Resumption of Communications (6)
A military truck from the Yeosu garrison rumbled along, carrying a private whose legs were shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't a lack of discipline—just sheer terror. His tremors were so bad they made the panels of his body armor rattle like loose change.
"Nervous?"
"Private! Jung Min-tae!"
The sergeant across from him spoke up, and the private snapped to attention with a jolt. His knee shot up about five centimeters with a sharp thunk, startling him even more.
"Jeez."
The corporal to the private's right sighed. As the Yeosu garrison expanded its operations, they'd taken in refugees as new recruits, but this guy was a real letdown.
"Don't stress so much. It's the outermost post, sure, but we're not patrolling—just standing guard. Safer than most spots, honestly."
"Yes, sir! Thank you!"
Private Jung replied, his legs still quivering. Ammo shortages meant rookies like him were thrown into the field without even firing a few rounds for practice. Grenades were reserved for veteran soldiers who'd survived the infection wars.
"Bet it wasn't this rough even during the Korean War."
"Yeah, no kidding."
There were five soldiers in the truck bed—reinforcements for a newly established outer outpost.
"We're here. Stopping now."
The driver glanced back and called out.
"Get ready, everyone. Just keep your heads on straight for a week. We're not permanent garrison—we're just here to stabilize until they can hold it themselves."
"Yes, sir!"
They chorused in response. They piled out one by one upon arrival. Before the truck U-turned and headed back, it paused beside the sergeant.
"Good luck out here."
The sergeant in the passenger seat said.
"Sir! You too!"
They waved as the vehicle disappeared down the road. This was a roadside complex of shops near the highway—a gas station, repair shop, small motel, and a few service businesses that had banded together before the fall.
"Kinda gloomy. Weather's all gray and shit."
The buzz-cut PFC grumbled. The ground was littered with rotten leaves, shredded newspapers, weeds poking through cracked pavement. The sky was a uniform overcast.
"Hey, at least we get motel beds."
The bowl-cut PFC eyed the motel across the way with eager anticipation. It was rundown from neglect, but beats barracks bunks. Private rooms here? Jackpot.
A lieutenant with his rank insignia approached from the two guard posts at the complex entrance. Each post had a soldier aiming down the road.
"Glad to meet you. I'm Lieutenant Yoo Min-ho, in charge of this outpost."
"Sir!"
Lieutenant Yoo pointed to the motel. Soldiers smoked out front.
"As you guessed, that's our barracks. Pick any room you like. Just skip the ones marked 'sleeping'—shift work's brutal, everyone's wiped."
He indicated the gas station and repair shop next.
"Mission's simple: Guard this place, take out any infected that crawl in, and handle friendly vehicles for refueling and repairs."
Finally, the posts and highway.
"Not the best defensive spot—lots of blind angles, wide open terrain. But we need it for now. Questions?"
"Much combat?"
The dispatch sergeant asked.
"Some when we first took it. Nothing since. Don't sweat it."
"Got it. Let's settle in."
"One more thing."
Lieutenant Yoo grinned, pointing to the repair shop. Hammering and welding sounds echoed intermittently.
"Guy in there fixing gear—touchy type, so steer clear of the shop. He's off guard duty too."
"Must be high-value. Thanks for the heads-up."
The dispatch sergeant said dryly, but Lieutenant Yoo just nodded.
"High-value for sure. More precious than you or me."
He pointed at the dispatch group.
"But you're all geared up in body armor? I haven't gotten a single vest, and I'm an officer."
"Got lucky. Scout team brought back police vests right before we left."
"Alright, get some rest while you can."
The dispatch sergeant nodded.
"Roger that."
Seemed tolerable—not too boring. Already drama brewing.
"Ugh, fuck! What the hell is this?"
Private Jung flung open a first-floor motel door and recoiled in horror.
"Fuck? You lost your mind?"
"S-sorry! Just freaked out."
"What'd you see?"
The dispatch corporal shoved him aside and peered in, frowning.
"Gross."
A nearly rotted corpse lay on the bed. Face blasted off below the nose—gunshot, probably—but the fingers, twice normal length, marked it as a walker.
Oddly, not much stench. Walker trait?
"Why leave a body like this?"
"Room's contaminated anyway. Close the door."
The dispatch sergeant appeared.
And so the five new guys started outpost life. One influx draws another? Visitors poured in daily to the once-quiet post.
Next day, a family on two scooters appeared at the road's end, kids in back.
"Don't shoot!"
"Heard Yeosu's taking people in."
The man said tensely.
"Follow this road, turn right. Signs mark our garrison after that."
Lieutenant Yoo explained, eyes locked on their hands and scooters—weapons check. Desperate refugees turning raider mid-chat? Common ploy.
"Thanks!"
Seemed legit. Day three: Contact.
"Kieeeek—!"
A lone walker shambling from the fields.
"You take it."
The dispatch sergeant ordered Private Jung.
Bang! Miss.
Bang! Miss.
Bang! Bang! Misses.
Sergeant stopped the ammo waste and headshot it clean.
"Sorry."
"...Whatever."
Even veterans tire watching supply lines on guard duty. No energy for yelling.
Anyway, Lee Seong-bong's Yeosu garrison was humming along. One worry, though: Routine garrison life adapts rookies fast—but only in peacetime or against infected. Not humans.
That evening, behind the motel.
"Fuck this. Wanna go home already."
The dispatch corporal unzipped, pissing toward the fields amid a stream of smoke.
"Weather's such a—"
A hand clamped his mouth from behind.
Stab!
His eyes bulged. He stared in disbelief at the blade through his chest. Urine trickled to a stop; blood soaked the ground instead.
The limp body hit the dirt, revealing a muscled soldier in dark camo with shadowed special forces insignia. Gohung dispatch unit—all officers.
