WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 205: Survivors (8)

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They used firewood to boil drinking water and cook only on the first day. They had thought the gas was gone, but in fact, the valves had simply been shut. Since the temporary base had originally been a lodging facility, there were twenty gas tanks in the outdoor storage room. Plenty remained inside them too. There were also several smaller cylinders, probably items once rented out with campers. Captain Langford was pleased. Burning wood sent up smoke, and smoke could attract variants.

The reason the valves had been shut was easy enough to guess. This was a village with more lodgings than ordinary homes. Ever since the plague began in Asia, tourism would have fallen off a cliff, so it would not have been strange if the place had closed before the West Coast infection. The quarantine operation troops that had briefly occupied this place probably had no time to worry about something like that.

Gas pipes did not reach an unincorporated community in a remote mountain area. They were also able to secure many gas tanks from nearby houses and other inns. There was so much gas left over that, starting on the second day of their stay, the boiler was put into operation. Electricity was abundant too, thanks to all the solar panels they had gathered, more than they could even install, so the water pump that drew up groundwater worked normally as well.

Of course, the soldiers cheered when they could take unlimited hot showers.

Everything was more plentiful than they had first expected. Enough that everyone was reluctant to leave.

Preparations for departure also went smoothly.

Ensign Barker smashed the TV in the lounge. It was an old projection TV, and what Barker needed was a single Fresnel lens film inside it. A thin, flat magnifying glass with a diagonal length of 61 inches. Barker fitted it into a frame made at the carpentry shop and built a solar cooking device.

It was a useful item. If he had not been busy hunting, Gyeoul would have made one himself. Its usefulness would vary with the weather, but the fact that they could cook without fuel was appealing. Barker, however, seemed to enjoy the process of making it more than the need for it.

“I’ve wanted to make one ever since I saw it on the internet. Looks like I finally got the chance.”

This was a world where survival know-how was the greatest interest. Information was actively shared online, and military survival manuals had also been expanded with a great deal of content premised on survival in infected regions. If a piece of information was well regarded by civilians, it would soon find its way into military manuals or newsletters. The Fresnel concentrator was one of them.

In the end, Ensign Barker ruined a frying pan.

Evening came after the Bayonet throwing ended. It was 6 p.m., but the sky was still bright. The Ensign demonstrated the cooker in front of Gyeoul. When Barker placed the frying pan exactly at the focal distance, it shone so brightly that it was hard to look straight at it. The meat on it turned to charcoal, and the red-hot pan lost its coating and warped.

Even then, Barker laughed happily.

“Whoa, that is some firepower! Isn’t this great? I hope this helps with the Captain’s bald spot.”

Ensign Escamilla sighed at Barker’s nonsense. Then Escamilla looked around, cautious in case the person in question was nearby. Among the soldiers enjoying a relaxed meal, some with the occasional glass of whiskey on the rocks, the temporary Company commander was nowhere to be seen.

It was true that the crown of Captain Langford’s head looked sparse. It seemed to have been that way for quite some time, but the extreme stress of the past few days probably had not helped.

‘Moving eighty people takes more than food.’

When Gyeoul brought back horses, the Captain had been delighted. But when the Captain learned they would be difficult to use as transport, the disappointment was obvious. On the morning of the second day of their stay, during the commanders’ meeting, the Captain unconsciously touched the sparse patch on his head and asked again, as if checking.

“The load per horse is only one hundred kilograms?”

“Considering the travel distance, duration, and road conditions, it’s better to carry only the rider. Even if you load more, it shouldn’t exceed the weight of a full pack. It would be different if we had a wagon, though.”

From experience, the weight that could be placed on a horse’s back was about twenty percent of its body weight. More than that strained the animal, and if it exceeded thirty percent, the horse would not endure a long journey. It could collapse from exhaustion or die.

The benefit of high-speed scouting to protect the marching column was greater than the benefit of using the horses for transport.

So Gyeoul searched the one Catholic church in the village. He hoped there might be a hearse. But since the village likely had fewer residents than the Company had people, it had nothing that grand.

Among the officers, no one knew as much about horses as Gyeoul. The Captain seemed to have vaguely assumed that it would be fine to load several hundred kilograms onto one horse.

“I thought we could use four for scouting and one for transport... A wagon, a wagon... Ensign Escamilla. Could one be made at the carpentry shop?”

“Uh, we wouldn’t even know how, and we don’t have the tools needed for precision work on that level.”

To begin with, it was only a place that supplied firewood to lodgings and a campground. More importantly, making wheels required iron. Even if they somehow cobbled together an imitation, it would not last long.

“You’re right. That was a stupid question.”

As the Captain said that, he once again rubbed the hairless spot.

Fortunately, on the fourth day, meaning that morning, the problem was solved. While Gyeoul was out on the final hunt, Ensign Malcolm Krueger secured a vehicle.

The truck was found at the national park management office 600 meters west of the base. The campground was empty, and so was the parking lot, but perhaps because this truck was official property, it had been left behind the office. It had a tow rig attached, but they said it was easily detached.

