WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 114

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April Vengeance (2)

There was no time to look around the air base. The cargo ship was due soon, and the troop garrison and refugee zone were south and east of the runway, while the coastline lay to the west. The place was far too large to cross quickly. Gyeoul traced the Intelligence-corrected augmented reality overlay with his eyes.

‘Did they say the refugees here were Russian and Chinese? I wanted to check the situation...’

Vandenberg Air Force Base was said to be sheltering around a hundred thousand people.

Until the cargo ship arrived, Gyeoul and Agent Gibson waited in the control facility beside the runway. Maybe because it was not a civilian airport, the control center looked broad and squat. Traces of NASA were everywhere. This was not a typical air force base.

Someone was already in the waiting room.

“Lieutenant Han Gyeoul?”

Gyeoul saluted, thinking, More and more people are pronouncing my name correctly now. The man was base commander Brigadier General Hayden Strickland. His gaunt face looked like a withered branch.

“Sit.”

The FBI agent and the boy officer thanked the general and took their seats. Hot tea had been prepared. The general drank black tea mixed with brandy.

Then he said nothing until his cup was empty. Even Gyeoul found the silence uncomfortable. The general made it worse with his quiet, his expressionless face, and his unblinking stare. The brigadier general’s face was an equation no one could solve.

The cups emptied at the pace of awkwardness. The brigadier general cleared his throat, then held out a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Signature.”

“...Pardon?”

“Please sign.”

Gyeoul tilted his head and checked what form it was. Blank paper. He flipped it over. Blank there too. Ah, is this that thing? Slightly confused, he signed in large letters.

The brigadier general added one more request.

“Under that, I would appreciate it if you wrote, To Beautiful Brandy Strickland...”

“Who is that?”

“My daughter.”

Gyeoul gave another small “Ah,” then wrote what he was asked to write. The brigadier general carefully rolled the paper so it would not crease and tucked it into his coat. The gesture did not match his statue-like face at all. He looked at Gyeoul in silence again, patted his shoulder twice, and said,

“Good work.”

Then one more salute. That was it. He turned and left. A small group of staff followed him out. The Air Force lieutenant serving as their guide stayed behind and said with a smile:

“Please do not take it to heart, both of you. The commander has always been a man of few words.”

“I think I can guess where he is from.”

Agent Gibson replied with a faint shake of her head.

Since someone was here already, there was no reason to waste the chance. Gyeoul asked about the current situation at the base. The friendly lieutenant answered briskly. Then he asked a few questions of his own, simple personal curiosity about Gyeoul. Of course, they did not have much time.

“Oh, we just got word.”

With a disappointed look, the lieutenant announced the cargo ship’s arrival.

A new typhoon was forming far out at sea, and the waves were too high to approach by boat. So they were taking a helicopter. By the time Gyeoul and Joanna Gibson came out, the pilot had already released the wheel brakes and was warming the engine. Rotor noise tore through the wind.

It was the same model they had used at Santa Maria. The fuselage was so small it almost looked cute.

The pilot greeted them with a smile, but the FBI agent was still pale. Fair enough. A medium transport plane had already been hard on her, so a small helicopter would be worse. At least they were not hanging off the outside this time. On that old flight to Santa Maria, viewers from the other world had screamed nonstop too.

‘One of them...’

A sigh slipped out of Gyeoul before he noticed. He still did not know whether telling her not to come again had been the right decision.

The moment they lifted off, the helicopter shook uneasily. Agent Gibson curled in on herself. Should he help? Gyeoul hesitated between her fear and her pride. She had looked humiliated even on the transport plane.

Right then, a gust hit. Gyeoul grabbed her arm.

“You looked like you were having a hard time.”

“...I am ashamed.”

As if trying to hide that embarrassment, she started talking about her past.

“I once survived a crash. Calling it an accident feels silly. We were attacked during a drug interdiction operation.”

Drug interdiction and an attack. Gyeoul asked:

“Were they a Mexican cartel?”

“Yes. I was a field supervisor then too. We were flying a search route near one of their strongholds when we took heavy machine-gun fire. The controls went wild, and my mind went blank. We escaped somehow... but as you can see, the aftereffects remain.”

A question came to mind. If so, would it not have been better to send another agent? Gyeoul considered three possibilities. First, Gibson was capable enough to make up for the issue. Second, nobody wanted to come west of the blockade line, so they had no choice. Third, the higher-ups simply were not thinking.

‘Can’t rule out the last one.’

U.S. intelligence agencies made more blunders than people expected. Gyeoul knew that from experience. Even if this was a reconstructed world setting based on past data, it was still built on fact, so it could not be too far from reality. He only hoped this operation would avoid a fatal mistake.

Not asking her directly was basic courtesy. He shifted the conversation naturally.

“I heard some cartels are still holding cities. Is that true?”

It had been in the news. Several drug cartels were reportedly occupying parts of cities and fending off mutant attacks. The Tijuana Cartel, the Gulf Cartel, Los Zetas, and so on. The U.S. was supplying them with food and ammunition while also warning them not to cross the border.

Since updates like that did not come often, Gyeoul’s knowledge was out of date. With an intelligence agent right beside him, it made sense to gather what he could.

