WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 209: Survivors (12)

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The rescued personnel tossed and turned all night.

“Please give me ammunition. Ammunition. I can’t sleep without ammunition. Please...”

That was what everyone who woke in the middle of the night and went looking for the duty officer wanted. Two came during Gyeoul’s turn as well. Their bloodshot eyes and ragged breathing were pitiful. But Captain Langford’s policy was absolute refusal. He was worried about accidents.

“The best sniper of the Iraq War died in that kind of accident too. It was after he left the service, though.”

The Captain said it while speaking with Gyeoul alone that morning.

“You mean Chief Petty Officer Chris Kyle.”

Gyeoul had heard of that famous case several times. The killer was Eddie Ray Routh, a former Marine. He was also an Iraq War veteran. Routh had never gone outside the wire, out into a dangerous combat zone, but even so, he had been diagnosed with severe post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD.

Then there was no need to even mention the people rescued last night.

The Captain nodded and combed his hair back with his fingers.

“It’s also true that we’re short on ammunition. Giving it to them might even backfire.”

A notebook lay open on the table, with dates and numbers written across several lines. It was the Company’s ammunition inventory. Rifle rounds had dropped from 4,847 yesterday to 4,703 today. They had used 144 rounds last night. By the numbers, it still looked like plenty, but now they could not even fill two magazines per person. In practice, each soldier had forty-nine rounds.

That meant they had set aside about 800 rounds during redistribution. The Company needed a reserve.

‘This isn’t something that ends just because we divide everything evenly.’

There were rarely situations where every soldier fought at the same time. For example, once a defensive line was established, if the enemy concentrated on one direction, ammunition had to be shifted there immediately. Forty-nine remaining rounds were the amount a panicked soldier could burn through in under ten seconds, including the time it took to change magazines.

That was why commanders always had to keep reserves, whether of troops or ammunition.

“I collected two extra rounds from everyone to fill the ammunition depot. They all looked like they were about to die.”

Gyeoul gave a bitter smile at Captain Langford’s joke. The ammunition depot he meant was actually the two hiking bags hanging on the control room wall. They were filled by collecting ammunition from the Company members whenever a battle broke out. A portable ammunition depot. Wasn’t that impressive?

“First, let’s go over yesterday’s battle. The number of mutants killed is far higher than the number of bullets we used. If every battle goes like this, we can fight thirty more.”

Another cynical joke.

He played the battle record from last night on the computer. The footage came from the mobile unit members’ helmet cameras. Gyeoul’s share was there too, handed over by another soldier for reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering purposes.

The old computer, originally used only for lodging records, struggled to play high-definition video. The small monitor still carried ghost images from burn-in. But it was not bad enough to seriously interfere with analysis.

The Captain wanted to understand Gyeoul’s breakthrough power precisely.

“This kind of combat isn’t in any existing field manual. We need to know how much the enemy’s density has to drop before you can break through. Only then can we provide proper fire support.”

Gyeoul agreed. Compared to cutting them down from the outside, as if shaving them away, a penetrating charge was far more efficient at killing. It was also good for finding and killing the smart ones lurking in the rear. In the battle at dawn, killing the ghoul quickly had thrown the swarm’s movements into even greater disorder.

In truth, it was a dangerous method. Gyeoul always had to run in front of the soldiers’ line of fire.

They exchanged opinions for about half an hour. The fact that avoiding combat was best remained unchanged. They had the ability to do that too. At least on open plains, it was possible to see first and avoid first. A mobile unit that discovered a mutant horde first could also lure it off in the wrong direction. Once the members gained more experience, Gyeoul planned to teach them how to lie down and get back up while on horseback. If they paid attention to wind direction, they should be able to avoid detection in places like reed fields even if a mutant horde passed nearby.

The problem was when they had to fight unavoidable battles for rescue.

“Even with all this talk, honestly, we’re not in a position to save other units.”

Langford let out a long sigh. It did not seem as if his hair loss would improve.

