WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 211: Survivors (14)

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No human screams could be heard. Were they already being torn apart?

The doubt lasted only an instant. Even the shrieks mutants let out had meaning. They did not keep roaring after a hunt was over. What was going on? Were the survivors hiding in the bushes? Had they found a cabin and locked the door? Or maybe they had climbed a tree. It was simple, but the survival manual covered it too: mutants, being less dexterous than humans, were poor tree climbers.

Of course, that only applied to ordinary mutants. Ghouls were agile. Once you got to enhanced mutants, even a standing jump was dangerous.

Either way, it was hard to imagine a chase. Even a trained soldier could not win a stamina contest against infected monsters. Especially not on terrain like this. Run up a steep slope, and a human’s legs would give out before a hundred meters. Going downhill, mutants would pick up more speed than humans too.

Still, there was no room to relax. As long as he did not know the situation, he had to assume the worst.

“Lieutenant! I think we should go in that way!”

Morales called out in a low voice. The route Morales had found was a dry valley, a dry stream that flowed only during the rainy season. It was a naturally formed path through the forest. With private homes nearby, there would be a walking trail somewhere as well, but they had no time to look for it. Gyeoul turned the horse’s head.

“Two each, watch left and right. First, we climb to the watershed.”

The rear was less dangerous as long as they kept their speed. There was no need to look back unless they meant to retreat. If that happened, Gyeoul intended to turn around and open the escape route. Riding a horse downhill was difficult, but with 「Riding」 at the edge of expert level, it was manageable.

The chorus of plague came from the flank the whole way up. The sound drew closer, then farther again, but the screaming things did not seem to be moving. The change came only from their own movement. Thanks to that, he got a rough sense of their position. Charging straight toward the source of the sound would be a poor move.

The fact that their position was fixed made his earlier guess feel more certain.

Dense green foliage distorted distance, pushing the soldiers’ tension to its limit. To prevent accidental fire, Gyeoul raised a hand. It meant not yet. There was a real chance they might shoot a branch swaying in the wind.

They climbed along the edge of a small alluvial fan and reached the watershed after advancing only a hundred meters. It was the boundary where falling rain split to either side of the mountain. Beneath the canopy, where late spring sunlight broke into tiny fragments, there was a narrow path. The trail formed along the continuous line of the highest points and had little unevenness, making it suitable as a cavalry route through mountain terrain.

Now they would go north. Gyeoul chose an ambush point and positioned the mobile unit so their lines of fire crossed in the shape of a cross. Unless there was a cunning individual among them, mutants did not care about cover or concealment. Things that did not even protect their vital points would hardly display such advanced defensive instincts. New infection came first. Still, with so many things blocking visibility, staggered fire would be better.

Gyeoul went about twenty meters down the slope and swung his heavy cold weapon. Crunch, crunch, crunch. He scarred several trees. They would serve as visual markers for the soldiers.

“I’ll lure the enemy. They’ll come in diagonally from that side. If they cross this line, pull south. You remember the farm by the lake, right? If things go wrong, we’ll regroup there.”

“Understood. Be careful.”

Fighting alone in the forest thick across the slope carried risk for Gyeoul. There was not enough room to swing his weapon. It might go smoothly, or he might end up in a difficult spot. That was why he had set the detachment in ambush. It was only a precaution, though.

‘Surely this won’t reach the point where we need to retreat.’

If it went well, he might even handle everything alone without spending ammunition.

“Let’s go, Xcel!”

The insurance was ready. There was no more need to worry about noise. If the enemy split up after hearing it, that only helped them. Gyeoul drove Xcel in a zigzag. On this terrain, it was faster than going straight.

He deliberately shouted as he approached. The smell of rotten flesh grew stronger. At last, beyond the low bushes, an infected group came into view. So did the terrified survivors up in the trees.

‘Civilians? Why?’

Gyeoul, who had naturally assumed they would be U.S. troops, was briefly thrown off. The light aircraft he had seen on the way flashed through his mind. Could the two be connected? Was there some reason civilians needed to cross the blockade line by air?

Kwoooagh!

As he struck down one that charged straight at him, he realized who they were. They were unrelated. The clue was the pass hanging around each person’s neck. They were embedded press. Gyeoul felt a little relieved. They must have come to cover Operation Manifest Liberation and gotten caught in this disaster. But where had the escort force gone, leaving only a crowd of reporters?

