George Bush’S Great America [EN]: Chapter 174

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“Ouch.”

As the old man rose from his bed, a sharp pain shot through his back, as if it were being torn apart. It wasn’t just a simple ache; he felt each vertebra being individually grabbed and pulled. The worst was his cervical spine, which felt like it was crumbling whether he was lying down or standing up.

“Aigo [Korean exclamation of pain or frustration].”

It felt like only yesterday he was fighting alongside the Iraqi Revolutionary Army, blowing the heads off those Golden Division or Golden Blowflies bastards. He never imagined those sons of bitches would shell the city. He barely survived thanks to a passage to the underground waterway in the building, but he fell while escaping to the surface, and he’d lived in constant anxiety ever since.

If it weren’t for the SR-25 [a type of semi-automatic sniper rifle] he’d been carrying, his back wouldn’t be so crushed. He wondered if he should have stuck with the Mosin-Nagant [a type of bolt-action rifle] he was used to, instead of the gun the kid provided. But then he wouldn’t have been able to get ammunition, so it was a losing battle. Besides, complaining now wouldn’t fix his shattered spine.

“So, why did you come?”

Even just sitting on the bed made the old man sweat. All he could offer the unexpected visitor was a seat on the bed, but that was the greatest courtesy he could manage.

Still, the fact that he could move this much when he forced himself suggested his spine wasn’t truly shattered. But he had no idea why it hurt so much, for so long. A hospital? He needed money to go to a hospital.

While the old man was stuck in bed, Iraq had been divided in half, and taxes and prices fluctuated wildly, creating chaos. But according to the newspaper, taxes and prices seemed to have stabilized somewhat now.

The reason he could tell if prices had really normalized was simple: this was a newspaper published in England, not in West Iraq, the current regime’s territory.

“This is different from what we expected.”

It was the kid who’d supplied him with guns. He’d succeeded in starting a revolutionary army, but he didn’t seem to have been appointed to a key position. Well, that was to be expected. Anyone with a brain could see he had the eyes of an ambitious man, not a revolutionary.

“So, you want this poor old man to go back to the battlefield again?”

It might seem like an irrelevant response, but it was essentially asking if he wanted to overthrow the current regime again. This man, ‘Hoshyar,’ was more than capable. Above all, he’d managed to prepare such a large amount of weapons without being caught by the Hussein regime, which was obsessed with preventing coups and monitored everything.

Of course, someone was backing him, supplying the weapons, but not getting caught was purely his own doing. Or maybe it was luck. Honestly, he wanted to believe it was luck. Because crashing a jeep into a tank to fake his death? As a result, Hoshyar was confined to a wheelchair for life and had prosthetic arms, legs, and even a prosthetic eye. He didn’t say it, but the old man had a knack for distinguishing prosthetic eyes from real ones, having seen so many during his Mujahideen [Islamic guerrilla fighters] days.

“No. Not at all. There will be a parliamentary election soon. I would appreciate it if you would officially support me then. The time to change things from the outside is over. Now it’s time to change them from within.”

A half-crippled member of parliament!

“Hehehe, what a load of crap.”

The statement was so funny that he accidentally coughed, sending a jolt of pain through his body. That was the final straw. The old man couldn’t take it anymore and lay back down. Tears welled up in his eyes, but only he knew if it was from the pain in his spine or the sheer absurdity of the situation. But if Hoshyar had to guess, he’d probably say it was the latter. He couldn’t imagine the old man crying from pain.

The old man, lying down and catching his breath, seemed to calm down a bit and finally spoke.

“Okay, let’s say I support you. Do you think that will change anything?”

“Perhaps because they are conscious of EU pressure and the foreign press, this election, unlike the dirty ones in the past, is transparent. Aren’t you a national hero who has always fought for freedom? If such a hero supports me…”

“Kid, there’s something called recognition in this world. Do you think my support will make a difference?”

He was a veteran warrior known to everyone from the Mujahideen days, but he was just an unknown old man to the public. He’d hoped something would come of surviving that shelling, but he was honestly disappointed. At this rate, Hoshyar was just an idealistic kid. Like in business, the political arena was a place where idealism alone wouldn’t get you far.

If you asked how an old man who used to shoot guns could talk about politics, he’d just say it was because of his age. Those who ignored the wisdom of old people were all dead. But if you still wanted a detailed explanation, he’d just say he naturally had connections he’d made over the years.

