WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 214: The End of April (1)

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Even in a world where plague had ripened, spring was still the season when flowers bloomed.

Gyeoul drove Xcel across the fields at the end of April. A thin rain had fallen briefly at dawn, leaving the humid wind full of the rich smell of grass and the scent of wildflowers. The ranch falling away behind them at a gallop was a sun-wet light green. California poppies bloomed in clusters, adding flashes of orange. Along the fences, a subspecies of iris had opened its buds. Rosebay and Whydah mollys blended together, each in their own colors.

It was a more beautiful scene than the outside world in the same season. The springs he had experienced when he still had a body had been a dull gray wherever he looked. Cities in the age of Virtual Reality had not cared about appearances. That was why the audience focused on this moment. To the senses, even a world nearing its end was better than the world outside the ossuary. This was the present, where personality, nature, and everything beautiful had to be found in the past.

The boy born on a snowy day in December felt a little warmth too. A faint tiredness came with it. If only this moment could last a little longer.

But for someone who needed even a single star in the dark, that was a luxurious thought.

The mobile unit members riding with him pulled the flagpoles fixed to their saddles free. Upside-down American flags fluttered in the headwind. It was a symbol often used by anti-government protesters in front of the White House, but originally, it had been a signal requesting rescue in a disaster. There was a separate SOS signal flag defined by international code, the Cal-June Flag, but ordinary homes had no way to get one.

Gyeoul unfurled his own flag. They had found it at the elementary school in Point Reyes Station. The iron bar they had been using as a weapon served as the flagpole. As the American flag rippled, wind resistance pressed against his grip.

A light aircraft spotted the wedge of cavalry from the sky. It was a Cessna 182, a light aircraft with no real armament, but in that moment, it was a symbol of hope. When the plane, shining silver in the morning sun, turned its nose toward him, Private Alejandro could not hold back a shout. Sergeant Morales immediately scolded Alejandro, though Morales looked just as delighted.

If not for the jamming, we would have made contact days ago.

The radio tuned to Commercial Radio Channel 9 was still pouring out familiar, ominous static. It was probably a Trickster hunting the defeated soldiers of Operation Manifest Liberation. Communication was not impossible, but he did not want to expose their position by transmitting.

Several days had passed since they first spotted a civilian aircraft. The contrails in the eastern sky increased by the day. Sometimes the sound of fighter-bomber jet engines cut across the sky, but most were propeller-driven light aircraft. The officers of Baker Company guessed that the Department of Defense had likely put civilian pilots into survivor search operations. Otherwise, they said, there was no reason for civilian planes to be flying inside an air defense identification zone.

Their flight paths supported that guess. As though following some set of guidelines, they never crossed an imaginary line, and from time to time, they lowered their altitude to a dangerous degree. Dangerous meant entering the range of a Trickster’s electromagnetic pulse. Even with anti-EMP treatment, it would be fatal if the engine cut out, even briefly.

The approaching aircraft circled over the mobile unit’s heads. The squad slowed as well. They stopped on a low hill. Since there were no mutants visible within at least a kilometer, Gyeoul lowered the radio output and tried to make contact. Range estimation through 「Combat Sense」 and 「Firearms Mastery」 measured the distance to the aircraft precisely.

"Cessna pilot overhead, can you hear me? I am Lieutenant Han Gyeoul, attached to the 79th Regimental Combat Team of Fort Roberts under blockade line command. We have confirmed that there are no nearby threats, so please respond."

Although he had been assigned to a CIA operation, Orca Black was an unofficial organization. Gyeoul’s affiliation, therefore, could only remain what it had always been.

[Huh? Lieutenant Han Gyeoul? Are you the Lieutenant Han Gyeoul I know? The youngest Medal of Honor recipient?]

Perhaps the other side had lowered output too, because the signal quality was not good. Still, it was clear enough to understand. The rough voice that came through carried no small number of years.

"That’s me."

At Gyeoul’s words, the mobile unit members chuckled under their breath. Private Wesley’s hands were trembling. Everyone was extremely excited. This time, they might finally get ammunition.

[Ha! What a happy day this is! Lieutenant, do you know you were announced as missing in action?]

"That is the first I’ve heard of it, but I thought that might be the case."

[Hahahaha! This doesn’t feel real! God bless America!]

The pilot broke into a hoarse laugh for quite a while. The plane kept circling.

"What is your name?"

[Me? Luke Merrill! I’d like it if you called me Luke.]

"All right, Luke. We assumed you were deployed on a survivor rescue mission under orders from blockade line command. Is that correct?"

[Exactly.]

"Then, by any chance, do you have ammunition?"

At this question, Luke laughed heartily again.

[Incredible! Amazing that you don’t start by asking to be rescued! It broke my heart every time I heard people wailing when landing was impossible! Hahahaha! Very good! I have three boxes of 5.56 millimeter and one box of 7.62 millimeter in the cargo hold. Shall I bring them down for you?]

"Thank you. We were just about to run out."

The mobile unit members went wild in silence. Their eyes reddened regardless of rank. Each wire-bound ammunition box held two standard M2A1 ammunition cans. That meant the Cessna’s cargo hold carried roughly five thousand rounds of ordinary rifle ammunition, 5.56mm, and at least more than four hundred rounds of designated marksman rifle ammunition, 7.62mm. It was a little more than the Company’s total ammunition when they escaped Fort Baker.

Even that had now fallen below one thousand rounds.

Considering our numbers, it still isn’t enough... But it’ll be all right. Now that we’ve made contact, we should be able to get resupplied anytime.

