WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 61

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Sergeant Pierce had opened the armory using wartime latitude and unofficial channels. A staff sergeant from the logistics section had helped considerably.

Suspicion was still hard to avoid. Charlie Company was walking out with a heavy haul of weapons and ammunition, and the soldiers guarding the armory weren't doing a great job of hiding their curiosity.

Senior sentry Sergeant Matthew Cohen spoke up.

"Good lord... grenades I can understand, but LAW rockets, Claymores, and No. 777s on top of all that... what kind of training needs this much, Sergeant?"

"This doubles as an emergency ammunition draw drill. That's all you need to know, Cohen."

"Yes, Sergeant!"

Curiosity still written all over their faces, Cohen and the other sentry kept their mouths shut.

Then they drifted toward Gyeoul, unhurried. The second man was a familiar face too. Both of them would have died at Paso Robles if not for him. Cohen hesitated a moment, then flashed a quiet grin.

"Banana Ensign, sir."

"What is it, Choco Ball."

The grin spread wider. The darkness made his teeth stand out all the brighter.

"Think you could let me in on what's going on?"

"I told you. It's a drill."

"Aw, come on, sir. I can tell when something's up. Aren't we practically family?"

Same as ever. Then again, people don't change so easily. Out of Cohen's sightline, Sergeant Pierce sent a small chin-jerk Gyeoul's way. His call.

He'd need to warm things up a bit first. Gyeoul played along with an easy joke.

"I'm not so sure. What exactly are we to each other?"

"Hey now! That kind of talk is going to get you in trouble, sir. You can't go breaking the heart of a comrade who bled beside you on the same battlefield. Just between us, give me a little hint, yeah?"

Gyeoul let the sergeant's smooth act run its course, then shifted to something more direct.

"If I told you, would you help?"

"Huh? You actually need my help?"

"Yes. I'm trusting you with this. Walk away, and I'll hold it against you for the rest of my life."

Something in the words landed. Both men's expressions stiffened, just slightly. A short pause. Cohen gave a slow nod.

"So what you're saying is -- whatever this is -- the Ensign needs this here Matthew Cohen. Ha! Just give the order, sir. I'll give you anything except my balls and my ass."

More friend than superior. Part of it was Gyeoul's particular standing, but mostly it was just Cohen not wanting any real distance between them.

Gyeoul looked at the other one.

"Private. What about you? Whatever happens, will you trust me just once?"

A very different reaction. Heels snapped together, spine straight.

"As many times as you need, sir."

Same situation, different takeaway. With Gyeoul being the man who'd saved his life, the soldier had clearly been shaped by everything Gyeoul had done since, perhaps more than was fair. He'd also found Cohen's casual manner grating from the start, that much was obvious. A neat little portrait of the Abel Company mood Amy had described.

Having a company commander like Markert probably helped, by contrast.

Gyeoul extended a hand.

"Thank you, Acridge."

Just a handshake. The soldier beamed.

From the start, the plan had included pulling people from Abel Company if circumstances allowed. Both soldiers accepted Gyeoul's concerns without much argument and took on their parts willingly. Cohen nodded.

"Damn. The brass are always so laid-back about everything. Am I wrong? Anyone who's read the training material would know you don't take the Tricksters lightly. Anyway, don't worry. I'll bring people you can count on. If the Ensign's asking, Ashford'll be here before you can blink."

Corporal Ashford. Gyeoul remembered the first time they'd met, at the county health department in Paso Robles. The man with the broken arm, burning through morphine.

"Is he fully recovered? I haven't seen him since."

"Just came back a few days ago. Tough as nails, sir. Cast's still on, but that hasn't slowed him down one bit. Still charming the ladies, too!"

Acridge's expression confirmed it wasn't an exaggeration. Good enough. When it came to friendly NCOs, Gyeoul could use every one he could get.

"We'll wrap up our watch and get everyone together as fast as we can... wait, the parade ground?"

"Yes. That's where the vehicles are."

"Understood. Just you wait, sir. We'll show you what California brotherhood looks like."

"Be careful. Make no mistake, this is still insubordination. What commanding officer is going to appreciate troops moving without reporting in? Don't get caught. If nothing happens, the plan is to put the ammunition back and act like none of this ever happened."

"You sound just like my grandmother, sir. Is this what becoming an officer does to a man?"