The reporters, who had found a war hero out of nowhere, showed every kind of emotion on their faces. Disbelief and shock passed through the process of accepting impossible luck, then twisted into a desperate longing almost painful to see.

“Lieutenant Han Gyeoul! Lieutenant Han Gyeoul! Lieutenant Han Gyeoul!”

Their cheers were almost screams. Rough sprays of spit sparkled like morning dew.

Xcel, growing more used to approaching mutants by the day, turned in place. He was clever enough to lend power to his rider. Taking that rotation, Gyeoul twisted his upper body from the waist. The cold weapon, strengthened by brutal force, swept through 180 degrees. He knocked away five in one blow and killed two. Not one of the five rolling down the slope was intact.

The last one caught between thick steel and wood had its lungs crushed. Bloody ribs burst through flesh. Keh, keh. It coughed out its final breaths, no longer able to breathe.

“Aaaaah! Han Gyeoul! Han Gyeoul!”

It dropped to its knees. Hiiih, eueuuugh. Foamy blood streamed from its mouth. Gyeoul snapped his weapon back with a sharp pull. He shortened his grip, braced it with one hand, then thrust with the other like lightning. It had the crisp lightness of taking a billiards shot.

“Here! Here! Save me! Please! Save me!”

For the one taking the hit, it was a blow that dislocated the cervical spine. The monster, three neck vertebrae bulging out the back of its neck, collapsed and was trampled. Two more sprang off its body. Vile breath crossed the gap. Gyeoul twisted his grip. He felt air resistance. The cold weapon tore through the wind and shaved off their skulls.

In that moment, the remaining one had come too close. Too close to swing the steel. He drove in his fist at once. Crack! Instead of pulling the fist back, he opened his hand, grabbed its head, and crushed one eyeball with his thumb.

“Yeah! Die! Die, you motherfucking sons of bitches!”

...It was distracting. The reporter, who had shouted with horrible hatred, nearly fell after being swept up in that passionate gesture. He barely caught a branch and hung on. Mutants leapt again and again toward his dangling legs. The shoe they had caught slipped off. The man seemed to have run out of stamina. He only hung there screaming, unable to climb back up. At first he had hugged the branch, but his strength gradually drained away, and at last he was hanging on by his fingertips.

“Climb up, Gilbert! Please! Come on!”

The man’s colleagues cried out.

Ha. He could have ended it here. With a sigh, Gyeoul flung away the one he was holding. Then he spurred Xcel on. Xcel charged into the mutants without hesitation. Destructive steel fell on the nearest monster. Crunch. Its shoulder caved in to the height of its solar plexus. Crushed lungs and a pulsing heart were exposed. One lowered arm twitched grotesquely.

Gyeoul went in while shaving down the clustered mutants with rifle fire. He spent an entire magazine on this alone.

“Let go!”

The man did not seem to hear him. The reporter, desperately clinging on without realizing there was empty air beneath his feet, squeezed his eyes shut, screamed, and poured every bit of strength into his grip.

With mounted acrobatics born from his 「Riding」 skill, Gyeoul stood on the saddle. Mutants were still closing in at that very instant. He had only a few seconds.

“Look at me!”

Even shouting did no good. The reporter was already in a state where he could hear nothing. This was what an ordinary person was. When Gyeoul grabbed his leg, the man kicked wildly. Unable to withstand his own force, his body fell. Gyeoul caught him with both arms. A tall, rough-bearded white man ended up held in the boy’s arms.

At least there were no bite marks.

Xcel staggered at the sudden shift in weight, but Gyeoul adjusted his posture while minimizing the burden on the horse. The man seated behind the saddle grabbed Gyeoul without knowing what he was doing. Gyeoul moved the hand clutching his arm to his waist, then used his free hand to swing the iron bar and hold off the many closing in. His posture was awkward, so the blows lacked power. Most of the ones that rolled down the slope sprang back up without major damage.

“Get yourself together! I’m not going to eat you!”

The reporter, who had been sobbing and begging not to be eaten, barely opened his eyes to slits. But before he could grasp the situation, he saw the horde of mutants rushing in. His panic only worsened, and he clung on in a complete mess. With proper attacks now difficult, Gyeoul had no choice but to turn the horse around.