“That doesn’t mean we can ignore them and pass by. The Company members won’t be able to bear the guilt. There are already a lot of cases where they’re still awkward with each other because they came from different units... If their guilty consciences get any worse, I’m worried the unit may fall apart entirely.”

That was Gyeoul’s point. Guilt also caused combat fatigue.

‘They might leave by squad or platoon.’

Could that really be called desertion? Refusing an unjust order was both a soldier’s duty and a soldier’s right. On top of that, Captain Langford was not even their direct superior. Their faith in Gyeoul would be hard to maintain as well. The U.S. military must not abandon comrades. This was the time to remember how much the enlisted men had looked down on Captain Markert after Paso Robles.

Knock knock.

Someone knocked on the door. The person who entered was Ensign Escamilla.

“Captain. The funeral preparations are complete.”

It meant they had built coffins for the dead and dug the graves. Her platoon had been sweating at the carpentry shop since early morning. Gyeoul was concerned about the psychological state of the soldiers assigned to the work. Ensign Escamilla was surely managing them properly, though. Langford nodded.

“...Good work. I’ll go right away. Tell everyone except the security detail that anyone who wishes to attend should come to the church fully armed by 0800.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ensign Escamilla saluted and left. Captain Langford muttered that even if he could not hope for a chaplain, it would be nice to have at least a Chaplain’s Assistant.

The dog tags recovered from the dead were engraved with symbols of the religions they believed in. Except for one person without faith, all of them were Christian. Catholicism could not be helped, but for Protestants, with their priesthood of all believers, a Chaplain’s Assistant should have been enough to lead the funeral.

For now, they intended to read a simple prayer and end it. A ceremony to comfort the soldiers. Langford took a sheet of paper he had written on, erased, and rewritten all through the dawn. Beside it, several bookmarks were stuck in a Bible.

The troops gathered at the abandoned church. The order to arm themselves was a precaution, just in case.

In front of the church were a small bell tower and a patch of grass. This was the burial site. A coffin had been lowered into each grave.

“Merciful God. Our Lord, the resurrection and the life. Those here who have fought the good fight, finished the race set before them, and kept the faith knock upon the gates of Heaven. You said blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, and these are the words of God the Father. We believe that the righteous Judge will have mercy on those who have received the crown, and on all who long for You. To the warriors who fell on the battlefield protecting their homeland and mankind, grant the dwelling place You have prepared. And to us who suffer the parting from comrades and tribulation, grant mercy and comfort...”

As the prayer deepened, quiet tears fell here and there.

There was also someone who could not welcome this funeral. It was Sergeant Osborne. The problem was the last words of one of the two people Osborne had personally shot dead.

‘Send my body to my mother in New York... was that it?’

That was why the Sergeant’s face twisted with pain.

It was an impossible wish, realistically speaking. But in a situation where someone had to die before becoming a monster, there would have been no room to think about that.

The church bell did not ring while the coffins were covered with dirt. Nor did the soldiers line up, aim at the sky, and perform a three-volley salute. Funerals were ceremonies for the living.

“I don’t think I can leave Aaron here and go.”

Osborne said it with both eyes bloodshot. Aaron was the one who had left those last words. Gyeoul comforted the Sergeant.

“What changes if you stay here? Do you think Private Aaron wanted you to die with him too? No. You have to survive and get back before there can be a chance.”

“Damn it, what chance are you even talking about...?”

“The chance to come back here.”

Many people were listening to the conversation. Aware of the eyes around them, Gyeoul spoke firmly.

“Even though Operation Manifest Liberation failed, the blockade line hasn’t collapsed. I don’t think Nevada’s fortified deserts and mountain ranges will be breached easily either. It’ll take a long time, but I believe someday, this place will be retaken too. Survive until then. Take Aaron to New York yourself.”

“...”

He was not saying it lightly. In this world, where the government system had functioned efficiently for a long time, the blockade line had been fortified with extreme thoroughness. Countless bunkers held one another within firing range. So much reinforced concrete had been poured in that even Grumble would have trouble breaking through it.

