April Vengeance, corona Triumph (4)

It was a gathering where conversation continued sporadically. Was it the hierarchy among seafarers? Below the chief mate, everyone was quite taciturn. And the captain sighed frequently. The news he wanted to hear was far from pleasant. The lives of refugees accommodated on the US mainland.

“At least our circumstances are better. We’re not starving, after all.”

Even so, his words carried the weight of familiar despair and loneliness.

The Corona Triumph was a Japanese-registered cargo ship. The owner was a Japanese shipping company. However, its operation had been outsourced to a Philippine company, so both the captain and crew were Filipino. Originally, it was a vessel that carried coal back and forth between Japan and Australia.

Now, there was no company left to claim ownership. The ship had become the sailors’ property. The captain had resolved to devote himself to his homeland until his dying day. He said, “I probably won’t ever set foot on land again.”

“There’s a government-in-exile in Indonesia. Inept then, just as it is now, but at least they make a show of protecting their refugee citizens.”

At that, second Lieutenant Leon wore a wry smile. He could not voice his agreement, but his heart was with them.

Indonesia was one of the nations enduring the plague. Gyeo-ul thought they had been lucky. Infection grows exponentially. Huge population, high density—a fatal weakness that could have been exploited. But they had bought enough time to turn those weaknesses into strengths, or so it seemed.

Second Lieutenant Leon attested to Indonesia’s successful early response.

“We have four million troops. The cities have turned into strongholds full of iron bars and barricades. Defense at major posts is sufficient. The problem is supplies—particularly food shortages. Why do you think we came this far?”

US government policy had been consistent. Just as they used refugees as military resources on land, they drew in foreign ships at sea. Food was offered as compensation.

Cities filling up with bars was the same in the United States. Even before the outbreak, it was a phenomenon common in lawless areas. Private security firms maintained order, encircling neighborhoods with walls and barbed wire, or the residents themselves would form vigilante groups.

‘Gated communities, or cities under lock and key…’

Lately, even the term ‘fortified community’ was used on TV. Even ordinary houses were now being turned into jails from within. Property values near military installations were skyrocketing. Gyeo-ul saw this as a good sign. From experience, looking back at previous cycles, infection never spread easily in those areas.

Beep—beep—

The emergency lights came on and sirens wailed. The internal phone lit up.

The captain, flustered, answered the phone. What’s wrong? Captain Cases gave only short responses, making it hard to gauge half the conversation. Gyeo-ul watched the captain’s face; the lines deepened. The captain, too, glanced briefly at the investigator and the boy officer.

When the call ended, the FBI investigator asked,

“What happened? An unexpected situation?”

“Unexpected, yes… In a sense. We’ve picked up a distress signal.”

Let’s head to the bridge. Depending on the situation, I may need your opinions. With that, cases led Joanna Gibson and Gyeo-ul forward.

Philippine Navy sentries stood guard at the entrance to the steering room. As they saluted and entered, the chief mate on duty reported the situation to the captain.

“The vessel requesting rescue is the April Pacific—a 134,000-ton passenger ship registered to Australia. It is currently 75 kilometers to the west, heading toward San Francisco at eight knots. At this rate, it will approach within one kilometer in approximately two hours and forty minutes.”

On the electronic nautical chart, the ship’s course and projected trajectory were displayed. The captain operated the console to magnify the screen, then pushed the map up toward San Francisco and groaned heavily.

A close encounter itself wasn’t a problem—they could just avoid it. The issue was that if the passenger ship was out of control, it could charge straight inside the bay.

From news footage, San Francisco Bay was crammed with sea refugees from every nation. The area was several times that of Seoul, yet ships crowded to the entrance had no defense against collisions. Eight knots wasn’t especially fast, but the mass of a cruise ship was enormous.

‘It could be the worst maritime disaster in history.’

The boy foresaw catastrophe.

“Is there no other information?”

At the captain’s follow-up question, the chief mate replied crisply,

“Only the automated distress signal. There’s no response to communication attempts, so it appears it was activated remotely. That’s just conjecture.”

“Hmm… Suspicious. Why didn’t they shut down the engines?”

The captain rubbed his chin in thought. In a situation where the ship couldn’t be controlled, shutting down the engines was standard protocol. Gyeo-ul considered this as well. There were three possibilities why they hadn’t done so.

‘A simple mistake, no time, or the entire bridge is already dead.’

The last two options weren’t good. Onboard infection, bloody mutiny, pirate attack—none easy to deal with. Whether the threat was mutant or pirate, depending on scale, it could even be dangerous for Gyeo-ul.

Could they expect help from the Philippine Navy?

‘No. There’s no way they can match the combat power of Jeffrey’s platoon.’

Gyeo-ul dismissed the thought himself. The US military’s combat strength came from superb training, expensive equipment, real combat experience, and above all, the belief in leaving no one behind.

Meanwhile, ships’ crew members were, to put it bluntly, technicians. Their combat effectiveness derived from their proficiency with equipment. It was a completely different domain. At best, they had only received basic combat training.

The first problem was whether they had any will to fight unknown enemies at all.

“Was the US military informed?”

At Liaison Officer Leon’s question, the chief mate nodded.

“Yes, by satellite communications. The Higgins received it. From there, the alert will go up the chain.”

Gyeo-ul read the name on the chart. The Higgins was a US destroyer.

After communicating with the escort frigate Ramon Alcaraz, the captain ordered a reduction of speed.

“No need to get closer. Slow down, and let’s see how they react. Reduce speed to eight knots.”

The chief mate pulled back the lever. Gyeo-ul sensed the slight change in speed.

