WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 374: Each One's Homeland (8)

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“If there’s a silver lining, the wired network is still intact.”

Agent Tucker brought the data up on the screen. It was a new directive from the White House.

“In particular, the emergency lines in the evacuation facilities form an independent communications network. Look for an external terminal box shaped like the one on the screen. If you connect a Net Warrior terminal, laptop, or something similar to the part highlighted here in red, you should be able to access the internet and wired phone lines. Also, if you’re close enough to offset the effects of the jamming, wireless communication may still work to some degree... Ah, you won’t need that part.”

As Tucker said, for Gyeoul, who had already fought Tricksters in real combat, it was a useless add-on.

“The White House command room intends to assess the field situation using road traffic cameras, external observation cameras at each shelter, and so on. It will have limits, but it’s better than having nothing. They also say public phones may be used for additional orders and situation reports, so if a phone rings while you’re moving, please answer it if you can. It’s not mandatory.”

Tucker then listed the White House command room’s number, the method for connecting military communication devices, and other details. Identity verification for callers would be handled through voice identification. The same applied to all forces directly controlled by the White House.

“Were all these systems prepared in advance?”

Tucker answered Gyeoul’s question with another question.

“Otherwise, could they have responded this quickly?”

Fair enough. With monsters called Tricksters known to exist, it would have been strange if they had no countermeasures against wireless disruption at all. Tucker took a connection cable from a cabinet and handed it to Gyeoul.

“Good luck, Lieutenant Colonel.”

After receiving the farewell, Gyeoul exchanged one last look with Anne, then left the safe house.

The hotel lobby had changed a great deal in the meantime. Armed security personnel held their positions. This was an age when a hotel’s reputation rose according to how well it could protect its guests in an emergency. He could see why the Bureau had placed a safe house here.

Distant gunfire reached him before he even passed through the front entrance. Beyond the transparent doors, he could see a shaded cityscape with dozens of columns of smoke rising from it.

Could this chaos really be ended quickly? Gyeoul considered the worst-case scenario. The reduced field pack he had brought contained only one meal’s worth of combat rations. Almost all the remaining weight was ammunition. The reason for such an unbalanced loadout was that the supply system was not firmly established. He could fight after skipping meals for a day or two, but he could not afford to run out of ammunition.

Gyeoul retraced the route he had taken to the safe house, passing the original accident site and the abandoned bulletproof vehicle. The coordinates Anne had given him pointed toward the center of the National Mall, in the direction of the Washington Monument. It was an open field where the Lincoln Memorial could be seen to the west and the white dome of the Capitol far to the east. The White House was hidden by trees, but the cries of countless people gave him an idea of what was happening there.

Gyeoul removed his half-face gas mask. There were still no signs of the toxin spreading.

A sturdy Black man approached.

“Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul?”

The small star-shaped badge pinned to his jacket was enough to identify his affiliation, but Gyeoul remained as careful as possible.

“I want to hurry, but could you show me your ID first?”

The agent looked around the bleak surroundings, then showed his identification. Secret Service, Jerome M. Franklin. Gyeoul nodded and approached him. The wind fluttered his collar.

“You chose this place despite the risk of snipers.”

The agent answered calmly.

“There’s no such thing as a safe place right now.”

After thinking it over, he was right. It was hard to call a government office safe, and making contact somewhere in the city, with every intersection clogged, would also be difficult. A place open on all sides, like the National Mall, might actually be better.

“First, take this.”

Agent Franklin held out a device resembling a PDA.

“It’s White Cell’s authentication and identification friend or foe module (IFF). Your fingerprints have already been registered.”

It had the rugged look peculiar to military equipment. Activation and operation each required fingerprint recognition. The interface was so intuitive that he felt he could learn all its functions after fiddling with it for a bit. Pressing around, he noticed its network expandability as well. It seemed to respond automatically to whatever it was connected to.

The device itself, however, had many functional limitations.

The agent explained.

“If another White Cell agent is nearby, identification will proceed automatically.”

“The effective range must have dropped a lot.”

“That’s correct. But I’ve received reports that it works reliably within thirty to forty meters. It has some resistance to jamming. It’s also compatible with existing standard identification devices. At the very least, forces currently controlled by the White House won’t mistake you for an enemy. We’ve passed along the minimum information, and agents in charge of contact have been sent to them as well.”

Thirty to forty meters. Considering the urban environment, that was not necessarily short.

“Next. With this, you won’t need to spend time determining the chain of command. You’ll know the moment you encounter them. If the wireless environment is too unstable, connect it to the wired network frequently. Each time, every member’s last confirmed coordinates will be updated.”

He also said that when other members were nearby, data exchange would happen automatically. It would search for the latest information.

Still, a chain of command. Gyeoul asked.

“How many people are above me? A regional commander, for example.”

“Among field personnel, not many. The chance of encountering them is low.”

“To that extent? Even though I know nothing about White Cell?”

“That’s similar for the existing agents. White Cell’s very existence was classified, damage had to be minimized even if there were spies inside the White House or the Cell, and the organization was created to leave everything to the ability and judgment of individual members if the command system was paralyzed. In a manner of speaking, it’s a systemically independent recovery device. Most of all, you are Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul.”

“...”

You are Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul. Hearing that in such a dry tone felt strange.

“The President highly values the judgment you’ve shown.”

“Necrotoxin?”

“That was decisive. It’s also why the President decided to deploy you.”

That implied there had been room for doubt before.

Gyeoul fastened the module to his pack’s shoulder strap and connected it to his radio with the cable. It felt a little cumbersome. It would have been nice if they had made it smaller, but at least it looked sturdy. From the government’s perspective, budget and time must have been in short supply.

“I’ll ask one more thing. Does the President have no plan to evacuate?”

D.C. was under attack. The roads were blocked, but the sky was open. Why was the President not moving by presidential aircraft? That was the intent behind Gyeoul’s question, and the Secret Service agent shook his head.

“No.”

“Why? Even if there’s an underground bunker, isn’t that too dangerous?”

No matter how sturdy the bunker was, if the White House itself was occupied, it would only serve as a shelter that bought time. If support could not arrive from outside, the President’s safety could be compromised.

For the first time, an expression appeared on Agent Franklin’s face. It was a trace of fatigue.

“First, in a critical situation, there must be no command vacuum, even for a moment. Second, it’s hard to believe that the people who planned a conspiracy of this scale would have left the sky open. Third, the President said public trust in the government cannot fall any lower than this. Even if it means accepting the risk, there is a need to show that the President is standing with the citizens.”

“...I see.”

Gyeoul hesitated briefly, then said,

“Please tell the President that Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul believes the information about necrotoxin should be disclosed to the citizens.”

The agent accepted it calmly.

“It will be announced soon. We need to save time, so if you have no other important business, I’ll be going. Do your best. Our enemy has only just begun to move.”

That was all the business they had. Gyeoul, a little flustered, called out to stop him as he turned away. Barely three minutes had passed since they met.

“Wait. Are there no specific instructions? No matter how much you value autonomous judgment...”

“You still don’t understand.”

“...”

“That’s where you’ll need to start getting used to it. May God protect you.”

Only after hearing those words did Gyeoul fully understand the role he had been given.

They had said they would maintain contact through various means, but as he watched Agent Franklin’s back recede, he could not help feeling somewhat lost. Then again, they must have selected only people capable of overcoming that feeling in the first place. If he stood still, that alone meant he fell short of the standard.

How would the enemy, still hidden behind blackout curtains, act from here? What should he do first to force them to reveal themselves? How were the military units and other agents moving?

Gyeoul exhaled, then decided his priorities.

Twenty minutes later.

The greatest obstacle to carrying out the mission was angry or terrified citizens.

“Thank you, ugh, for helping.”

A White Cell agent who had been beaten by a mob moments ago panted out thanks to Gyeoul. The agent’s injuries were so severe they could barely open their eyes. Gyeoul swallowed a sigh. The agent and a colleague had originally belonged to the local police, were still wearing those uniforms, and both shared the unlucky commonality of being white. The other one had outright lost consciousness.

And this was Hill East, a neighborhood where Black residents were concentrated.

“Citizens!”

With his face fully exposed, Gyeoul shouted toward the circle of murmuring people.

“Please! Return to your homes or shelters! Wait for the situation to be resolved! This disorder is exactly what the terrorists want! They may use this chance to do something even more terrible!”

One person in the hesitant crowd burst out with delayed anger.