Baker Company was still staying at a temporary base in Olema, a small village. Their journey to Yuba City had been delayed again and again. Considering the health of the newly rescued people, setting out blindly was impossible unless they meant to abandon them or let them die along the way.

Even as they stayed, the number of rescued people rose sharply. Two days ago, an entire platoon that had maintained its organization had even joined them. With forces numbering in the millions scattered across California’s Central Valley, it was hardly strange.

With that, Baker Company now had as many as one hundred seventy combat personnel alone. Calling it a Company had become awkward. If Gyeoul had not been there, they would have been worrying about food first all over again. Even if they brought back more than five thousand rounds today, it would only be enough to fill one magazine per person. One fierce battle would put them in danger.

[Listen, Lieutenant! Could you pick out a nearby spot where the ground is in good condition? Or clear a road. It’s hard to land if the ground is soft or the grass is too thick, you see. Oh, right, by regulation, it’s also a problem if there’s a forest nearby! I could just ignore that, but when I think of my grandson, I need to live a long life!]

Mutants might be hiding in the thick green growth. Ordinary mutants would follow noise with starving movements, but if even one ghoul were mixed in, a lot would change.

"Understood. Could you wait a moment?"

[Don’t hurt yourself rushing! I still have plenty of fuel.]

Luke’s aircraft, the Cessna 182, was classified as a bush plane capable of landing in rough fields. That trait made it useful for transport and rescue work in remote areas. Unless it was a transport helicopter, it was a mission ordinary military aircraft could not perform.

The road, bombed in several places, was not suited for a runway. Morales found a firm, low slope and waved an arm. Gyeoul checked the ground himself. The sound of hooves striking as he rode would have been enough, but to be careful, he inspected about five hundred meters with the squad members. Even a single jutting rock could cause trouble.

Gyeoul pressed the transmit button on the receiver.

"Cornelius, come out this way."

The mobile unit was not the only unit that had gone out today. With ammunition a real possibility, Captain Langford had also attached a pickup truck and one five-person team of riflemen.

The truck that received the radio call came out of concealment and drove toward him. It had been hidden in a small grove clustered in the middle of the field.

The mobile unit stood in a straight line with wide gaps between them and raised their flags. The light aircraft glided as slowly as a truck driving on the ground. It was slow enough to make a stall and crash seem possible. Yet the flight was extremely stable. The aircraft lowered its altitude and settled at the foot of the slope.

Thump. Perhaps because the ground was not asphalt, the sound of the landing gear striking was quiet enough to be buried under the engine noise. The engine noise faded as the plane slowed.

Even a nearly nonexistent slope helped a great deal in shortening the landing distance. Around the stopped light aircraft, the temporary platoon members, including the mobile unit, immediately built a perimeter. Even if no mutant horde was visible, an aircraft in the sky stood out far too much. The roar was a problem too. They had to prepare for monsters that noticed the landing and came rushing in.

"Oh! Good to meet you, Lieutenant! How should I express this joy? Hahahaha!"

Luke, who opened the cockpit door and stepped out, was far older than expected. The moment he saw Gyeoul, he saluted. Gyeoul returned it in kind. The old man wore a Vietnam War service medal and an Air Force Cross. In prestige, it sat just below the Medal of Honor. Gyeoul said,

"You were a veteran."

"I was Pararescue. In my active-duty days, I flew helicopters."

The veteran soldier, armed with a shotgun, proudly puffed out his chest. The words Jolly Green on his cap seemed to be the nickname of his old unit. The Vietnam War was called the most dishonorable war in American history, but if he had been in Pararescue, he had every right to feel unblemished pride.

Two waiting soldiers quickly pulled out the ammunition boxes. Even as they worked, they kept glancing this way. There was simply too much news they wanted to hear. That hungry look was also weakness: the desire to get out of this place. The wish to go somewhere safe, even if it meant riding in the cargo bed.

"Luke. I know we don’t have much time, but there’s a lot I want to ask."

"So do I! Wait just a moment. Let me film this. I don’t think the higher-ups will believe me! All sorts of rumors are flying around about whether the lieutenant is alive or dead."

Whether because he had met Gyeoul or because that was simply his personality, the veteran was cheerful from start to finish.

The filming equipment was a helmet camera, as expected. Mounting proper reconnaissance equipment on a civilian aircraft was a luxury, and there likely had not been room for it anyway. Gyeoul gave an awkward smile.

"Cavalry, huh. That stirs up some nostalgia! But why are you wearing a combat uniform I’ve never seen before?"

"Mm... There are circumstances behind this. For now, it’s classified, so I can’t speak carelessly."

"Classified! Classified things are important!"

The old man agreed in a ringing voice.

The unloading finished in no time. Aside from the ammunition boxes, there were three boxes of combat rations and another three boxes of emergency supplies, but that was all. Even after everything was loaded, the pickup truck’s cargo bed looked empty.

"If I had known I’d have such a fine meeting, I would have argued until they gave me more ammunition to bring! What a shame! My juniors don’t trust civilian pilots at all, you see! They say we might skim off ammunition. Next time I come, whether it’s me or someone else, I’ll make sure to bring you a satellite phone too!"

The veteran’s words made sense. In the process of pushing supplies to more than ten million troops, ammunition in the civilian market must have become scarce. Public sentiment was already unstable in this world.

The same logic likely explained why expensive satellite communication terminals had not been issued. Whether ammunition or communication terminals, if someone hid them somewhere and claimed they had delivered them to troops on the ground, blockade line command, already short on control, would have no way to check the facts.

Everything is a mess in every possible way.

At the same time, Gyeoul judged that the Department of Defense had made the best decision it could.

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

One more chapter is going up.

Footnotes:

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