April Vengeance, corona Triumph (5)

The slow sway of the massive vessel felt like a gently rocking cradle. The sound of wind battering the bridge. The waves striking the hull. With his eyes closed, he felt as though the sea lay beneath his back.

Lying in his dark, unlit cabin, the boy replayed his failed request.

The negotiations had not gone well.

The captain of the USS Higgins showed reluctance at a request outside the chain of command. Yet he could not ignore it either. After all, the Medal of Honor carried weight that surpassed rank and affiliation. While the FBI agent fidgeted anxiously, the destroyer’s captain relayed the request up the chain. The rank at the other end of the radio kept rising.

The guilt of exterminating civilians. The curiosity about the youngest Medal of Honor recipient. Without the latter, he would not even have had the chance to speak with the carrier strike group commander. The gap between a rear admiral and a mere first lieutenant is that great in a real combat situation, regardless of a young officer’s reputation.

Rear Admiral Charles Kitchener, the commander, spoke with a fatigued voice.

[Lieutenant. I don’t know why you’re there, but it’s a truly tempting proposal. Still, I have no choice but to refuse. These days, overloading and overcrowding ships is routine. If the April Pacific has become a ghost ship, it’s likely the size of the enemy is too great to handle with a single traveler’s ammunition.]

Gyeo-ul’s solo loadout allowed him to carry just over 200 rounds. If he added extras and slung an ammo bag, he might stretch it to a thousand, if he tried.

The admiral was concerned that the passenger ship had become a den for mutants.

[Even if you shoot one with every bullet, how would you handle the thousands left behind? Will you be searching for any possible survivors among them? Armed with just a machete?]

“Yes.”

Gyeo-ul’s prompt answer made the admiral laugh.

[Oh my. I’ll remember your courage. I thought what appeared on broadcasts was staged to some extent, but it seems I was wrong. Still, I cannot permit it. Courage that exceeds its limits is mere recklessness.]

“In that case, could you not at least provide personnel support?”

More than 5,000 people are typically aboard an aircraft carrier. Most are in technical fields and far from direct combat, but they’ve all undergone basic combat training. Troops could even be detached from each vessel in the task force. That was Gyeo-ul’s reasoning.

‘If we have a few hundred combat personnel, we can secure at least the deck without losses.’

The passenger ship’s route is limited. Mutants would bottleneck in the face of concentrated fire. When landing for the first time, they could receive fire support from a helicopter. Even regular mutants possess animal-like intelligence, so they probably wouldn’t dare come out onto the deck.

Of course, entering the interior of the ship is another matter. Many obstacles, a complex environment—ideal conditions for casualties. Gyeo-ul guessed this was why the admiral hesitated. If he could entrust the most dangerous part to a boy officer, perhaps he’d change his mind.

But the truth was a bit different.

[First Lieutenant Han Gyeo-ul. The identification code assigned to the April Pacific by this ship is Romeo 96.]

The numbers are assigned in order of radar contact, the admiral explained. Which meant his flagship was already monitoring at least ninety-five other vessels.

[There are forty-three ships sending distress signals. Even sorting the real ones from the fake is tough… There are limits to humanitarian aid and rescue operations. The long-accumulating casualties, and the mental stress on crew. Available forces are dangerously low. As a commander, I have a duty to maintain the combat effectiveness of my unit above a certain threshold. Do you understand what I’m saying?]

“Yes.”

[You’re a good soldier. I hope you’re not disheartened by my decision.]

It was good speaking with you. Take a rest. Admiral Kitchener unilaterally ended the transmission.

For a navy rear admiral to explain this much to an army first lieutenant was sincere enough. Gyeo-ul understood the admiral’s fatigue.

‘Just the fact he responded at this hour says it all.’

It was late. Normally the officer on watch would substitute for the admiral, so obviously, things requiring the highest commander’s attention continued even now. It gave a sense of the fleet’s exhaustion. They wouldn’t ordinarily order the destruction of civilian ships.

Letting go of lingering regrets, Gyeo-ul accelerated time. The world would move forward on its own, trimming down this meaningless night. Until the control entity finished its contextual computation, there was no need to worry about the spectators from another world.

‘Come to think of it, it was unexpectedly quiet.’

People who want to enjoy someone else’s life because their own is hard and miserable. While the boy dwelled on his failure, they simply lay in the darkness. From time to time, brief, orderly thoughts would have been transmitted as text through “Teletype”, perhaps.

Ah, I see. Is it that even the dark, quiet hours are lacking in their lives? Gyeo-ul confirmed his theory to himself. Unfortunate people living in an unfortunate world. Their lives existed outside Gyeo-ul’s limits.

Beep—

The time acceleration broke. Gyeo-ul opened his eyes and checked the field of view. Barely an hour had passed.

Why? He had thought nothing would happen until they reached San Francisco. Beep, beep, beep—the repeated electronic tone was the cabin’s intercom, its light aglow. Gyeo-ul, somewhat puzzled, picked up.

It was Captain Cases’s voice.

[Ah, Lieutenant. Could you come up right away? It’s regarding the April Pacific.]

So it’s not over yet. Gyeo-ul collected the pistol he had kept under his pillow and the rifle beneath the blankets, geared up, and sprinted to the bridge.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, you didn’t have to come running… Here, please take this. There’s a call for you from the Carl Vinson.”

The USS Carl Vinson was Admiral Kitchener’s flagship.

Before answering, Gyeo-ul glanced at the electronic chart. The symbol marking April Pacific was still moving. It should have been sunk already, logically.

“Yes. First Lieutenant Han Gyeo-ul speaking.”

[Hmm, Lieutenant.]

The voice was indeed the admiral. He sounded even more weighed down, mentally cornered.

[I don’t even know where to begin…]

After a long pause, the admiral finally revealed why the April Pacific was still afloat.