“But! The police attacked us first! We have to protect ourselves from unjust state power! And from those corpses that failed to die! Everyone! Am I wrong?”

The rest of the people responded roughly. That’s right! Black lives matter too! The citizens who had poured into the streets wore gas masks and were armed with all kinds of firearms and blunt weapons. Some wore bulletproof vests or homemade protective gear. If they turned into a mob right now, even Gyeoul would have trouble handling them. Without knowing the situation, they might even start trying to kill Tricksters.

Before the resonance of anger grew again, Gyeoul raised his empty hand and gathered their attention.

“I am! Here to protect you!”

As he raised his voice, the people still listened. Inside the windows of the buildings on both sides of the road, hands holding smartphones and peering gazes appeared.

Gyeoul kept shouting.

“The people who did wrong! Will be held responsible later, without fail! I promise I’ll help you then! But! If you don’t help me now! That later may never come at all! Tomorrow may disappear for many people!”

“...”

“Go back! There are no monsters hiding anywhere in this city! Only copied signals are being broadcast! And these agents! Were searching for and destroying those signal devices! The government’s announcement! Is not a lie meant to protect white people first!”

The crowd fell silent, but complete quiet did not come. Gunfire like distant echoes rang through the streets, while someone’s scream and someone’s shout crossed from different directions.

Time passed in confrontation, each second stretching like a minute.

“Please, I’m asking you.”

At Gyeoul’s plea, more people began to think, frown, or sigh.

He could hear their quiet discussion gradually leaning one way. In any group, someone always led the mood. Here, it was a large man with watery eyes. He had plenty of fat and just as much muscle. The wrinkles on his forehead looked like traces left by poor, rough years.

At last, when everyone else had fallen silent, he grumbled.

“Damn it.”

The strength drained from his thick shoulders.

“No matter how pissed off I am, I can’t fight Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul...”

Gyeoul was in a hurry, but he deliberately bowed his head calmly.

“Thank you.”

The man waved a hand, deflated.

“No need for thanks. Just keep your promise. If I end up disappointed in you, I feel like life’s gonna taste real damn bad.”

At his words, the others agreed, even if the mood was less than enthusiastic. They had probably acted together for a long time. This was an age with countless survivalist groups maintaining contact networks through online communities, SNS, and the like.

The crowd turned back one by one in a somewhat awkward mood, without any clear order.

Just as the Secret Service agent had said, the President announced through various channels that the traitors were in possession of weaponized necrotoxin. The news spread with surprising speed despite radio waves becoming useless. Like all information that passed from person to person, distortions and misunderstandings were added the farther it went.

After that, the disorder in the city broke its own worst record every minute and every second.

Gyeoul asked the agent who was still conscious.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes. For now... Just leave me here. You have things to do, don’t you?”

As the agent said that, they struggled to raise their upper body, then spat thin blood.

Other agents who had taken cover in the shadows of a nearby building, preparing for a firefight, showed themselves. There were four of them. They were the first ones to join up with Gyeoul. Their identification signals had drawn them to each other like magnets. The four agents knelt in a circle around the injured officer and watched every direction. The next in rank spoke with their back to Gyeoul.

“We were still lucky.”

“Corporal Sanchez.”

“If you hadn’t been here, the result would have been one of two things. Either we left these people to die, or we opened fire on the citizens. Either would have been the worst.”

Corporal Sanchez. This agent, who had been from the Mountain Division, had already spent half a year in Washington, D.C. after a disguised discharge. Sanchez spoke coldly.

“Let’s go. Saving lives that should have been lost is enough. There are 170 meters left to the nearest jamming site.”

“...”

After a brief hesitation, Gyeoul placed a hand on the injured officer’s shoulder.

“Hide well.”

He said farewell, then gave a slight nod to the waiting agents.

The movement that had been blocked by the crowd resumed. Because there were so many obstacles, including vehicles that had left the road, the team’s movement could not rise above a somewhat slow run. One hundred seventy meters in a straight line. More than three hundred meters if they followed the roads. Considering the time they had lost, Gyeoul gave an order to Corporal Sanchez.

“I’ll go first. If a firefight breaks out, judge for yourself and support me.”

“...Understood.”

The answer carried the roughness of breath from running and the stain of damaged pride, but there was no time to worry about small things now. Gyeoul increased his speed alone.

Footnotes:

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