“Hang in there a little longer! I’ll come back!”

Shouting that, Gyeoul urged Xcel to speed up. Several desperate screams, with reason paralyzed and only pleading left behind, rang painfully in his ears. A many-voiced chorus of roars followed. Dozens remained, reaching up toward the reporters, and dozens more focused on Gyeoul again.

In the end, he had to use his insurance.

“War Horse! Prepare for combat! They’re coming in from two o’clock!”

He sent the radio transmission after closing the distance. Even if he had told them ahead of time, he needed to warn them as many times as necessary to prevent friendly fire. Acting alone in front of firing lines was that dangerous.

‘How much ammunition will we burn this time?’

If they went over a hundred rounds here too, Captain Langford would lose sleep.

But he could not leave civilians to die.

The soldiers began to come into view. Even though he had warned them beforehand, a firing line warning flashed for an instant. The dark warning implied a shot had almost been fired. Private McLaurin. A rancher’s son, McLaurin had been added to the mobile unit, which prioritized riding skill, but lacked combat experience and was overly tense. The dispersed ambush made it worse.

“Hold!”

They needed to draw the enemies in until accuracy was assured.

“Hold!”

Gyeoul shouted again, pushed aside the reporter in his way, and looked back.

“Fire!”

Bang! Bang! Ratatatatang!

Mutants entering the kill zone fell in droves. Bone, flesh, and splinters flew together. The firing lines crossed in a pair of crosses, drawing maximum efficiency from minimum expenditure at the ideal range.

Now that shooting had started, Gyeoul could not fight in close combat either. He could not drive Xcel into a rain of bullets. He shouldered his rifle firmly and shot the ones the soldiers missed. Uuuuuuh. The reporter clinging to him while sobbing had unfocused eyes. Gyeoul gave up trying to calm him down.

After emptying another magazine like that, Gyeoul sharply raised his hand.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!”

The fierce chain of three-round bursts died down unevenly.

Even mutants could only run on a slope as if it were flat ground for a short time. The ones that slowed while chasing Gyeoul became easy targets for the soldiers. This scene was the result. Even though the mobile unit members were also under pressure to save ammunition, they had completely annihilated the enemy in a brief span.

Krrrghhh.

The ones that had not died had been crippled. They were writhing, but there was no need to finish them off right away.

“Morales! Take this man!”

Gyeoul handed the reporter to the Sergeant. Since there was no proper place to grab, he had to seize him by the collar. The reporter, moved from one horse’s back to another, flailed before clinging tightly to the sturdy enlisted soldier. There was a smell of urine. The Sergeant made an uncomfortable face.

“Are there more?”

“Yes! Wait here!”

After giving that order, he turned back the way he had come. Xcel’s breathing was rough. He was tired from the climb. As they ran, Gyeoul stroked the black horse’s neck. Just a little more. Hold on.

The reporters were still there. They were clinging with their whole bodies, trembling so they would not fall. One of them did not even realize she was mutating.

Gyeoul quickly swept away the remaining horde.

Last was the reporter who had fallen during mutation. Her skin color had changed, and the impact seemed to have knocked the breath out of her, because she could not stand even as her teeth clicked together. He killed her by bringing the steel down between her eyebrows.

Even then, five reporters had survived. More had died, though. The ones who had failed to climb high enough had become mutants. Gyeoul collected their press IDs and a few keepsakes. It seemed difficult to bring back the bodies.

“Hey, can you understand me?”

One reporter, who was sobbing but at least somewhat sane, looked up at the boy officer. Gunshots rang out. It seemed they were finishing off the half-dead mutants. Gyeoul calmed the horrified reporter and asked.

“Is it just you? Where is your escort?”

No matter how they had come from the blockade line to here, it was over a hundred kilometers. It was hard to believe civilians had made the trip alone.

The reporter moved their mouth, but no voice came out, so they pointed in a direction.

After regrouping with Morales, Gyeoul searched the two-lane road between the mountain peaks based on the reporters’ testimony. With the reporters riding, the mobile unit walked for two hours. At last, what they found was the trace of a desperate battle. The mobile unit members flinched when they saw Grumble’s corpse.

The giant corpse’s mouth hung in tatters. Torn U.S. soldiers were scattered everywhere.