[The pilot refused the order. Apparently he checked things with a close fly-by. Said there are survivors. It’s a headache… Given the circumstances, it’s hard to launch more attack planes.]

A low fly-by close enough to spot passengers? Can you even do that in a jet? Considering the speed, it’d be a split-second glance at best, wouldn’t it? Tilting his head, Gyeo-ul then remembered the US military operated attack aircraft capable of vertical takeoffs and landings by pivoting their engines—hovering jets.

It also made sense why launching another attack aircraft would be difficult. Earlier, the admiral mentioned the mental stress on crew. Even if you hush it up, word spreads eventually. Accidentally killing civilians in a friendly fire incident leaves psychological scars. Intentionally doing it would be worse.

[So, let me ask, have you changed your mind from before?]

“Of course not.”

[Still such a quick answer. Are you fine with no personnel support?]

“Yes.”

Gyeo-ul kept returning quick, definite answers to the admiral’s questions, as if reaffirming his intentions. Finally, the admiral gave permission.

[Good. I can’t send combat troops, but I’ll keep a helicopter in the air continuously. At least while you’re on the deck, you’ll be safe. Try to rescue as many survivors as possible.]

“Understood.”

[The aircraft for your insertion will be sent from the Higgins. The time required will be… yes, about 30 minutes, they say. If you need anything other than troops—ammunition or weapons—let me know.]

Agent Gibson quietly whispered that, besides food supplies, this vessel also carried operational supplies for the upcoming mission in San Francisco. Gyeo-ul nodded and reported to the admiral that there was no problem.

[I wonder if I’m making the right decision… In any case, I’ll stand by. Good luck.]

The second conversation with the admiral ended.

Gyeo-ul waited for the helicopter on deck. The wind rougher than before. Such abnormal weather hardly surprised Gyeo-ul anymore. After all, his former world had suffered even deeper pain than the era serving as the backdrop for this universe.

His weapons remained the same, but he increased his ammunition supplies. He filled his backpack with more magazines and explosives.

While he waited, a fully armed agent lined up beside him.

“I’ll go with you.”

“I feel it’s not my place to say this, but it will be very dangerous.”

Despite Gyeo-ul’s caution, the agent kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, unmoving. The hair she had tied back fluttered roughly in the wind. She was armed with a heavy shotgun—the one Lee Yura used when taking the San Ardo oil field. It was capable of automatic fire.

She stated, firmly,

“I can’t compare to you in terms of skill, Lieutenant, but I’m a veteran of irregular warfare. Most of the battles against the Mexican cartels took place in cities, indoors, underground tunnels, or forest hideouts. I’ve received counterterrorism training, too. Since my reassignment, I haven’t seen much combat, but I should be able to support you well enough.”

“Where are you currently assigned?”

“Weapons of Mass Destruction Control Division.”

“Ah.”

Certainly, an asset well-suited for deployment somewhere like San Francisco.

Filipino sentries patrolling the deck watched them from afar, whispering amongst themselves. The looks you give something you can’t understand. Agent Gibson sighed.

“They said it would be difficult to get support from Ramon Alcaraz. I don’t blame them, but it is a shame.”

It’s only natural. Why would foreign troops risk themselves as collaborators in these distant seas—especially when even the US military is hesitant.

Gyeo-ul asked something else.

“Will you be alright with just the shotgun?”

“I considered that, too. I thought it would be better to carry something that could share ammunition with you, Lieutenant.”

If you pick weapons that use the same ammo, one can resupply the other if they run short. Tactical utility. But she said she’d already weighed that aspect.

“But I decided it’s better to use the weapon I’m most familiar with. Weapon combination is also important. In overseas situations, mutants different from the North American ones sometimes appear. There may be times when close-range firepower outweighs a rifle.”

Mutants differing by region… This was something new to the universe so far.

“Could you give an example of other mutants?”

In response to Gyeo-ul’s question, the agent furrowed her brow.

“Such info is often tightly controlled… Of what I know: there’s an anthrax-resistant mutant found in China, and mustard gas-producing mutants. That’s why they refrain from using biochemical weapons. Partly due to consideration for survivor populations in the cities…”

So when biochemical rounds are used, they typically wipe out the entire area.

While Gyeo-ul pondered this new information, a heavy engine sound rumbled in the wind.

A helicopter, lights shining in the dark, landed on the deck.

—————————= Author’s Notes —————————=

#Factual Accuracy

This isn’t intended as a hardcore military novel, but given the subject matter, I’m always a bit worried knowledgeable readers will point out misses.

So here’s a brief excuse.

The aircraft mentioned with the ability to hover is the F-35B.

From what I found, the only navy aviation unit to have received F-35Bs is the 23rd Test and Evaluation Squadron at Patuxent River, maryland—but please overlook any slight inaccuracies here for the sake of dramatic effect.

#Drinking

I’m off to drink now. My friend’s treating me. Hahaha. Jealous?

#Q&A

Q. By Narodake: How high do the grades for technique go? Is there an absolute grade 15 surpassing superhuman 14? Do you only get grade 15 through quests or great achievements, maybe?

A. The realm of “Genius” is unattainable through hard work alone if you lack inborn talent. Beyond that are the “Superhuman” and “Divine” realms. The “divine” here is only a metaphor—like a god of marksmanship, or close quarters combat. That sort of thing…

The “divine realm” is essentially impossible to reach without in-game purchases.

Q. By Ca-something: This is a bit late, but what happened to the two prisoners caught after fighting Captain Harrison? I’m curious how Gyeo-ul will react. Thank you for posting great stories 🙂

A. It wasn’t important, so I didn’t mention it, but of course, they were put on court-martial. Just that sentencing hasn’t happened yet since military trials take time.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep