April Vengeance, corona Triumph (3)

There was no time to take a look around the air force base. The cargo ship’s estimated time of arrival wasn’t far off, and since the troops’ quarters and refugee zones were to the south and east of the runway, and the coastline to the west, it wasn’t a distance one could conveniently come and go across. Gyeo-ul’s gaze searched through the georectification-augmented reality.

‘Did they say the refugees here were Russians and Chinese? I wanted to get a look at the situation…’

It was known that the Vandenberg base here accommodated around 100,000 people.

Until the cargo ship arrived, Gyeo-ul and Agent Gibson waited in the control tower next to the runway. Perhaps because it wasn’t a civilian airport, the control tower was broad and sprawling in its layout. Traces of NASA could be found here and there. It was not a typical air force base.

There was someone already waiting in the reception room.

“First Lieutenant Han Gyeo-ul?”

Gyeo-ul saluted him. He thought to himself, more people are pronouncing my name correctly these days. The man in front of him was the base commander, brigadier General Hayden Strickland. His gaunt face was like an old tree branch.

“Take a seat.”

The general offered them a seat, and the FBI agent and the young officer thanked him. Hot tea was prepared. The general himself mixed brandy into his black tea.

And until their cups were emptied, he didn’t say a single word. The level of awkwardness was enough to unsettle even Gyeo-ul. That suffocating atmosphere was amplified by the general’s taciturnity, emotionless face, and the stares he fixed on them. The brigadier general’s stony expression was like a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.

The cups emptied at an awkward pace. The brigadier general let out a hmm and then handed over a piece of paper and a pen.

“Sign.”

“… Excuse me?”

“I’d like your autograph.”

Gyeo-ul tilted his head, wondering what form this was. But it was a blank sheet. He flipped it over. Still blank. Ah, is it that thing? Slightly confused, Gyeo-ul signed his name in sufficiently large letters.

The brigadier general added another request.

“Beneath that, would you write: ‘To the beautiful Brandy Strickland…’ I’d be grateful.”

“And who is that?”

“My daughter.”

With another ah, Gyeo-ul complied as requested. The brigadier general took the result, rolled it up without creasing it, and carefully put it into his chest pocket. That movement didn’t suit his stone-like face. He watched Gyeo-ul for a moment longer, then patted his shoulder in encouragement.

“Good work.”

And then another salute. That was it. He turned his back and walked out. The handful of staff followed behind him. The air force first lieutenant assigned as escort remained behind and smiled as he spoke.

“Please don’t mind it too much. The commander is always a man of few words.”

“I think I can guess where the commander is from.”

Agent Gibson replied with a shake of her head.

Since there was someone present, it wouldn’t do to waste the opportunity. Gyeo-ul asked about the current status of the base. The friendly first lieutenant readily answered, and then asked a few questions himself, driven by personal curiosity about Gyeo-ul. Of course, they didn’t have much time for this.

“Oh, there’s a call coming in.”

The first lieutenant regretfully informed them of the cargo ship’s arrival.

A new typhoon was forming far at sea, making the waves too high for a boat. Thus, the mode of transport was set to helicopter. When Gyeo-ul and Joanna Gibson came out, the pilot had already released the wheel brakes and was warming up the engine. The sound of the spinning blades was loud in the wind.

The model was the same as during the Santa Maria operation. The body was small enough to seem almost cute.

The pilot greeted them with a smile, but the FBI agent’s complexion still looked bad. Well, if she struggled with medium transport planes, how much worse would a small helicopter be? At least this time they weren’t sitting with their legs dangling outside. On that previous flight to Santa Maria, didn’t spectators from another world scream their heads off the whole way?

‘One of them was…’

Gyeo-ul involuntarily let out a sigh. He wasn’t sure if telling them there was no need to return had been the right thing.

The moment they lifted off, the helicopter shook uneasily. Agent Gibson flinched. What should I do? Gyeo-ul worried, torn between the agent’s pride and her fear. She’d seemed embarrassed even in the transport craft.

Just then, a gust of wind hit. Gyeo-ul grabbed the agent’s arm.

“You look like you’re having a hard time.”

“… I apologize.”

Perhaps to distance herself from her embarrassment, the agent began to share about her past.

“I experienced a crash once. Well, it’s odd to call it an accident, since it was due to an attack during a drug bust.”

A drug bust and an attack? Gyeo-ul asked,

“Was it a Mexican cartel?”

“Yes. I was the field supervisor at the time. We were doing a reconnaissance flight near the base of operations and came under machine gun fire. The controls went wild, my mind went blank. We escaped somehow but… as you can see, I still have aftereffects.”

That raised a question. In that case, wouldn’t it have been better to send a different agent? Gyeo-ul considered three possibilities. First, that Agent Gibson’s skills were outstanding enough to make up for such an issue. Second, that nobody else wanted to travel west of the blockade. Third, that the authorities above simply weren’t thinking.

‘I can’t rule out that last one.’

After all, American intelligence agencies, surprisingly, made a lot of mistakes. Gyeo-ul knew this from experience. Even if this was a world reconstructed from past data, as long as it was based on reality, it probably wasn’t too different from the facts. He could only hope there would be no fatal mistakes in this operation.

Of course, not asking the agent about it directly was just basic courtesy. Gyeo-ul let the conversation flow naturally elsewhere.

“I heard some cartels are holding out in the cities. Is that true?”

It was news that had been reported: some drug cartels were occupying certain cities, fending off attacks by mutants. The Tijuana Cartel, the Gulf Cartel, los Zetas, and others. The United States was supplying them with food and ammunition for now, while warning them not to cross the border.