Following the skid marks, they found two overturned Humvees, one armored vehicle completely torn apart, one transport truck with its engine destroyed, and two crushed vans. The Humvees were armed with a heavy machine gun and a high-speed grenade launcher respectively, but neither had any ammunition left.

The soldiers silently recovered the bodies. During the process, they took useful items: radios, batteries, lanterns, entrenching tools, and the like. The reporters must have run out of tears, because they only cried in their throats as they searched the vans. They had been given time to find keepsakes, food, or anything else they truly needed, but in the middle of it all, they were gathering intact filming equipment. It did not seem like an action they had thought through. It was awkward.

“Shall we help?”

At Morales’s question, Gyeoul nodded. Once three people joined in, the Humvee was set upright easily. It was the one with less damage. Fitting for a vehicle that had run until the final moment, its fuel gauge was not at the bottom. It did not seem like it would go far, and the driver’s door would not close, but if it started, it would be useful.

“Do you think you can save it?”

“I’ll give it a try. It’s in better shape than it looks. If we pull parts from the other vehicle, something might work.”

That was Private Wesley. The soldiers who were somewhat familiar with vehicles exchanged opinions. Maybe it was the American way, but many of them had done basic maintenance themselves.

While they worked, Gyeoul led Xcel in a wide circle. It was an obvious guard action. He thought there might be something, but found no trace of U.S. survivors.

‘Six civilians with no combat strength to count on.’

It would be good if they could receive an air drop somehow. Thinking that, Gyeoul looked up at the sky. Whatever the situation, if even a civilian aircraft crossed the sky overhead, he could try making contact. A signal sent on the civilian emergency channel would surely be picked up. It was the best hope available right now.

When he returned, Alejandro in the driver’s seat greeted Gyeoul. The Humvee’s engine was running.

They decided to stop the original reconnaissance mission here. Either way, the mobile unit and Gyeoul were U.S. military. Naturally, protecting civilians came first.

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

#Q&A

Q. nnuhgwyegd: Author, in novels like this, excessive plot armor, unforeshadowed lucky breaks, and illogic are major obstacles. The rapid skill growth of the people around the protagonist is clearly strange. You can hand-wave it by saying it’s a game, but is that what you want, author?

A. You are probably referring to the soldiers’ riding skills. I do not want to write something that abnormal either.

The mobile unit members are the best riders in the entire Company, and Morales alone has experience working on a ranch. America is also the world’s largest livestock country, so it is not strange for a few among eighty people to have ridden horses before. Though their level would not be high.

Even if this could be inferred from the circumstances, I think I am responsible for not conveying it clearly enough.

Q. Deuniya: @Author, when I read in a hurry, I skip ahead and only read the afterwords here and there, hehe; I don’t know if you have mentioned it before, but I suddenly wondered, what does your nickname mean? Is it something like a backstabbing bastard? An author with twists!?

A. No. Tunguska is the name of a river in Russia and also a place name referring to that basin. This place is famous as the site where a meteor fell in the early 20th century. It is known as the Tunguska event.

Q. PlaneTr: It runs even if you put perfume in it... Is that for real? lol

A. It is possible only with perfume that has a high alcohol content.

Q. Itmomhyo-seong: (Previous part omitted) Have you ever served in the U.S. military? You explained U.S. military culture well, and you seem to know the terminology, alphabet abbreviations, military organization, and U.S. military terms in detail, so I wanted to ask. I was 91J.

A. If it was 91J, was that a maintenance field?... Anyway, I am not former U.S. military. I have never been to America either. No, I have never even left Korea in the first place. Sad. T_T

Q. Hyurian: @Have you decided which countries have not collapsed yet?

A. I have decided on a few, but there are more I have not decided on.

Q. Otter7: @As a reader of something you are working hard to write, saying this might sound really presumptuous, but lately it feels like you are focusing too much on the in-game combat parts. It also seems like it has been quite a while since we got chat parts or parts about the Gyeoul Alliance in camp. These sections are good too, but I think it would be more fun if you paid attention to the things you wrote before and developed the story in a more balanced way.

A. You are right. It is something I think about a lot while writing Ossuary.

In the case of the chat sections, honestly, I write them with real difficulty, but I kept hearing things like I was trying to make easy money, had no conscience, or was a thief, so I felt like I was going to get a neurosis.

I will try to keep my center. Thank you.

Footnotes:

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