Five shadows crawled from the fields, splitting into three teams of two. Low and fast toward the posts.
Lead spec ops to posts raised a fist, then two fingers. Pointed himself right post, partner left.
Partner nodded. Grenades out.
Ping ping! 1... 2...
Silent rolls into posts.
BOOM!!!
Posts obliterated. Screams, gunfire, explosions from the motel.
But Yeosu didn't fold easy.
"Ambush!"
Lieutenant Yoo mandated armed sleep, no armory—rotating rests split between motel, gas station, shops. Poor defenses meant ambush prep.
Thus, Yeosu conscripts vs. Gohung spec ops. Yeosu outnumbered, but one-sided slaughter.
"Aaaagh!"
Yeosu troops dropped amid the firefight.
Tat-tat-tang! Motel hallway bullets shattered glass, splintered wood, kicked up dirt and stone.
Click! Gohung spec ops jam after pulping two Yeosus.
"You fucker!"
Yeosu spots it, aims—but spec ops gone.
"What?"
Spec ops drops from ceiling, fist to solar plexus before reaction.
Crack. Ribs shatter; foam spews.
It was Private Jung Min-tae.
Gohung spec ops: superior marksmanship, experience, enhancements.
"Uwaaaah!"
Another door opens down the hall.
Tat-tat-tat-tang! Spec ops snatches Jung's rifle, hives the newbie.
Shattered ribs, but Jung clings. Spec ops hoists 90kg of armored meat as shield, charges. Rifle pokes out armpit, spits death—Yeosu screams echo.
Some hesitate to shoot comrades, die. Others panic-miss, die. Youths trained only against monsters vs. human-killers.
They fell for better food, family safety—bullets no mercy.
Spec ops discards ragdoll Jung, advances.
"P-please... mercy..."
Gut-shot youth begs, entrails spilling, snot-tears.
Bang!
Spec ops pulls K-mark-like field syringe, jabs neck. Pants fiercely.
"Kahk! Ptui!"
Blue phlegm. Nosebleed. Grabs rifle, surges—power floods veins. More to kill.
Bang!
"Aak!"
Repair shop escapee hit.
"Please... please!"
Leg-grabber begs.
Conscripts break after scares. To enhanced spec ops? Sharp-clawed bunny hunt.
Aims for head—
BOOM!
Wall chunks explode beside him. Gun hand vaporized.
"Graaah!"
BOOM! BOOM! Shoulder gone, arm flops. Neck vaporized—kneels dead.
Signal flare: Tide turns.
Leg-wounded Yeosu stares at hole.
Kwaaaang! Body-slam crumbles wall. 2m beast: Exoskeleton power armor, Kevlar slabs seamless.
"Powered armor!"
Spec ops partner radios late—his last words.
BOOM! Devastator Shotgun—triple normal size. Ping-pong steel balls shred him.
Armor glances burning post, swaps mag, heads motel. Sporadic shots inside.
Motel entrance: Underwear-clad soldier prone, trembling.
"You."
"Eek!"
Pistol drops on his head.
"Hic!"
Seized by hiccups, no catch attempt.
"If you're breathing, fight. I'm going in."
Armor pauses at door, turns.
"Show in my sight at least once. Or you die by me."
Underwear grabs pistol, shakes.
Motel hallway firefight rages.
Tat-bang! Two to Yeosu heart. Spec ops swaps mag.
BOOM! Head explodes before first shot.
"Powered armor!"
Another spec ops fires—staggers it, no kill. Low ammo mid-fight.
Click! Six shots, empty click.
Armor recovers aim as spec ops kicks room door.
"Damn! No word on this!"
Even enhanced, sandwiched? No win. Jabs syringe—bio-battery juices muscles.
Roll...
Too slow. Grenade rolls in, pinless.
"Shit..."
Kwaaaang! Earsplitting—splinters, dust, gore.
Fire starts; flames lick hall end.
"Surviving soldiers! Any alive?"
Deep voice booms through.
Tat-tat-tang! Sparks on shoulder; armor tilts.
Snaps shotgun around.
BOOM! Figure beyond flames flops.
Armor advances, gun ready.
"Cough... hack..."
"...!"
Yeosu soldier down, young face. Trembling hand points direction.
Bullets fly before armor swings—blocks neck/face with arm.
"Grraaah..."
Full mag, stands.
"Fucking insane..."
Smoking barrel spec ops gapes.
BOOM! His end.
Armor dodged death, but bleeds everywhere.
"Blech!"
Gouts blood. Stumbles to pointing soldier—dead. Takes dog tags, staggers out.
Tat-tat-tang! Entrance, steps away—neck shreds, drops.
Blurred vision: Dead underwear soldier nearby. Beside him, spec ops major.
"Mission complete."
Activates chest radio.
"Casualties..."
Spec ops hesitates.
"All KIA except team leader."
Night had fallen; flames devoured the motel.
That day, one Yeosu outpost vanished.
War between factions ignited.
When we arrived, the Yeosu garrison's outermost outpost was rubble.
"That bastard Lee Man-cheol! No loyalty left—family we broke bread with?"
Bullet holes, blast marks everywhere. Corpses cooling unattended.
"Four on perimeter watch. Rest, pile the bodies."
Stalker robots bustled, stacking bodies. Respect the dead? No funerals possible now. Cremation's best.
Each corpse: Frozen despair, terror. All Yeosu troops.
Gas from station doused them. Lit—pillar of fire roared.
I pressed fist to forehead, pondering.
Best move now?
Things spiraling fast, ugly.
One certainty: Lee Man-cheol, that beast—no talking him down.
Stalker robot handed blood-and-soot dog tag bundle. Grip tightened—knuckles cracked ominously.