WeTried Translations
Translator: Coughing Baby
Editor: Coughing Baby
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 405: Wind from High Places (3)
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Vodka, of all things. Even after hearing it again, Gyeoul still found it hard to answer, but he could roughly guess the reason. Major General Rogers was not the type to ask meaningless questions. Gyeoul answered.
“I can pretend to like it.”
“Can you hold your liquor fairly well?”
“I think so.”
“At 8 p.m. tonight, I’ve invited the Russian officers to my quarters. The airborne troops division commanders will accept too. You should come as well. If any other officers wish to attend, you may bring them.”
The major general’s dry tone made it sound more like a mission briefing.
“It’s irritating that we have to pay attention to this sort of thing, but the gathering is meant to soften a childish contest of pride. For bastards whose fixation on ‘manliness’ is even stronger than the Marines’, a simple exchange that starts with vodka and ends with vodka should be appropriate. If we want to avoid hurt feelings, that is. So...”
The major general turned toward Gyeoul.
“Make sure nothing unfortunate happens once people are drunk. Tell your subordinates as well. If even one fist flies, this will all be for nothing.”
“Understood.”
“That doesn’t mean you should stand there and take it if the other side swings first. In that case, prioritize subduing them if possible, and if even that won’t work, beat them thoroughly into the floor. As long as you don’t kill or cripple them.”
“...”
“That’s quite a look. At least it’s better than being completely looked down on.”
Gyeoul accepted it. He understood. He had only been surprised by a kind of violence that did not feel like Rogers.
“Then I’ll see you this evening.”
The major general left Gyeoul behind and got into the vehicle.
After the unit returned to Leadville, their starting point, and went through the routine live-fire drill, sunset came. The American and Russian officers were to gather south of Leadville, at Colorado Mountain College’s Timberline Campus. The town was so remote that there was nowhere else capable of holding that many people.
The party was a place where vodka swallowed people.
The airborne troops officers drank hard liquor like water. Then they urged the American officers to match them drink for drink. For Russia! They knocked back one glass. For America! Another glass went down. For victory! They downed glass after glass, with the momentum of people who would not stop even if someone died right there. The American officers went pale from the start. What kind of people are these?
Yet there was no sign of the situation Major General Rogers had worried about. They only looked like people trying to forget their pain. They were gloomy and cautious, and some looked at the American officers as if craving something even more than that. Gyeoul wondered what it was.
“Lieutenant Colonel Han.”
The one who called Gyeoul was Major General Leonid Andreyevich Kapralov of the airborne troops. His clean-shaven face looked more like a university professor’s than a soldier’s. A cap was tucked under one arm. Gyeoul took the offered hand. The handshake had a little pressure behind it. He could feel the bones in the man’s grip.
“It is an honor to meet you. I am Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul.”
“Leonid. I command the 98th Guards Rifle Division.”
“I have heard a great deal about you. I look forward to working with you.”
“As do I. In private, call me Leonid Andreyevich.”
After those friendly words, he picked up a bottle from a nearby table.
“A drink to mark our meeting.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gyeoul accepted liquor in a spare glass. Major General Kapralov also lifted a glass he had filled himself. Standing face to face, the two drank at the same time as if exchanging greetings. The major general wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nose reddening. He offered Gyeoul a seat.
“If you’re not busy with anything else, keep me company for a moment.”
“It would be an honor.”
Before sitting, Gyeoul looked for Major General Rogers. Rogers was talking with another division commander from the airborne troops. The complexion was as pale as usual, but the center of balance swayed slightly now and then, proof that Rogers was already rather drunk.
Major General Kapralov asked with a smile.
“Are you worried about your superior?”
“No, sir.”
Gyeoul answered briefly. He really was not worried. He simply had not expected to be caught by a general-grade officer. He had expected nothing more than a brief greeting. Dealing with stars was the role of stars. Even if they belonged to different organizations, a gap in rank inevitably put the lower-ranking side in a weaker position.
“Americans are such fools.”
Major General Kapralov’s words puzzled Gyeoul.
“What do you mean?”
“That Rogers. Even if the promotion was recent, they should have given that one a lieutenant general’s stars by now, if only as decoration. Then we would have an excuse to bow our heads a little. We have our pride too.”