They found the key in the office, but the engine would not start. Ensign Krueger and the soldiers pulled it back by hand. After they revived the battery with solar charging, the engine started, though not very well.

The fuel was in decent condition too. They inserted a rubber tube all the way to the bottom of the tank and drew out a small amount to examine it, and there was no debris or discoloration. Was it because diesel was more stable than gasoline?

Even then, Captain Langford smiled with satisfaction while scratching the place where the hair had thinned away.

It seemed to bother him a lot. Since he did not seem aware of the habit, Gyeoul thought about it for a while.

‘Should I tell him?’

In the end, he did not. The soldiers and officers were all pretending not to notice every time they saw it, out of consideration. If this created a sense of closeness in its own way, was that not a good thing? The Captain would be embarrassed later, but building human warmth among people from different units, even over something small, took priority.

Gyeoul decided to think of it as a sacrifice required of a commander.

Or maybe the Captain knew and was doing it anyway.

In any case, once they had a vehicle, the burden grew much lighter. A pickup truck was also better at towing than at carrying cargo, but it could still carry far more weight than a horse.

If they had not found the truck, each soldier would have had to shoulder quite a lot of baggage.

The Captain set the daily travel distance at thirty kilometers, assuming there were no engagements and they did not have to cross mountains. But walking that distance while carrying something close to full combat gear was no ordinary task.

In that sense, the heat collector Ensign Barker made was something the Captain would be happy about.

“All right, this time it’s going to work properly!”

Barker poured oil into a new pan. Thanks to the adjusted height of the stand, the same disaster as before did not repeat itself.

Chaaaaa-

The meat placed on top sizzled loudly. It was salted meat that had been scored with a knife, washed well to remove the salt, and wiped dry. Since it had not been aged long, the meat still had good texture. This was their first time tasting the finished batch. Until now, they had been fine eating fresh meat.

Someone said Gyeoul, who had contributed the most, should taste it first, and that was why he was here now.

The Coast Guard Ensign bragged about being good at cooking too. Whether that was true or not, every movement was certainly bold. The watching soldiers sent familiar jeers Barker’s way.

Pepper scattered over it with a faint rasp. A little vinegar was added on top. Barker put in dried mushrooms, asparagus, and mustard seeds, then shook the pan as it crackled. Because of the nature of the cooking device, it was hard to judge how cooked the meat was amid the shimmering oil, which shone like the late afternoon sun. That was why the Ensign’s confidence gradually dwindled. Later, Barker kept taking it out and stabbing it with a knife.

“It’s done.”

A steaming chunk of meat was set on a white plate. When Barker gently spread the oil mixed with meat juices over it like a sauce, it looked fairly convincing, like steak. The plate was soon placed on the outdoor table where Gyeoul sat.

Everyone’s attention gathered. The officers and soldiers were waiting their turn. This was something that might become their staple food going forward. Of course, they would not be able to eat it like this every time.

Gyeoul picked up the knife. The feeling of it slicing was not bad. He put a piece the size of a finger joint into his mouth. After the oil mixed with various aromas and meat juices went down, a taste that was quite salty even by American food standards came through. The meat was firmer than ordinary butchered meat. It was a little different from toughness. It was closer to resistance than elasticity. To put it nicely, it had a satisfying chew. To put it badly, it did not quite feel like meat.

Still, for salted meat, it was decent.

“It’s more or less edible.”

After hearing Gyeoul’s evaluation, Ensign Escamilla tasted it. The more Escamilla chewed, the more ambiguous the expression became.

“It’s not great.”

Then Ensign Krueger gave his verdict.

“It tastes bad.”

The most striking comment from the soldiers was this.

“A McDonald’s hamburger patty that sat around for a day as takeout would taste better. If I served this to my father, I’d be missing an arm or a leg by now. Well, I guess it’s better than eating vegetable omelet three meals a day, but that stuff wasn’t food to begin with. It was a weapon.”

The vegetable omelet here meant an MRE. It was the exact menu everyone had avoided during close combat training at Fort Roberts. For some people, it tasted so bad they retched as soon as they put it in their mouth.

After that, there was not a single good reaction. Gyeoul alone, whose tastes were rough because of his eating habits while alive, had given a somewhat positive review. Ensign Barker, the cook, felt wronged. Barker chewed a leftover chunk whole after everyone had cut off little pieces, spitting as they protested.

“You people are spoiled! Honestly, we’ve been eating way too luxuriously until now! It’s not that this tastes bad! Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”

Until now, they had roasted freshly butchered meat every day. It had been extremely fresh, because the more they hunted, the more troublesome transport after the hunt became, so they drove the prey toward the base and killed them near the water. Those who saw the cut chunks of meat repeatedly expand and contract as if they were still alive widened their eyes, regardless of rank or unit.

Meat like that had excellent texture. Even grilled with only pepper and salt, it was enough to make anyone marvel.

When the subject turned back to him, Gyeoul gave an awkward smile.