The Department of Defense spokesperson introducing the blockade line had put it this way.

「If everything is fucking huge and fucking tough, what the fuck are they going to do about it?」

American citizens cheered at the rough language in an official setting. At the time, Gyeoul thought of Winston Churchill, the British prime minister during World War II. He was one of the leaders Gyeoul had studied before starting the twenty-seventh apocalypse. It was a case where a scoundrel-like image helped win public support. Of course, Churchill had not cursed in his speeches, but the context was similar enough.

Gyeoul took Osborne by the shoulder.

“At the very least, you should tell his mother. Tell her that her son fought bravely.”

Normally, that would be the role of a direct superior. But Osborne’s company commander was likely already dead.

“Keep your spirits up.”

At Gyeoul’s final words of comfort, the Sergeant lowered their head.

The soldiers who had been lingering nearby for no particular reason scattered one by one. Among them, there must have been quite a few who had taken the failure of Operation Manifest Liberation to mean the collapse of the blockade line. Had their thinking changed a little?

‘If it really is breached... I won’t last long either.’

After the funeral ended, Gyeoul immediately led the mobile unit out. Their mission was, first, to support the search of Point Reyes Station, and second, to scout as far out as possible.

A pickup truck with a carrier attached followed behind the mobile unit. Three teams, fifteen soldiers, rode in it. All of them had been pulled from Gyeoul’s platoon.

The town streets, so loud the previous night, were shockingly quiet.

The first place they visited was the county sheriff’s office on the west side of town. Ivy grew thick over the entire building of brown brick and wood. They cut the lock with a crowbar and entered the armory, but most of it was empty. Around the time the plague began spreading on the West Coast, the sheriffs must have gone out armed to the teeth as well.

Still, they found two shotguns. For ammunition, three small boxes of twenty-five rounds each remained. They also picked up some handgun ammunition from the floor. It looked as if someone had dropped it while packing in a hurry. Fortunately, the ammunition matched the handguns the Company had.

Even that much was a major find. Clack. Sergeant Morales, who was checking whether the abandoned guns still functioned, smiled in satisfaction.

“They’ll be good for shooting from horseback.”

The mobile unit members could not guarantee accuracy with mounted shooting.

Right next to the sheriff’s office was the fire station. When they wiped the dusty garage windows clean, they saw an ambulance and a fire engine parked side by side inside. Expectation appeared on the soldiers’ faces. Vehicles like these, like pickup trucks, mostly used diesel.

They also had large fuel tanks. Fuel stored in larger quantities at once was less likely to go bad than fuel stored otherwise.

In other words, even if the vehicles did not run, they should still be able to secure fuel.

‘There’s a gas station in the town center anyway, though.’

Gyeoul remembered the scenery he had seen while riding through the dark. No matter how extreme the panic buying had been, the storage tanks would not be completely empty. It had been the same in Paso Robles. Other countries might be different, but the United States was one of the world’s leading oil producers.

“There happens to be a building with solar panels on it. We’ll tow the vehicle over there.”

He meant they would try to revive the battery. After getting Gyeoul’s permission, Sergeant Morales connected the fire engine’s winch to the pickup truck. Even then, soldiers had to get behind it and push.

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

#Churchill

If you type Churchill, Thompson submachine gun into Google search, an autocomplete search term appears. (...) I’ll upload one of those images to the work settings.

#Q&A

Q. svjk: @Broken Arrow... That’s a really scary tactic. Has it actually been used before?

A. Rather than a tactic, it’s one way to request fire support. Danger Close, which refers to a situation where enemies and allies are extremely close to each other, happens from time to time, but Broken Arrow is fairly rare. Still, it does happen. Recently, Lieutenant Alexander Prokhorenko of the Russian Special Operations Forces deployed to the Syrian Civil War requested it, and it became a topic of discussion.

If you search Alexander Prokhorenko, you’ll find related information. I hear he was awarded Hero of the Russian Federation posthumously.

Footnotes:

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