Worth another laugh. Satisfied with Gyeoul's reaction, Cohen broke into a wide grin and declared his complete trustworthiness. He threw out a fist, and Gyeoul bumped it.

The vehicles were lined up in the parade ground by company. They'd been waiting with the ammunition for some time when Abel Company's men started filtering in. More than expected. Nearly a full platoon's worth.

No officers, mostly enlisted. The senior man, Corporal Ashford, saluted Captain Capston.

"Heard you could use us, sir."

"I know it wasn't an easy call. Thank you for coming. A lot easier to breathe with the extra hands."

"We don't exactly want to die in our sleep either, sir. Not on Christmas morning."

The corporal glanced over at Charlie Company in full combat readiness, gave Gyeoul a nod, then continued.

"Still hoping it stays quiet, though. Worried my platoon leader's going to be furious about being left out of the loop."

"Can't be helped. If combat does break out, your job is to cover each company's position until they've formed up and gotten into fighting shape. My biggest concern is a surprise attack. I need your people to keep the whole force from falling into chaos."

"Makes sense, sir. Emergency hits and we're not there, they'll panic regardless."

With his assignment confirmed, Ashford walked over to Gyeoul.

"First real conversation we've had since Paso Robles, I think."

"Couldn't be helped. You were away a long time."

"I got a Purple Heart out of it. Though thanks to you, sir, I missed out on a posthumous promotion."

The Purple Heart was awarded for wounds sustained in combat. The posthumous promotion was the honor given to the fallen.

He'd made the joke. Then he turned serious.

"Thank you -- genuinely -- for taking that morphine away from me back then. I was at the end of my rope. I'd just given up. Kept thinking about letting go of everything and being done with it. I'd already taken some, so I wasn't in my right mind."

American soldiers sent to hellholes like Iraq and Afghanistan often developed addictions to narcotic painkillers. By the time they came home, many were addicts who couldn't readjust, drifted into crime, and some ended up shot by police. One of America's ongoing social wounds.

He was thanking Gyeoul for keeping him from that path. Not a thanks Gyeoul was going to refuse. So he simply said,

"I'm glad to see you again."

"Same here. Really."

He turned to go, then stopped.

"Sir. I had nothing to do but lie around and watch a lot of footage of you..."

He meant the TV coverage. Gyeoul listened. What followed was a warning.

"You need to be a little less brilliant going forward, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a unit called DEVGRU. Far better soldiers than anything I could ever claim to be. And because they were so good, command loaded them down with every job that came along. Even the sharpest blade dulls if you use it carelessly enough. Word is they all burned out badly. I'm worried that's where you're headed, sir."

Nothing came to mind. Gyeoul just smiled. Ashford wrapped it up.

"Not just because of that, but I hope tonight turns out to be a lot of worry for nothing."

"Honestly, so do I."

That was the end of it. The corporal found his position alongside the Abel Company soldiers.

After that, it was nothing but waiting.

Gyeoul was the firefighter. The one who ran to wherever the flames were worst. Unlike the other officers and enlisted with clear assignments and fixed sectors, he was supposed to trust his own read of the situation and back up wherever he judged necessary.

In some ways, the hardest role there was. But Captain Capston had given it to him precisely because he believed Gyeoul was their strongest asset.

"Be nice if it just stayed quiet."

Sergeant Ratchman, assigned to the same vehicle team, muttered it to no one in particular. Gyeoul nodded.

"Same."

He wasn't certain either. There had been enough warning signs, and the feeling was hard to ignore. But experience told him that after a new special mutant appeared, there was usually a lull. The length of it was never fixed -- but for it to end this soon would be strange.

「Survival Instinct」 wasn't infallible either. When the information at hand built up enough plausible danger, it could warn of a death that was never going to come.

Still. Better too much than too little.

They said excess was its own failure, but preparation was different. The worst outcomes came from not being ready.

The soldiers in the vehicle started asking about Gyeoul's past, curious about what kind of upbringing could produce something like him. Trinity had its recommended keywords and suggested responses, but Gyeoul just smiled and let the conversation die.

It died there. They didn't have much in common to begin with. While the soldiers traded idle chatter among themselves, Gyeoul rested an arm on the open window and stared up into the night sky.

No matter how long he looked, it never grew dull.

Look long enough and you dissolved first, then time, then distance, until nothing was left but the stars and the sky.