“Don’t feel too wronged. I supervised the salting, after all.”

It meant half the responsibility for the bad taste belonged to Gyeoul himself. The cook spread both hands while looking up at the sky.

“Come to think of it, regardless of the taste, this must be an incredibly expensive meal.”

Ensign Escamilla spoke as if comforting Barker. Gyeoul tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Lieutenant Han Gyeoul made it personally, didn’t he? If it went on the market, there’d be a premium. Wouldn’t it sell even at a thousand dollars per serving? Taste wouldn’t matter.”

“...”

While Gyeoul had nothing to say, Ensign Barker was already calculating the amount. A thousand dollars per serving. How rich would they become if they sold all the stockpiled meat? Barker’s fingers twitched as the Ensign calculated sales in the millions of dollars, then made a proposal to Gyeoul.

“After you’re discharged later, would you consider starting a business with me?”

“...”

If they said the proceeds would go to a support fund for the quarantine war, it honestly seemed like it would sell.

After two more nights, they would leave the temporary base. But the preparations for departure, aside from the drying work, were nearly complete, so everyone except those on guard duty remained on break even after the meal.

The soldiers had worked hard over the past few days, thoroughly fortifying the base. They had not only reinforced the base building, but also driven whole logs into the ground to build a fence, and today they had even completed an actual watchtower. That was thanks to the heavy equipment at the carpentry shop and the national park management office.

But was it worth putting this much effort into a place they would soon leave?

It was.

Not simply because this place was their regrouping point.

“I still can’t give up hope that there may be other survivors.”

That was what Captain Langford said at the meeting when they decided to fortify the place.

“There were four bases on the two shores of the Golden Gate alone. It’s possible that remnants of the 10th Mountain Division who failed to withdraw from Angel Island got out of the bay on their own. If, by any chance, they were chased by a mutant horde and entered Mount Tamalpais, whichever direction they leave from, the road leads to this village. We have to prepare for exactly that sort of case. We have enough room to do it.”

The Captain said they would leave behind a map with the Company’s expected route drawn on it, so survivors who arrived late could follow with hope.

And if the Company’s soldiers could spend the night even a little more at ease, then even a single day of that would be worth it.

The sun went down.

As the slanting sunlight became sunset, and the sunset faded again into dusk, the results of the day’s matches made it Gyeoul, Anne, and the CIA agents’ turn to drink whiskey.

The agents were playing pool in the break room attached to the lounge. In truth, Gyeoul wanted to decline, but he had heard that Kowalski had been very depressed over the past few days. The source was Tucker and Kelly.

Of course, she would be lonely. Even her colleagues were quietly keeping their distance.

Anne said it would be better to spend time with her naturally, without mentioning that incident. They needed to show that this side was not bothered and could treat her comfortably. Then she gave a bitter smile. She said she was not sure herself whether this was simple pity or an attempt to protect a witness in a plea bargain.

“Lieutenant, I get to taste good liquor thanks to you.”

Talbot handed Gyeoul one of the glasses that had been filled. The ice in the liquor caught the soft light and glittered like deep amber crystal.

“I don’t really like strong liquor.”

Just as Gyeoul said, it had a very high alcohol content. A dense scent rose from it like perfume. It was the top line of the Wild Turkey brand. Among the prizes wagered in the games, it was the best.

But the other teams ranked ahead of them had not touched it. As if its owner had already been decided.

When Gyeoul was choosing, if his hand went toward another bottle, boos rose up.

“Everyone is grateful. Taking this chance, we’d also like to formally thank you. If not for you, we all would have died there. You’re our lifesaver.”

It was Agent Tucker who said that.

For people saying that, the soldiers’ attitudes had changed a lot since his face returned. Enough that the difference in his command over them could be felt clearly.

Joanna lifted her glass.

“All right, cheers.”

Clink. The five glasses gathered together and rang clear as they met.

============================ Author’s Note ============================

#Stamina

The author’s stamina is as sturdy as Spelunker’s. Dear readers, please rest assured and read the novel.

#Typos

I am always grateful to those who point out typos.

#Pink Salt Cure 1, Cure 2

In the previous chapter, Haengcheon left a detailed comment. That is correct. If you simply say pink salt, there is room for confusion with Himalayan rock salt.

#Horse Load Weight

The weight that can safely be placed on a horse’s saddle is no more than 20% of the horse’s own body weight. At 25%, its breathing becomes much rougher, and from 30% onward, it experiences high stress.

When pulling a wagon, there are variables such as wheel diameter, road conditions, and slope, but according to Work Horse Handbook (L. Miller), when the wagon wheels are large, a total weight of half the horse’s weight is good, and when the wheels are small, one-third is good.

In other words, even if there is a wagon, the load weight does not increase by a large margin.

A twenty-mule team, a twenty-animal wagon (...), is said to have transported a 3.5-ton wagon and 9 tons of ore at once, which comes to about 600 kilograms per horse. It is presumed they used heavy draft horses weighing over 1 ton.

Footnotes:

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