“How much do you know about them, Lieutenant?”

“About as much as people who care enough to follow it.”

“That was a vague question.”

The agent gave a stiff smile, then talked to ease her own tension.

“They have been close to warlords for a long time. Money, firepower, organization, all of it. They recruit heavily from military and police backgrounds, and some were even ex-U.S. special forces. More than a few patriots sold out for cash.”

The agent sighed. She said they once raided a regional base and found anti-tank rockets and anti-air missiles. She had survived a horrific crash, but machine-gun fire might still have been the lucky outcome. A missile would have killed her instantly.

“Some single organizations field brigade-scale combatants. There are several groups like that, and each has controlled its own territory for years.”

“They really are warlords. I can see why they are holding out.”

“You also have to account for urban warfare conditions. Those cities are nightmare mazes. These men have spent years fighting our Bureau and Agency agents, plus Mexican military and police. They know the terrain, tactics, and defensive strategies inside out... If you ask me, brutality itself may have been what let them block infection routes.”

Meaning they probably killed anyone remotely suspicious. The agent’s face darkened. She looked like someone who knew the criminal ecosystem inside and out.

She looked mid-thirties at first glance. But she seemed to have lived through battlefields beyond her years.

“Even if they are human trash, they still help disperse mutant movement... so for now, we have no choice but to support them. Civilians are relying on them too.”

Her long explanation ended in a sigh. Her hatred for the cartels came through clearly.

The destination of their short flight came into view. A massive ship, probably over forty thousand tons. On the shifting sea, the cargo ship looked like the only still object. An escort frigate ran alongside it, but being smaller, it rose and fell with the waves. Unexpectedly, the frigate was flying the Philippine flag.

The cargo vessel was not a container ship, so the upper deck was clear. It was the kind mainly used for hauling minerals or grain, a bulk carrier. Landing would not be difficult.

Gyeoul read the name painted on the hull.

[CORONA TRIUMPH]

Thud. A light landing. The pilot did not shut down the engine. As soon as Gyeoul and the agent got off, he gave a flashy salute with ring finger and pinky folded, then lifted the nose and climbed away.

The captain, several crew members, and one officer in an unfamiliar uniform came out to greet them. All were Asian.

“Welcome aboard, both of you. Welcome to the Corona Triumph. The wind is cold, so let us go inside and talk first.”

The captain spoke English with a distinctive accent. Everyone present seemed to understand him. Was he from a country where English was an official language? Which countries were those again? India? The Philippines?

As they moved inside, signs in English and Japanese were posted side by side throughout the ship. But the escort frigate was Philippine Navy. It kept getting stranger. The FBI agent, though, stayed calm. So they had boarded the right ship.

One more thing stood out: holes in the bridge. Bullet marks and autocannon impacts. Noticing where Gyeoul was looking, the captain gave a gloomy smile.

“The sea has been very rough lately. The weather, the waves, and people too.”

There were not many places to talk on a ship like this, especially one that had been attacked. In a dining room where emergency patchwork covered the holes, the captain and officer introduced themselves.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Roy Kaysers, the captain responsible for this vessel. The CIA assigned me the transport mission for both of you.”

Then the officer spoke.

“Pleasure to meet you. I am Ensign Ryan de Leon, liaison officer from the Philippine Navy frigate Ramon Alcaraz.”

Gyeoul and the agent gave their names as well. The captain and crew did the same, and as a fellow officer, Ensign de Leon seemed especially glad to meet Gyeoul.

The captain explained their schedule.

“This vessel is currently heading north toward San Francisco at ten knots. If nothing happens, we should reach the fog off the Golden Gate around six tomorrow evening. Until then, please rest at ease. We have little to offer, but we will provide every convenience we can. If you wish, we can guide you to your cabins now.”

Captain Kaysers spoke as if arrival time was what mattered most. Fair enough. They had eyes to avoid.

Gyeoul declined.

“It is too early to sleep.”

Then the captain asked:

“In that case, could you spare us a little more time? Sailors like us are always starving for news in times like these...”

Gyeoul glanced at the agent, confirmed she had no objection, and nodded.

“Who isn’t? Good timing. I have a few things I want to ask too.”

If anything should not be said, the agent would cut it off herself, he thought.

============================ Author's Afterword ============================

#Q&A

Q. BlueCrystal-nim: @Author-nim, I think you tend to underestimate your own novel and your own ability. 1,500 copies will sell out in no time, haha. Have more confidence. Ah, and by any chance, do you have plans to publish a Joara version (uncut version)?

A. Under the contract, print publication rights belong to the publisher. It is hard for me to release one privately. Haha.

Q. EojinClown-nim: @Haha, the part where I said you admitted it, I meant the part where you explained what childlike innocence meant, the part you said you wrote to make us uncomfortable. It probably has a broad meaning, but I liked that I could understand a slightly more concrete meaning from that vague feeling of childlike innocence. I do not really care whether you intended political satire or not. I believe writing should be read as writing only, and reading your posts on time from Italy is really hard. Childlike innocence... it is a really good material haha.

A. I see. I misunderstood. I apologize. You are right. Childlike innocence is a very good material. It is the driving force that lets even someone like me write novels.

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