However, that was under the previous regime, and he didn’t have many connections in the current one, except for the kid sucking up to him. Even that wasn’t certain.

“If you support me, no matter what the outcome, I will make you walk again. Isn’t that enough?”

At this point, it wasn’t a bad deal for the old man. He was going to die lying in bed anyway. But that wasn’t an answer to his question.

“I don’t think you heard what I said properly?”

“I’ll create the recognition. It’s illegal for a celebrity to support me, but if I was supported before I became a celebrity, wouldn’t that be a little different?”

“Hmm.”

After hearing that, he realized Hoshyar had a trick up his sleeve that he hadn’t considered.

“Do as you please.”

“I’ll schedule an examination and surgery date after the declaration of support. If the surgery is too difficult, I can at least help you spend a comfortable retirement.”

With that, the conversation ended, and Hoshyar’s secretary began pushing his wheelchair.

“Ah, right.”

“I enjoyed the herbal tea.”

“Hmph, don’t go far.”

Hoshyar used a car modified for disabled people. It was just modified to allow a wheelchair to enter, but that alone cost a lot of money. But what he valued most wasn’t the minor functions, but the isolation from the outside, from simple soundproofing to blocking radio waves. Hoshyar had many enemies.

“Chairman, wouldn’t it be okay if it was someone other than that grumpy old man?”

Hoshyar’s loyal secretary complained. Loyalty was good, but his self-assertion was a flaw. A secretary should understand the wishes of the person they serve, not assert themselves.

“I owe that old man a bit.”

When he was recruiting former Mujahideen for the Revolutionary Army, the old man was the first to accept. So he brought him the best gun, but who knew it would shatter his back?

He was suspicious when the old man said the scope was just a hindrance, but the suspicion disappeared when he heard he’d hunted down seven executives. He probably killed over one hundred and forty people from the beginning to the end of the war.

He had a strong sniper tendency, but just because he was a sniper didn’t mean he could only snipe. The Golden Division, which was trying to catch him, had to face all sorts of improvised explosives. In particular, the most noticeable achievement was taking out three tanks with an improvised bomb using the principle of shaped charge, which prevented the Golden Division from advancing further towards the protesters.

If the war had lasted a little longer, or if he hadn’t hurt his back that day, he would have achieved more. If he promoted these achievements, making him a celebrity would be a piece of cake. Besides, wouldn’t those who participated in the protests feel a great debt to him?

In addition, the title of war hero is much more popular than mediocre entertainers immediately after independence. This time, Hoshyar would use him as a stepping stone, but next time, he might see him in the National Assembly. He hoped he would become a collaborator then, because it seemed like the old man would shoot and kill corrupt politicians he didn’t like.

If he hadn’t hurt his back, he would have definitely seen him in prison if he had seen the taxes skyrocketing. Or everyone who tried to catch him would have died.

“If I owe him, I should pay him back.”

He lit a cigarette. The nicotine made him feel like his brain was waking up.

“Even if it was in the past, being disabled is a considerable advantage and benefit in West Iraq, where the EU’s influence is reaching.”

With the new regime, the existing policies for the disabled, which were not very practical, disappeared, and Western-style disability policies were imported from Europe. The European style is definitely a bit too considerate, but if you have the power and wisdom to utilize it, even a half-crippled disabled person like this can go far.

As time goes by, there will be people who realize that it is too much, but not yet. Besides, there were so many disabled people in the youth due to the revolutionary war. In other words, it is Hoshyar’s concrete support base. They needed someone to represent the disabled as a real disabled person.

“Besides, that old man is the only disabled person.”

The rest were either dead or had all their limbs intact. The only person who met the conditions was that old man. Besides, as mentioned above, he had a debt to repay.

“If the chairman says so, I understand.”

A declaration of support from the veterans’ association was planned during the campaign period. After that, he would use the company’s capabilities to put that old man in the ranks of celebrities. After that, it would be enough to just leak information subtly. The media, which gets horny just by smelling gossip, will bite and tear it apart on its own. That’s enough.

“Two war heroes from the disabled revolutionary war, this election is won. Isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Candidate Amer won’t even reach his feet.”

‘Ah, Amer. Once a comrade.’

I miss the time when six colleagues gathered in a small closed building to discuss the future of the country. But four of them are dead, and only you and I are left.

‘Let’s compete this time to see who was right.’