Welcome to Hell – Olba Island
The briny tang of the sea hit me hard. Salt was already crusting up on my clothes like fine dust.
"Whoa. So that's the ocean."
Some of the guys in my boot camp platoon had never seen the sea in their lives. The Kacil Republic was huge, like the U.S., so plenty of inland hicks fit that bill. Total villagers.
"Everyone, move with some discipline."
We followed the escort officer into the naval base. Sailors in crisp white fatigues stood guard at the entrance, snapping salutes when they spotted him.
This must be Brown Naval Base.
Brown Naval Base was fucking massive. Overlooking the endless blue sea, this sprawling facility was packed with enormous warships that could crush your spirit just by looking at them. The harbor was as big as the base itself, crammed with battleships and carriers. Us rookies gawked around like country bumpkins hitting the big city for the first time, eyes wide as saucers.
"New blood here to serve the homeland! Welcome aboard! I'm Major Staurun, commander of the 3rd Transport Battalion, Logistics Support Group, Tempest Yang Fleet Command. You'll bunk here at Brown Naval Base today, then ship out to the Morton Archipelago tomorrow on a transport. Rest up while you can."
A burly bear of a man showed up to guide us. The officer who'd escorted us from the train station exchanged a few words with him and headed off. Guess his job was done.
Major Staurun led us to temporary barracks. They were better than expected. Maybe I was just used to the shithole conditions at boot camp, but still.
"No need to live like you're still in training, but don't get too sloppy. Keep the barracks clean."
The vibe was worlds away from boot camp—way more relaxed. I picked the cleanest bunk in the place. No one bitched about it.
"Whew. Shipping out tomorrow? Shit moves fast. We just graduated yesterday."
"Heard the news? Not a single guy who's come back from the Morton Archipelago in one piece. They say it's a total hellhole."
"Still better than the Old Continent front, right? That's where the vicious Bismark Empire is. Word is one of their tanks takes out three Sevastopol Federation ones."
"Yeah, but the Old Continent's got the Sevastopol Federation as cannon fodder, so it's safer. The Kyrria Empire bastards are pure savages. They even eat people, or so they say."
"......We're all fucked."
The Kacil Republic was at war with the Kyrria Empire right now. But it wasn't just them. The whole damn world was locked in a global war.
Reminds me of that novel I wrote back in the day. There was a world war just like this. Kacil Republic's in the U.S. position, so Kyrria must be old-school Japan?
Felt about right. Anyway, with our unit assigned to the Morton Archipelago, we'd be facing Kyrria forces. Rumors about heading there had everyone in a shit mood—no good stories floating around.
"Especially since you'll inevitably have to fight zombie soldiers once you're in the Morton Archipelago."
Suddenly, something interesting caught my ear.
"Huh? What's that about?"
I jumped into the conversation, and the two guys chatting turned to me.
"Zombies?"
"Yeah, I've heard it too. My neighbor's older bro wrote his mom about fighting zombie soldiers with swords to the death. Could be bullshit, though. Everyone inflates their war stories."
Zombies, huh.
That sounds fun. Not something to dismiss as pure bluster. I filed the keyword away in my head.
At dinnertime, we gathered at the base mess hall. The food was killer: juicy steaks dripping with meat, fruit-loaded salads, crispy fried wings, and chocolate-packed cake. Felt like the last supper. Not quite as good as the grub in my inventory, though.
"Food here's top-notch."
"They say in the Morton Archipelago you'll be chowing down on jungle bugs. Might as well stuff ourselves here."
Someone's words tanked the mood. I chucked a fork at the bastard.
"Gah!"
We ate in silence after that. The gloom didn't lift easily.
We boarded a troop transport called the Freedom. About a thousand rookies piled on. Faces were all stiff with tension. We were finally leaving the homeland for the real warzone, bullets and shells raining down. No one was thrilled.
I got some sea air on deck. The salty breeze tickled my nose. Felt like being trapped in a tiny steel box crawling across an endless ocean—claustrophobic as hell.