Agent Gibson asked,

“What do you mean by ‘observe their reaction’?”

“It means being cautious. It could be a deliberate approach by pirates.”

“So you’ve dealt with this situation before?”

“Yes. There have been two such attempts so far, but we were warned in advance by the Coast Guard and avoided being caught. Getting hit by blind shelling was unavoidable, though. That’s where this came from the first time.”

He pointed at the cracked glass at the front of the bridge. It had been poorly patched with duct tape. The thickness could stop pistol bullets, but against cannon shells, it was useless. Six bullet holes raked the interior. Gyeo-ul gauged the caliber. Around 20mm—it was at the border between gun and cannon.

This time, Gyeo-ul asked,

“If there’s no reaction, that increases the chance it’s a true distress call… What will you do then?”

If pirates were involved, there would be a reaction of some sort. Either they’d reduce speed to match, or, realizing they’d been found out, make a run for it. If they were desperate, on the brink of starvation, or not in their right minds, they might even attempt a suicidal attack.

“Usually, we stand by and do nothing. Refugees are as unpredictable as the sea’s weather. The lines between refugee and criminal are blurred. I’ve heard stories of sailors rescuing people on the verge of death, only to have their ship seized the next day.”

The captain continued with a gloomy face and pessimistic speculation.

“I just worry that things might go even worse this time.”

Gyeo-ul understood exactly what the captain was implying.

“You mean you might have to sink her.”

“Yes. If we leave her be, she’ll crash somewhere. And even if it’s unlikely, we can’t rule out the possibility of the US military taking a loss… Given the complete uncertainty inside, and worst case, the ship might be crawling with mutant infectees.”

Leave it be, and tens of thousands die. Sink it, and thousands die. The lesser evil instead of the absolute worst. Perhaps an inevitable measure. People and groups all have their limits—even the world’s strongest military was no exception.

The FBI investigator remained outwardly cool. At least on her face. But her neck had gone stiff.

‘She’s uncomfortable. Even more than when we took the helicopter.’

Gyeo-ul read her easily—a beat after system-driven 「Insight」 and 「Perception」.

At least when it came to reading people, the system could never keep up with the boy. The control entity’s wish probably lay here too.

Maybe it was time to stir things up.

The chief mate received another communication.

“They’ve instructed us to slow down further. Attack aircraft will be launched soon, so beware of friendly fire. They’ll arrive overhead within 20 minutes.”

“I see.”

People battered by the end times calmly suppressed their deepening sorrow. Gyeo-ul didn’t like the look on their faces. That weary way of living had become all too common outside in the world as well.

“Agent Gibson. Can you stop the attack?”

“What are you saying? I don’t have that kind of authority…”

The federal agent was taken aback by the sudden request. But Gyeo-ul pressed on.

“Forget authority for a second—just ask. Could they send a helicopter instead of attack planes? Just let me board the April Pacific alone. There are helicopters on destroyers, right? We wouldn’t need to wait long, either.”

“That’s out of the question! How can you say that when we have no idea what’s on that ship? That’s reckless. As your supervisor, I can’t authorize it. They wouldn’t accept your request anyway.”

“If that’s what you think, there’s no harm in trying, right? And you’ll have a clearer conscience after. I tried—they refused. That kind of justification might make it easier for you. At least a little less guilt. Joanna bit her lip.

“Lieutenant, I’m not such a coward. Please be reasonable.”

“Then give me a chance to be the coward. I’ll make contact myself.”

The FBI agent hesitated for a moment. Gyeo-ul didn’t need her full consent. As she faltered with her conscience, he had already seized the mic. The chief mate yielded easily.

“Ah, agent Gibson, should I hide the fact that I’m even here? Or is it okay to at least give my rank and name? It’ll be tricky if everything is classified.”

“In principle, everything is classified, but there’s no chance this transmission will get back inside the bay. They won’t know what’s going on. Just don’t reveal operation details. But… are you really going to do this?”

“Yes. I want to live this way. Even if there are limits.”

Gyeo-ul answered calmly, then double-checked,

“Would they have any way to verify my identity? I doubt stating my rank and name will make them believe me.”

There seemed to be some way. But the agent looked deeply conflicted.

Could it be that she simply can’t remain detached in the face of thousands of civilian deaths? Perhaps she’s not a great agent, but she’s certainly a good person. Without waiting, Gyeo-ul called the USS Higgins.

—————————= Author’s Note —————————=

#Q&A

Q. ssm9725: (omitted) + “If extreme times drove people to support someone like Hitler, that would be understandable, but… in reality, humans are more innocent than fiction.”

A. I’ll consider making revisions, including to manuscripts already submitted to the publisher. Thank you for your comment.

Q. 전후좌우상하: Is Gyeo-ul a second lieutenant or a first lieutenant? Above, it says second lieutenant, but below, it says first lieutenant.

A. First lieutenant is correct. The author made a mistake.

Q. 월하비영: What does it mean to “recall the journal?”

I still don’t fully understand what the journal refers to.

A. Hmm… The journal is a medium that summarizes progress for Gyeo-ul when “auto-progression” is set. In the story, it’s in first person. The virtual persona running the journal is based on Gyeo-ul’s personality.

There’s a post collecting Intermissions about the story’s settings. The journal is mentioned in those Intermissions, so reviewing them might help.

Q. qoewh: @Author, I recently got really excited from some good news, then needed to calm my emotions and read *The Little Prince* in a hurry. It settled me down quite quickly. I feel like I tasted a fragment of innocence.

A. To use it that way… truly an excellent reader. Experience stillness through your eyes. Overwatch is fun.

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