The Sweepers' Baptism of Fire
Tat-tat-tat-tat....
An armed helicopter lifted off from Ark No. 17 and streaked southeast across the sky. Its mission was to carve a 200-kilometer aerial corridor toward Ark No. 23. The route was still crawling with monsters.
This was the armed helicopter's first combat deployment, yet the risk of pilot inexperience was minimal. The finest gunship pilots had been reassigned to the new machines, and because the flight controls were derived from the old gunships, retraining had been straightforward. In exchange for drastically reduced transport capacity, the new aircraft carried far heavier armament and ordnance. Their silhouettes bristled with fire-control cameras, rocket pods, and autocannon barrels—an unmistakably menacing profile.
> Sweeper formation, large monster swarm inbound. Prepare for contact.
The voice was familiar, but the source had changed. Instead of the old ground control station, the information now came from a communications officer aboard the Transfer—the airborne early-warning aircraft loitering thousands of meters above the formation. The Ark No. 17 air force could now maneuver with far greater precision.
> Acknowledged. All aircraft, power up weapon systems.
> Weapons nominal.
> Contact in ten minutes. Watch for anti-air variants.
The fifteen Sweepers spread out for individual combat while maintaining mutual support distances. Minutes later, enraged monsters surged across the ruined ground. The formation answered with napalm rockets and autocannon fire, shredding the creatures below.
Whump-whump-whump! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The devastating firepower of 35 mm autocannons and 105 mm napalm rockets slammed into the earth. The already devastated wasteland erupted in long sheets of flame. Monsters caught in the open were enveloped in kinetic and chemical energy, their bodies demonstrating two simple scientific truths: protein contracts when heated, and high-velocity mass penetrates flesh.
—Kreeeeeeeaaaaagh!—
The creatures thrashed in agony, reaching futilely toward the helicopters. A few anti-air variants spat volcanic rounds, but the Sweepers—several times faster than the old gunships—evaded with ease. The monsters were soon reduced to ragged chunks of meat by the autocannons.
> Engagement complete. Report damage.
> No casualties. Combat capable.
> Ordnance remaining: over 70 percent.
The new machines had proven themselves more than just fresh paint. The pilots' voices carried unmistakable confidence; their remaining ammunition backed that pride. They were eager for more.
> Monster swarm detected twenty kilometers ahead. Pursue and destroy.
> Roger. Formation, moving out.
On their first day of operations, the Sweepers fought more than five engagements, achieved a perfect survival rate, refueled from a Giver, and returned safely to the Ark.
*
"Satisfactory results," Lim Hyuk-soo murmured.
The new helicopters performed flawlessly. Their firepower was excellent, their agility outstanding. In pure combat effectiveness they far surpassed the old gunships. The Transfer and Giver had also been tested under real conditions and validated. Three birds with one stone.
"Still, calling them 'armed helicopters' and 'gunships' is getting confusing."
It was time for proper names. He considered each aircraft's role. The transport-focused gunships became Carriers. The heavily armed variant, built to sweep monsters away, became Sweepers. The airborne early-warning aircraft, which relayed information, became the Transfer. The aerial refuelers, which gave fuel, became Givers.
"Much cleaner."
He paused. "Come to think of it, the artificial intelligence still has no name."
Did it need one? "A.I." was just an abbreviation. "Artificial intelligence" felt too impersonal. "In-neung" was too lazy...
"Ah, whatever."
He decided to keep calling it simply "artificial intelligence." The thing was nothing but a bundle of mechanical tones anyway—always beeping, never pleasant. A pretty voice might have changed things, but it had none.
Minor issues had been resolved: range, ground threats, pilot fatigue. Reaching Ark No. 23 was now only a matter of time. Of course, monsters still had to be cleared before any direct approach was possible.
If Ark No. 23 proved empty, he would send technicians to dismantle its mainframe and bring the components back to expand Ark No. 17's own systems. Doubling the mainframe capacity would double the Ark's population support ceiling—from 160,000 to 320,000. Three million people could theoretically be sustained. The fact that they currently lacked even a fraction of that number was a bitter reality.
His own painstakingly gathered population stood at eighty thousand. Ark No. 23's numbers were probably around one hundred thousand. Its surroundings had been mountains and botanical gardens rather than dense urban zones, so an optimistic initial evacuation might have reached two hundred thousand. Given that Ark No. 17—surrounded by city—had only eighty thousand survivors out of a potential million, it was entirely possible Ark No. 23 had fared no better.
"Mountains and botanical gardens..."
The monster factor affected plants as well. If the vegetation had mutated severely, Ark No. 23—surrounded by greenery—could be in serious trouble.
*
Arks boasted perfect security, yet humans remained mortal. The most common cause of death inside Ark No. 17 was combat against monsters, followed by illness, then suicide.
> Your Excellency, here is this week's casualty list.
Lim Hyuk-soo exhaled. Eight people had died this week while the Ark prepared for the journey to Ark No. 23. Years of training had taught him to treat such reports with detachment, yet his chest still tightened every time.
"Let's see..."
Of the eight deaths, five were elderly patients succumbing to chronic illness. Three were suicides. After fourteen months inside the Ark, total deaths from all causes approached five thousand. Births numbered only a few hundred. The balance between life and death had collapsed.
Even accounting for currently pregnant women, the living could not replace the dead. Daily skirmishes at the perimeter gates added irregular losses. Ten thousand of the eighty thousand residents served in the military, and the artificial intelligence projected that the low birth rate would persist.
The low-fertility crisis that had plagued humanity in the early-to-mid twenty-first century had returned inside the Arks. But the twenty-second century offered solutions the ancestors had already discovered.
If women would not bear children, they would be made to. Producing the next generation was worth any temporary unrest. He issued a decree: every woman of childbearing age (twenties to forties) must bear at least two children or face expulsion. The Ark's sperm bank contained hundreds of carefully catalogued genetic traits under perfect control. Women could choose any donor they wished.
Incidentally, the low birth rate that had lasted until the mid-twenty-first century had only been solved by the outbreak of the Third World War.