"Hey! Rookie, get to the center deck. Emergency evacuation drill time."
The ship was huge, but our assigned space wasn't. We got two hours a day for fresh air; the rest was gear maintenance, indoctrination, ship cleaning, and shit like this emergency training. Bluntly? Fucking annoying.
Last time I got pissed and killed an officer, it reset me to graduation day. Clears a scenario, save point shifts. Game-like as hell.
Guess I'd play nice for now. Shame there were no cute female soldiers on this tub. The few officer ladies were all orcish pockmarked hags.
I dumped gear maintenance and cleaning on the other rookies in my bay. They knew my temper and handled it quietly. Felt like a proper soldier.
"Hey! Eyes sharp, everyone! We're entering combat waters now! Kyrria battleships or carriers could show up anytime. Or maybe a sub hunting us. Pay attention. Building on last time, today it's lifeboat procedures...."
The boring-ass drill dragged on. Despite the officers' scare tactics, our transport made it to the Morton Archipelago unscathed. Didn't spot a single other ship en route.
The Morton Archipelago was a sprawling chain of islands. Kacil forces had set up a field base on Tolroy Island, the eastern edge.
Most rookies coming to the archipelago got their unit assignments here and shipped to other islands scattered around.
Scenario: Engage Kyrria forces on Olba Island.
⏰ Time until engagement begins:8:12:13:55
Looks like I'm headed to Olba Island.
Four hours after hitting Tolroy Island, our units were set. As soon as we entered Army HQ, a personnel officer approached. My boot camp buddies froze up. He called out assignments one by one.
After a few ahead of me got theirs, it was my turn.
"Private Duran Dos. You're Olba Island."
Pity flickered in his eyes. Not a great spot, apparently. Fine by me—I'd be smashing Kyrria troops.
"Any last words?"
"Last rites?"
"Nah, don't think like that. A vow or resolve works."
"I'll return a conquering hero."
"Guts I like. Records say you topped boot camp? Good luck."
Assigned rookies boarded separate ships. I wasn't the only one for Olba—a few others, including Coren. He let out a relieved sigh.
"Phew. Sticking to Corporal Dos's ass should keep me alive, right?"
"Filthy talk from a guy. Look after your own neck."
We hopped on a small boat. Some got decent-sized vessels—not us, stuck on this fucking dinghy. A sergeant aboard explained.
"Olba Island's seas are a hot warzone. Plus, Kyrria's got coastal guns everywhere—big ships can't get close."
Coren shivered at that.
"Small boats okay?"
"Lost my senior last month on transport duty. I'm filling in."
Not okay at all.
Luckily, no mishaps en route. We made it to Olba Island. Smaller than Yeouido, from the look of it.
According to our escort sergeant, it was a prime naval strategic point. Holding it as a foothold choked nearby seas, frustrating the navy. Kacil was sacrificing big to retake it, but Kyrria knew and held firm—stalemate.
We hit the 7th Regiment's field outpost on the south side. Tents slapped together rough.
"Oh, rookies. Just two?"
"Lost twenty last battle, now two show up. Gonna lose my mind."
"Better than nothing. How long these punks last?"
Felt like a zoo monkey. Soldiers slunk out of barracks to gawk. A captain with shiny bars from the ritziest(?) tent approached.
"Welcome to hell. I'm Captain Brown Johnson, 1st Battalion CO."
"R-Ralph Coren, sir!"
The kid next to me saluted like boot camp, ramrod straight. Johnson smirked.
"Loosen up in the field. Life's too short to stay stiff."
Gruesome shit.
"Duran Dos."
"You're too loose. Whatever. You're 1st Platoon, 1st Squad from today. Had two spots open. Well, not just us short-handed. Squad leader!"
One of the gawkers trudged over. Sergeant stripes.
"Sergeant Lecky Rostador, 1st Squad. Fair warning: I like quick rookies."
Looked mid-30s.
"Follow me. I'll show you the ropes."
He led us off. Johnson whistled from behind.
"Hey, don't go too rough."
"Got it."
Air felt chilly. This real army life?