“...”
“I’d say the people above lacked consideration. I don’t know. Maybe they’re taking it easy because we’re still in the training period. But if they promote Rogers around the time of actual deployment, it will be too late.”
He was right. During joint training, there was a need to settle the chain of command in practical terms.
The major general leaned toward Gyeoul and lowered his voice.
“Do you know why I’m telling you this?”
“Well...”
“It means you should try to do something about it.”
“Me, sir?”
“Yes. It’s difficult for your superior to personally demand a promotion. All the more so for someone rapidly promoted as a war hero. If we compare only the speed of promotion, yours was faster, but in any country, a general’s seat demands political ability. It’s on another level from field-grade officers.”
“That is a difficult thing to ask.”
“Is it really? I’m making this proposal because I judged that Lieutenant Colonel Han Gyeoul would be capable enough.”
After saying that, the major general offered him another drink.
“Well, just think it over.”
That topic ended there. The conversation moved in another direction. The major general called over other officers nearby, had them sit at the same table, and asked Gyeoul, the only American officer there, about the current situation on the southern front.
“I hear mountain warfare is in full swing toward former Mexico?”
Gyeoul nodded.
“I have heard the same.”
“The mutants over there are too clever for their own good. What were they called, Deadler? Those cunning things use those tiny ones very effectively.”
Deadler. Exploding babies. This special mutant, which had once split into acidic and incendiary types, had become a far greater threat than before as its enhancement grade continued to climb.
The biggest change was that membranes for flight were now found on their backs too. The skin on their backs, covered in fine wrinkles like lumps, caught the wind and spread out to nearly ten times the surface area of their bodies. Thanks to that, their improved glide ratio reached 1 to 8. On average, that meant they advanced eight meters for every meter they fell.
Of course, their speed dropped by just as much. But the moment a U.S. military formation came into view, the enhanced variant Deadler tore off the membrane on its back. When relying only on the membranes between its limbs, the awful baby could rush in with shocking speed.
Aside from that, a new special mutant called the Whipper appeared in cities and jungles. It was a monster specialized for ambush, changing not only the color of its skin but hiding even its body heat. Its form was not fixed either, making it difficult to distinguish from terrain features. Its means of attack was a whip-like appendage. It resembled the Trickster’s left arm, made only of muscle, but it was far more dangerous because it had Infection Protrusions that had transformed into sharp, hard structures. Naturally, it was also much longer.
The plagues had not given up the war against humanity.
Major General Kapralov spoke bitterly.
“We’ll be seeing that sort of cunning on Russian soil before long too.”
If they released Trickster onto the Tibetan Plateau, that was bound to happen. The mutants of the Old World would gain organization and a sense of direction they had never had before, and they would set their sights on Russia’s safe zones.
‘They’re far too capable.’
Even now, with the tide of war in North America turning favorable, the special mutant Gyeoul remained most wary of was still Trickster.
Thinking about it, it was strange that the Russian government had accepted this operation. In the worst case, they might have to abandon their territory completely... He had a sense of it from the fact that the CIA had relayed contact with Esther, but he wondered whether the Russian government had truly made a choice for the sake of its people.
So he asked.
“Leonid Andreyevich. Are you perhaps opposed to this operation?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I am asking your personal opinion. As you just said, the Russian mainland will become more dangerous than it is now.”
“It is regrettable that we may have to abandon our homeland. Still, it is better to relocate to other regions than to remain trapped on that precarious land forever. I support it.”
“Relocate...”
“You didn’t know? Once the Continental Separation Operation succeeds, we Russians will have exclusive use of half of former Mexico and all the rest of Central America. In an emergency, we may be able to evacuate the entire population. It has been confirmed that the first migration fleet will depart before the drop on Ground Zero takes place.”
It was the first time Gyeoul had heard this. The general shrugged.
“Hmm. Come to think of it, was this classified for now...? No matter. It won’t stay hidden for long anyway. Without conditions like that, there’s no way we would accept a one-sidedly disadvantageous deal. If America had released Trickster recklessly without an agreement, we would have retaliated by launching nukes or something, wouldn’t we?”