Anyone who had ever seen a truly clear night sky would understand. In the cities of the old world, there hadn't been many who could.

The stars he'd seen in that world used to feel like unshed tears.

People had been wishing on stars since the beginning of time. Maybe the reason stars looked like tears was because of the hearts that looked up at them.

The audience from the other world had gone quiet too. They had before. The moment he'd tilted the night vision toward the sky, their messages had stopped reeking of want and unmet desire.

Something inside him settled, deeper and deeper.

He wished he could stay like this until dawn.

Thud. Everyone flinched at the sudden sound. Gyeoul turned to find the driver, half-asleep, had knocked his head against the steering wheel. The soldiers grumbled with a few casual curses and the driver protested, red-faced. The cursing was affection, nothing more.

"Lucky the horn didn't go off," Gyeoul said.

"No kidding, sir."

Ratchman agreed, and the driver shot Gyeoul a look of aggrieved innocence.

They waited again. No telling how long. The soldiers decided to take turns sleeping and called out to Gyeoul to join the rock-paper-scissors draw.

"You too, sir."

He declined quietly.

"The stars are too good."

"That's very romantic of you, sir."

The soldier in the back seat who'd suggested it scratched his head under his helmet. Then Ratchman spoke up carefully.

"We were planning to rotate one at a time, but if the Ensign's staying up, can we make it two?"

"Go ahead. I'll be fine keeping watch by myself."

"No way, sir."

Before long, snoring crept into the starlight.

Five rotations of thirty-minute shifts.

Deep in the early-morning dark, a sound cut through the snoring.

Screeee-

Gyeoul snapped alert.

"Did you hear that?"

The driver, still awake beside him, looked confused.

"Hear what, sir?"

He watched Gyeoul's reaction and held his breath. Without the system's perceptual corrections working on him, not hearing it was perfectly understandable.

Then it came again.

Shreek! Screeeeee-!

"Up! Up! Up!"

Everyone bolted upright the moment Gyeoul shouted. The vehicles on either side jolted awake. Sergeant Ratchman, who had been lying prone on the roof, nearly slid right off. Crash. A stray kick caught the driver, who swore.

"Which direction?!"

"That way! The direction of the cage!"

"What? That's inside the base, sir. That can't be right!"

The driver stared at him. Gyeoul couldn't make sense of it either. How could mutants other than the 「Trickster」 be inside the camp?

The engines were already running, so the response was immediate. The sound of them surged. The mutant noises rose with it. At first it had been only the baby mutants, but now the shrieks of adult infected were woven through.

Then muffled gunfire. And screams. Almost certainly the last sounds from the sentries guarding the cage.

"Honk the horn!"

The driver understood immediately and leaned on it with everything he had. The other vehicles joined in, and the alarm tore across the entire camp.

The company channel exploded with radio traffic. Without seeing it, Gyeoul could picture soldiers scrambling to reach their defensive positions, gasping with the effort. He caught snatches of Captain Capston's voice too, reporting the emergency to the command center.

As they drove, Gyeoul spotted mutants wandering within visible range and put six of them down in five seconds. He'd identified them by the way they flailed and screamed as they charged. Their skin was pale but not yet rotting. Newly turned.

Had the baby mutants slipped inside and infected fresh victims?

The thought had barely formed when a wet, heavy detonation came from the direction they were heading. And then.

Sputter-

The Humvee's engine died.

"What -- why is it doing that?"

The driver had jolted against the wheel but immediately tried to restart. The engine just coughed and sputtered, refusing to catch.

That wasn't all. With dull, hollow pops, every nearby light went out.

The radio wasn't spared either. A sharp burst of static, then silence. All that frantic traffic from moments before, gone. The tracker monitor went dark too, its green display swallowed whole. Not a single artificial light remained anywhere around them.

The night vision was still working, at least.

Static interference, but usable.

While Gyeoul checked his personal equipment, the driver finally got the engine going again.

The cage, when they reached it, had its door hanging open. The 「Trickster」 lay dead just inside, drag marks along the ground where it had hauled itself out with its whole body. Its torso had split open from the inside.

Sergeant Ratchman opened up with the medium machine gun on the mutants still wandering nearby.

Gunfire overlapped across the distance. Beyond the dark, dozens of muzzle flashes lit up along the camp's outer perimeter. And brighter than those, flashes that flickered just outside the camp's edge.

Unmistakably, mines going off.

The attack had begun.

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