Storming the Bloody Shores of Pearl Island

There was some leftover CSS from the previous chapter, but ignore it.

The scenario completion was S-rank. Thanks to that, the quest achievement rank jumped from D+ to B. At this rate, S-rank is just around the corner.

From this mission, we secured Biche. But it wasn't the "unrefined Biche" required for the checkpoint condition. Probably some refined version from their research.

After wrapping up, we hopped back on the rubber boat and raced to the high-speed boat. Then we hauled ass back to the Olba Island garrison, engines screaming like our asses were on fire. Short but intense mission.

Our success got reported to HQ right away. Just as Sergeant Helman said, I got recognized for my valor and awarded the 1st Class Silver Star Medal. Apparently, getting two medals this fast is rare across the whole army.

After the op, our team got a week off. Like last time, we'd spend it in the Elmon Federation. Probably because it's close to the front lines.

Going back to the homeland in Kacil or the Morton Archipelago is too far— it'd just complicate logistics on our end.

Soon as we hit the port, I approached Sergeant Walters. She'd been brooding the whole boat ride, radiating an aura that screamed "don't talk to me." Seemed intentional.

"Sergeant. Got any vacation plans?"

She stared at me blankly and shook her head.

"Nah. Just gonna sleep it off."

"That's your usual? No hobbies?"

"None. It'll stay that way till the war ends. Get too comfy with pleasure, and the battlefield breaks you."

"What'd you do in civilian life?"

Prodding her like that made her eyes narrow like a wolf whose territory I'd invaded. Way tougher than Lieutenant Berica.

'That's what makes her worth it.'

"Corporal Dos. Don't be a pain in the ass."

"I just wanna enjoy my leave. With you, Sergeant."

"Guaranteed: Vacation with me will be the most boring of your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life. I don't need rest. This time's a waste. If HQ hadn't forced it, I'd have killed a few more Kyrria bastards."

"We see it different. I think solid rest is what lets me survive that hellhole."

Sergeant Walters didn't reply, just turned toward the city. I stuck close.

The rest of the team scattered. Sergeant Helman went to visit relatives in the Elmon Federation, Corporal Trevino to buy books. Sergeant Klein surprisingly hit a bar— the clean-cut one pounding drinks at midday was hilarious.

"You following me?"

Sergeant Walters called me out directly. How to play this?

Truth was, no telling when I'd see her again. We teamed up by chance this time; no guarantee next op.

'Next scenario screams landing op anyway. Odds of teaming with her again? Slim.'

Time to go all-in.

"Honestly? I really like you, Sergeant. Like, ask-you-on-a-date ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠levels."

"You wanna fuck me."

"Well, yeah."

Stone-faced, she turned. "Tough luck. Want a woman? Brothel's that way. Not my style to tease kids like that, so no dice. Oh, watch for MPs."

"I don't want a whore. I want you, Sergeant."

"I don't want you. No flirting with men till this damn war's over."

"So... after the war, maybe?"

Her steps halted. Those sullen eyes fixed on me. Her thin lips parted slowly.

"Yeah. Who knows after the war. Corporal Dos, you're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the weirdest soldier I've met. That insane combat power, openly hitting on superiors... Without you in that op, you'd be half-dead."

"Dying by your hand? Welcome anytime."

"I don't kill comrades. Anyway, quit bugging me. Getting pissed for real."

Pushing more would backfire. I nodded and backed off. Disappointing now, but the harder the fruit, the sweeter. Plenty of time left.

After a week whoring it up on leave, I returned to 7th Regiment, 1st Battalion, 1st Company. Our battalion was building an airstrip on Olba Island with an attached engineer unit.

Waste of a war hero like me hauling bricks and concrete. Naturally, I dumped it all on Coren.

Two weeks dragged building that airstrip. Just as Kyrria air raids got routine, new orders dropped.

"Listen up. Next op's a landing."

Captain Johnson briefed the platoon and squad leaders. I crashed as the regiment's only Silver Star recipient.

"We're not Marines, sir."

Sergeant Rostador lit a smoke, deadpan.

"Bullet sponges become Marines. We land right after. Target: Pearl Island."

Captain Johnson tapped the map. Pearl Island was ~150km straight shot from Olba, about 15x bigger.

"Kyrria garrison: ~120,000 troops."

Huge number. Per the scenario, it's their Biche harvesting site. Explains the heavy guard.

Kacil must've scouted it— prime chance to gut 'em.

"Our air force has bombed for two weeks. No clue if it's working, but our goal's simple: total seizure of Pearl Island. Landings across 12 sectors from west to south. We're Sector Echo, west side."

"Simple enough."

"Every op sounds simple. Prep gear thoroughly. Stand by in two days."

"Roger."

We prepped with grim resolve. Two days later, boarded the massive landing ship.

Whiiiiiir!

0630 hours. Fighters screamed overhead. Looking up, the sky was chaos— battle already raging.

Carriers launched non-stop to secure air superiority, like bees swarming a bear raiding the hive. Carriers were the hives, silverfish-style.

Pearl Island loomed huge ahead, under 30km out. Deck dead silent despite the roar.

Marines hit first. Half wouldn't see sky again.

Kyrria coastal guns already shelled us. Fleet pressed on— too far to retreat.

"Think we'll survive this one?"

Coren whined beside me. This punk'd pull through again.

Promoted to Private First Class on merits. Merits being not dying, mostly.

"Dunno. Luck helps. Waves are brutal, though."

Churning seas looked rough even for swimmers in swimsuits. Heavy gear? Doubtful. I was fine; worried for the rest.

"Heads up! In enemy range!"

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Our warships fired on coastal guns. Bombers carpeted the shore.

Still, Kyrria guns thundered undimmed. Bunkers tougher than expected.

'Biche production site's here. They can't lose it.'

Kyrria went all-out. Cornered rat bites cat.

"Prepare!"

Lead Marines opened landing craft doors. Trenches erupted in machine-gun hell.

"Charge! Marines fear no death! Lunch in hell!"

Vrooooom!

Landing tanks and craft roared into bullets. Willingly charging death's maw took balls of steel.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Marines dropped before beaching. Crimson bloomed in waves like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red ink.

"Arghhh!"

"Mommy!"

"Drowning! Help...!"

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Shrieking guns and shells drowned the beach. My medal's noise reduction kept it tolerable. Coren clutched his chest, pale, panicked.

"Gonna puke, Dos. How many lead Marines make the beach?"

"Hm... Zero?"

Spot on. Ten minutes in, vanguard pinned. Corpses bobbed clear. Some sank under gear— hating this hell even in death?

"Gah! Foot caught!"

"Shit! Can't advance!"

Dead blocked the living. Worst soldier fail.

"My god..."

Someone sighed it out.