Watching the major general laugh aloud while talking about something so brutal, Gyeoul turned over the meaning of the “conditions like that” he had mentioned. America had agreed to give Russia a position that could threaten the Panama Canal, and beyond that, all of North America. Only that would give Russia confidence that America would not abandon them in the future.
Major General Kapralov drank three glasses of vodka in a row and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“I understand the Mexican refugees are already whining about sovereignty and demanding that their rights to their old territory be guaranteed, but hmph, what a joke. What did they do? Their country fell long ago, and the ones who bled and fought were the U.S. military, from start to finish. So land won through battle should naturally become American territory, shouldn’t it? What do you think?”
Gyeoul closed his mouth just as he was about to say something. Of course there must have been people among the Mexican refugees who volunteered for the U.S. military, but in principle, they became American citizens the moment they enlisted.
Gyeoul remembered a passage from the oath of citizenship.
「I hereby swear that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.」
Gyeoul and the others from allied nations who had become U.S. soldiers would never have had to recite that oath if not for Lieutenant Colonel Capston, who had been a Captain at the time. But originally, obtaining citizenship without the oath itself was impossible. It mattered that much, and if it was confirmed that even part of the oath had been omitted, the principle was to cancel citizenship even after it had already been granted. They were considered never to have become citizens in the first place.
In truth, those points were also included in the documents they had to sign to become U.S. soldiers.
So the statement that the ones who bled on the southern front were the U.S. military was not wrong. At least in principle.
Major General Kapralov spoke with growing momentum.
“The Americans chose their president well.”
“...Is that so?”
“Of course. If Gerald Burns had entered the White House, that damned United States of Humanity pledge would have left him shackled by whining refugees and the idealists who take their side. Kramer, on the other hand? Doesn’t he get things done cleanly? He knows what matters. That’s how politics should be done. Throw away what must be thrown away.”
Gyeoul did not bother arguing. It would be meaningless. Instead, he probed another point.
“Then the refugees cannot return to their homeland.”
The major general denied it.
“From what I heard, the plan is not to stop anyone who wants to come. But...”
“But?”
Major General Kapralov smiled.
“If they want to live on land won through the deaths of countless soldiers, they should pay an appropriate price. For all the free food America provided them for so long too. They can’t live forever leaning on someone else’s goodwill just because they are refugees, can they?”
“By price, do you mean money? Taxes?”
“It would be more accurate to call it proper labor rather than taxes. Civilization must be restored.”
The major general pointed at Gyeoul.
“Can you put a price on your own life?”
“...”
Gyeoul fell silent again. He had already sold his body once while he was alive, but that was a transaction that should never have happened in the first place. The major general took the silence as an answer.
“That is how it is. How much should residency rights to land won in blood cost? No matter how hard the life is, they should accept it gratefully for the simple fact that they won’t die. In a world like this, fighting the end.”
Everyone had to prove their qualifications. Everyone had to carry out their role. Those who did not had no right to live. It was an argument that called Kramer’s creed to mind.
After the party ended, Gyeoul supported Major General Rogers on the way back. Most of Rogers’s staff had been reduced to unconsciousness or could barely hold themselves upright after what was not quite advice and not quite torture from the Russian side. The airborne troops officers were the same. For the sake of the others, it looked like he would have to make a few more round trips.
The heavily drunk Rogers showed a side unlike the usual one.
“Crazy Russian bastards.”
Supported by Gyeoul, Rogers spoke with slurred pronunciation.
“You and I both have it hard. All because we went and became heroes.”
“You look like you’re having a very hard time.”
“I am.”
A long string of saliva Rogers had failed to swallow stretched from the mouth.
After helping Rogers into the back of the waiting vehicle, Gyeoul looked out at the open night view. Snow-covered mountains were drawn across the landscape like white brushstrokes. As befitted a campus named for the Timberline instead of a proper name, white ridgelines were visible in any direction where the view opened.
“I didn’t want to come.”
“Sir?”
Gyeoul looked back at the rear seat of the vehicle.
“I didn’t want to come.”
“...”
“What could be easier than dying like a hero...”
With those words as the last, Rogers closed their eyes as if passing out. Gyeoul could not take his gaze off the unconscious officer for a long while.
Footnotes:
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