Since such news wasn’t commonly reported, Gyeo-ul’s knowledge wasn’t up to date. But with an intelligence agent present, he figured he might as well get whatever information he could.

“How much do you know about them, first Lieutenant?”

“As much as anyone interested would know.”

“I suppose my question was a bit vague.”

The agent forced a stiff smile, using the conversation to calm her nerves.

“They were practically warlords even before all this. In terms of funding, armaments, organization, you name it. They recruit heavily from the military and police, even drawing from our American special forces at times. Turns out there are plenty of patriots who can be bought with money.”

The agent sighed. When they raided regional bases, they found anti-tank rockets and anti-air missiles. She described a horrifying crash—though in her case, at least it was just machine gun fire. If it had been a missile, they would have been killed instantly.

“There are single organizations that have brigade-sized fighting forces. There are several of those, each exerting their own control over their respective bases even in normal times.”

“They really are warlords. No wonder they’re holding out well.”

“We have to consider the unique nature of urban combat, too. Those cities are nightmares—mazes. They’ve learned the terrain, tactics, and defensive strategies through endless fights with our Bureau and Intelligence agents, and with the Mexican military and police… Honestly, I think their brutality is what made stopping the infection possible.”

In other words, they likely killed anyone even remotely suspicious. The agent’s expression darkened. It was the look of an expert deeply familiar with the ecology of criminals.

She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She must have seen more than her share of carnage for someone her age.

“Even people like that, their resistance helps disperse the mutants’ movements. For now, we have no choice but to support them. There are civilians relying on those gangs, too.”

Her long statement ended with a sigh. Her hatred of the cartels was vivid.

The short flight’s destination was approaching. A massive ship, at least 40,000 tons. Amidst the moving sea, the cargo ship was the only thing still. An escort vessel kept pace nearby but, being small, bobbed up and down with the waves. Unexpectedly, the escort was flying a Philippine flag.

It wasn’t a container ship, so the main deck was clean and open. It was a type that usually transported minerals or food (Bulk Carrier). Landing wouldn’t be difficult.

Gyeo-ul read the ship’s name painted on the side.

[CORONA TRIUMPH]

Thump. It felt like a light tap as they landed. The pilot didn’t shut off the engine. As soon as Gyeo-ul and the agent disembarked, the pilot performed a showy salute with ring and pinky fingers folded, then lifted his nose.

The captain, some crew, and a uniformed officer unfamiliar to them came out to greet them. All were of Asian descent.

“Welcome aboard, both of you. Welcome to the Corona Triumph. The wind is chilly—let’s go inside to talk.”

The captain spoke with an English accent that sounded unique. All present seemed to understand him. Was this a country where English was an official language? Which countries were like that? India? The Philippines?

As they headed inside, Gyeo-ul saw signs written in both English and Japanese. The escort vessel was from the Philippine Navy… This was getting stranger by the moment. However, the FBI agent seemed completely unfazed. Apparently they hadn’t boarded the wrong ship.

What else stood out were the holes in the bridge—evidence of bullets and autocannon rounds. Following Gyeo-ul’s gaze, the captain gave a somber smile.

“The seas have gotten very rough lately. Weather, waves, even people.”

Places to converse were few on a ship like this, especially one that had been attacked. They seated themselves in the dining room whose walls had been patched after an emergency repair. Here, the captain and the officer introduced themselves.

“Excuse my late introduction. I’m Roy Keisas, and I’m in overall command of this ship. We have been assigned the transport mission for you two, by the CIA.”

The officer followed.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Second Lieutenant Ryan de Leon, liaison officer of the Philippine Navy frigate Ramon Alcaraz.”

Gyeo-ul and the agent introduced themselves as well. The captain and crew did likewise, but as an officer, second Lieutenant de Leon greeted Gyeo-ul with particular warmth.

The captain explained the voyage plan.

“This vessel is currently sailing northbound at 10 knots for San Francisco. Barring any incident, we should reach the fog before the Golden Gate around 6 p.m. tomorrow. Until then please rest at your leisure. There isn’t much else, but we will provide every convenience in our power. If you like, I can show you to your cabin now.”

Captain Keisas spoke as if the arrival time was crucial. No doubt, they’d want to avoid too many eyes.

Gyeo-ul refused the offer.

“It’s too early to sleep right now.”

So the captain requested,

“In that case, could I trouble you for a little more of your time? In these days, we seamen are starved for news…”

He glanced at the agent and, confirming she had no objections, Gyeo-ul nodded.

“Isn’t that the way of things? This is good. I’ve got some questions myself.”

If there was anything that shouldn’t be said, the agent would surely know to cut it off. That’s what Gyeo-ul figured.

————————— Author’s Note —————————

#Q&A

Q. BlueCrystal: @Author, I think you tend to undervalue your novels and your ability. I’m sure you’ll sell 1,500 copies easily. 🙂 Please be more confident! By the way, is there any plan to release an uncut “Joara edition”?

A. By contract, the release of a paper edition is up to the publisher. It’d be hard for me to publish one privately. Haha.

Q. EojinGwangdae: @Haha, the part about you admitting it referred to you explaining the meaning of “innocence” for us—the part about writing to make us feel awkward. While it can mean many things, I appreciated getting a more concrete sense from you, above the vague feeling I had before. I don’t really care if you intended some kind of political satire or not; I read a story as just a story. It’s tough to read your work on time here in Italy with the time difference. Innocence… it really is a great theme. Haha.

A. I see. My apologies for misunderstanding. You’re right—innocence is a wonderful theme. It’s one of the catalysts that lets someone like me write novels at all.

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