the world from descending into hell.

"Although it won't be great, I guarantee you won't lose money on this deal."

"Okay... thank you..."

The old man tried to raise his hand in salute, but his arm fell limply halfway down and finally rested heavily on his son's body.

……

When Chen Ming stepped out of the tent, Sophia was pacing outside.

"What? What did that old man say?"

"He just passed away... We hope you can help us prepare a burial plot for him and his son, and this is the payment."

Chen Ming showed off the medal in his hand.

Upon hearing this, Sofia's mouth dropped open, and her gaze toward the tent became complicated.

"Well... this might be a relief for him too."

Just then, Larry, the "dentist" who had been watching the show from a distance, strolled over unsteadily.

He glanced into the tent, his face showing an expression that said he had expected this, and even a hint of schadenfreude.

"He's dead? Ha, I knew that old man wouldn't make it through today."

Larry rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"This is a great sheltered spot, with walls on both sides... I'll have someone clear this pile of junk out later, and we can rent it to the new Canadians tonight for two dollars a night."