Chapter 14 - Chapter 14: Military Camp

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Before lunch, John arrived early at the hotel to invite George for a meal. George agreed—but he insisted on paying.

After lunch, they took the bank's car and arrived early at the branch. Before signing agreements with the other parties, George needed to authorize the bank to act on his behalf, allowing it to arrange for legal representation and manage the transfer process. Of course, these services came at a cost, but it was part of George's plan.

He believed it was worthwhile to exchange a bit of money for time. If he had to personally seek out lawyers and winemakers, he'd have been overwhelmed.

Under the witness of several lawyers, representatives from all four parties signed the agreement. George issued a check on the spot, covering everything except John's commission. He left it to the bank to divide the payment appropriately.

Once the others had left the meeting room, John returned with George's proxy lawyer. "Mr. Orwell," John said, "we'll complete all the transfer procedures within three days. But before that, you'll need to name the new winery."

George laughed. "Let's call it PL Winery. Thank you both for your hard work."

He pulled two envelopes from his suit. He handed the thicker one to John and the thinner one to the young lawyer. Americans weren't shy—they opened the envelopes on the spot. John's contained the $1,500 he'd been promised, and the lawyer's held a $100 bonus.

Both men were satisfied. "Thank you, Mr. Orwell," they said with slight bows.

"Alright, John. There's still work to be done. Tomorrow afternoon, please arrange for me to meet all the winemakers and workers from the two former estates."

He also asked John to tally how much wine the town's wineries currently had in stock and estimate the cost to acquire them all.

John immediately understood the implications. Working for George truly brought rewards—he'd made the equivalent of 300 days' pay in just four days. He redoubled his efforts.

Meanwhile, in Washington, George's Shadow Clone had received orders to rent an empty warehouse in Corleone's territory.

Back at the hotel, Pang Bo and Ryan were chatting over coffee in the lobby. George spotted them and approached.

"Hi, Uncle Aisen. Free today?"

"Oh, George. I'm off today and thought I'd take you somewhere interesting."

George grinned. "I'm only sixteen and still growing. You and Uncle Ryan should go to those places yourselves. Isn't it a little early for that kind of fun?"

He burst out laughing. Pang Bo's face turned red, clearly realizing George had overheard his earlier conversation.

George's body had improved significantly—he could clearly hear conversations within a twenty-meter radius in a quiet setting.

Ryan stepped in, chuckling. "He's taking us to a Self-Defense Force training ground."

"Ah, that sounds like a real man's outing," George said.

Forty minutes later, the three arrived at a military camp. After checking in at the gate, they switched to a military jeep and began touring the grounds.

The base was simple but lively, with driving, shooting, and physical training underway. George was curious about the tanks, which had a somewhat punk-like appearance.

Pang Bo arranged for George to experience the interior of a tank. It felt cramped—like being inside a sealed can—so he exited quickly.

Next, they visited the shooting range, where a squad of soldiers was in training. The squad leader, a tall, solidly built man with a prominent nose, spotted Pang Bo and waved in greeting.

He approached and greeted Ryan. "Hi, Ryan. Long time no see!"

"Yes, it's been a while, Chester Phillips."

Ryan introduced George. "George, this is Chester Phillips. He was your father's comrade, though from a different regiment."

Pang Bo added, "He's now a major."

George shook hands with him. "Hello, Major Phillips."

"Welcome, George Orwell."

George's heart skipped a beat. He knew someone by that name in his past life—and the resemblance was striking.

Still pondering, he followed the group to the recruit shooting range. Rows of tables stood with partitions and bullet boxes, each manned by a soldier. George recognized the rifles—they were M1903 Springfield sniper rifles.

Despite its name, the Springfield rifle was an American weapon, not Japanese. It was one of the most misunderstood guns among Chinese military enthusiasts, but unquestionably American-made.

Approved in 1903, the Springfield M1 served for over a century, seeing use in both World Wars.

The sounds of gunfire and the scent of gunpowder stirred something in George. The men beside him noticed.

Phillips offered, "Want to try?"

"Sure, but I've never used a rifle. I'll need help."

"No problem."

Phillips led George to a station, introduced the weapon specifications, and then fired a perfect bullseye.

He handed the rifle to George and corrected his posture. George's first shot missed entirely, but that was expected. It was his first time firing a real gun.

Laughing, George tried again. The second shot grazed the target. After five more rounds, he reloaded and continued. To their amazement, his last two shots scored seven rings.

His rapid improvement stunned Pang Bo and the Major. Ryan, familiar with George's capabilities, wasn't surprised.

"Have you never fired a gun?" Phillips asked.

"Nope, this is my first time," George said with a smile.

In truth, he held back. He could've hit the bullseye, but it would've seemed suspicious.

"You're a natural marksman. What a waste, you're not in the army," said Phillips.

He handed George a pistol and explained its basics. George fired several shots, deliberately scoring around seven rings.

After emptying the magazine, George handed the pistol back. With so many people around, he didn't feel like shooting more.

They continued their tour. Whenever something caught George's interest, he asked the others to arrange a demonstration.

What fascinated him most was the aircraft.

From reconnaissance in World War I to full-scale aerial combat, aircraft had evolved rapidly. George watched the maintenance process and questioned pilots about flight basics.

Flying wasn't overly complicated at the time—no wall of buttons to memorize. Within half an hour, George had grasped the theory.

He believed in learning as many skills as possible. If an opportunity arose, he seized it.

They spent the afternoon touring the camp. That evening, they dined together. George spoke little, focused more on the food—his main body would be returning soon.

— End of Chapter 8 —

📝 Translator's Note

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