The Road to Ark No. 23 (2)
A heavy silence hung among the regiment commanders. A survival rate of 44.52%. When those who moved armies routinely called a 20–30% loss of strength "annihilation," a return probability below 50% was effectively a suicide mission. Under such dire conditions, commanders would normally have sought alternative means, but this time there truly were none. What made the situation even worse was the question of just how far those carnivorous plants could adapt. If they evolved to draw moisture directly from the air, then even sealing the monastery at the cost of heavy casualties would be for nothing. And if the creatures that had already adapted to the defoliant could survive being withered and twisted, then there would be no solution at all.
"We will accept volunteers until one week from now. Regiment commanders, gather your volunteers and report to me..."
Commander Alfonso could not bring himself to meet the eyes of his regiment commanders as he spoke his final words. It felt the same as when he had first entered Ark No. 17. No matter where he went, no matter where he looked, there was only death. While his subordinates were slaughtered, torn apart, and devoured alive by the monsters surging from every direction, all he could do was order them to keep pushing forward. He had been through it himself, so how much worse must it be for the regiment commanders who had survived the same hell together?
"....."
None of the regiment commanders answered. They could not. They simply left the command room in silence. It was an insolent act, yet Commander Alfonso could only clutch his forehead in anguish.
*
"Damn it..."
Once I learned the survival rate was in the forties, I could only sigh. I had vaguely suspected it would not be easy, but I had not imagined it would be this grim.
"How... is there any way to reduce the loss rate..."
Even now, plans to improve the survival rate were forming in my mind, but they all collapsed under the realization that the cure would be worse than the disease. Raising the survival rate required a different operation, yet the survival rate for that operation would be no higher. For example, if we restored power, we could simply press buttons on the surface to cut off the water supply without going underground. But would the power plant make the operation any easier? On the contrary, far more personnel worked there, meaning more monsters, a much larger area than the control center, and a long-neglected facility that would spew tremendous noise and electromagnetic interference. We would need to deploy a massive force. In that case, it was less costly to simply grit our teeth and send them underground. There was nothing I could do. Choosing the lesser evil over the greater evil was the fate of the supreme commander. If one path led to annihilation and the other to devastation, then we had no choice but to weep and choose annihilation. In the end, I approved the operation, and each regiment began recruiting volunteers for a suicide mission with a survival rate below 50%.
*
"The survival rate is 44.52%. Those who wish to volunteer, raise your hands."
"..."
No one raised a hand easily. A 44.52% survival rate was as good as a death sentence. There were no heroes for the cruel probability that one of every two would return, and no veterans immune to the terror of death. In the chilling silence, a non-commissioned officer raised his hand and asked a question.
"How many personnel in total...?"
"We'll need at least one company. I'm thinking roughly 160 per center. There are four centers in total... so about 640."
Even if 640 were halved, that left 320. Considering the Ark's army numbered just over ten thousand, it was still a manageable loss on paper. But that was only the macroscopic view. The soldiers, who could only live from the microscopic perspective, felt differently. The moment of being overwhelmed by fear passed, and one by one, hands began to rise within the regiments. Most of them were veterans who had decided it was better for them to go than to send green troops and risk failure. Each regiment managed to assemble several dozen volunteers into the special detachment, but it was not enough. At minimum, twice that number was needed to seize the initiative in underground combat.
*
A day passed. The atmosphere in the unit had sunk like a stone. Occasional attempts to lighten the mood were quickly crushed. Even in the crowded mess hall, no laughter could be heard. How many of the people sitting here would die? And how few would return to meet again? They had joined the army prepared to die, yet that only made death more terrifying. When a soldier died in the army, it immediately endangered his comrades. If a machine gunner died, monsters would rush in. If a mortarman died, a gap would open in the firepower. If a man holding the line died, fewer people would have to fill his place. Today, more than fifty volunteers raised their hands.
*
Two days passed. Once enough personnel to fill an entire platoon had left, the once-crowded mess hall felt noticeably emptier. Already, empty seats were appearing here and there. The volunteers were already training in the VR training rooms, practicing operations in pitch-black underground environments, and the shrill beeps that sounded upon elimination were chilling. Whispers had begun to spread through the barracks about who should go and who should be spared. Soldiers from the 5th and 6th Regiments, which had relatively more new recruits, suddenly found themselves under scrutiny, and demand at the PX surged overnight. Whether they wanted one last luxury before death or not, chicken legs, canned beer, and various snacks began selling out rapidly.
*
Three days passed. A rumor spread that the 5th and 6th Regiments together had produced over a hundred volunteers. Because the 3rd Aviation Regiment and 4th Armored Regiment were unlikely to be selected due to the nature of the operation, the infantrymen of the 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 6th Regiments became objects of both envy and resentment. With it now clear that more such special operations would occur in the future, armored equipment that could only operate in open terrain had little role to play. Because of this, new recruits increasingly sought to learn how to operate walkers at the training center or joined pilot training programs in an attempt to avoid becoming ordinary infantry. After all, anything that let you ride something improved survival odds and paid better, so it was hardly a losing proposition.
*
Four days passed. So far, 350 volunteers had come forward, but that was still not enough. Talk began circulating through the barracks that forced conscription would soon begin. The rumor that the 5th and 6th Regiments had produced 100 volunteers proved true. Of course, there were no shortage of voices mocking them for managing only 100 between the two. When talk of forced selection reached the mess hall, the non-commissioned officers silenced the soldiers. From then on, only the clatter of spoons filled lunch and dinner. During free time, word came that the number of volunteers had reached the 400s.
*
Five days passed. The volunteers had begun gathering among themselves. Rather than be seen by others as a suicide detachment, they preferred to handle things on their own. Before lunch, the non-commissioned officers brought news that the volunteers had been completely separated from their original regiments and formed into an independent battalion. For a brief moment the barracks buzzed with the novelty of the first independent battalion in Ark Army history, but someone quickly soured the mood by noting that once the operation ended, it would become an independent company instead of a battalion. That day, the number of volunteers exceeded 500.
*
Six days passed. No one knew who had volunteered, but the mess hall now had noticeably more empty seats, and PX sales continued to climb. With only one day left to accept volunteers, the faces of those gathered in the mess hall had grown visibly darker. Most believed that if the full quota was not met by tomorrow, forced conscription would begin. Anyone willing to join a battle where either they or the comrade beside them would die had to be either extraordinarily brave or clearly insane. And today, word came that the number of volunteers had surpassed 600.
*
Finally, the seventh day arrived. The moment the morning reveille sounded, a heavy tension filled the barracks. The unspoken pressure of "anyone but me, volunteer quickly" persisted throughout training, and cold sweat began to run when it was time to head to the firing range. Then, after lunch during personal maintenance time, a non-commissioned officer appeared from somewhere and announced that all volunteers had been assembled. At the same moment, the oppressive atmosphere that had weighed down the barracks melted away like snow.