Reorganization (2)
Another morning had come. Or should one even call it “dawning”? We were inside the building, so sunlight no longer reached us, yet every morning the artificial lamps that mimicked the sun would brighten the halls. In that sense, saying the day had dawned was not entirely inaccurate.
> No communications received today either.
“I see…” I murmured, chewing the fried eggs that had been served for breakfast. I had always preferred them sunny-side up, but the Ark’s kitchens seemed incapable of making runny yolks; everything came fully cooked. It was a genuine disappointment. I was wondering whether I should schedule a proper meal outside when a transmission arrived from the research lab.
“Oh. That’s encouraging.” I wiped the yolk from the corners of my mouth with a napkin.
My guess had been correct. A strongly corrosive substance could never have been fired in such volume. That did not, however, make the threat any less dangerous.
“Have you determined the composition of the sphere itself?”
This was what truly interested me. On screen the rounds had looked like balls of fire; I was intensely curious what kind of casing could produce such flames. Perhaps the volatile compound had simply ignited during flight?
“It’s all right. Even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. So, what options do we have for reducing damage to the gunships?”
The Ark was self-sufficient, but only within limits. Materials produced by a nation-state at staggering cost and resource expenditure were simply beyond its capacity. Even lower-grade substitutes would be difficult to mass-produce or stockpile.
“When will the simulation results be ready?”
“Understood. Contact me again when they’re ready.”
The hologram vanished. I quickly finished the rest of my belated breakfast.
“What’s your take, Captain?”
In the mess hall, one of the soldiers who had finished morning drill asked his superior. The captain, who had been about to shove an entire well-done fried egg into his mouth, frowned slightly and answered with a question of his own.
“What about?”
“The rescue operation, sir. At the current repair rate, it looks like we’ll be heading out again in less than a week… Isn’t that too fast? The new recruits haven’t even completed their training yet.”
The sergeant’s face still carried a vivid scar from the monster. Scars could be erased easily enough, but most soldiers wore them as badges of honor and refused removal; he was not unique in that regard.
The captain chewed the egg thoroughly, swallowed, and finally replied.
“Faster is better. Do you know how many monsters we killed last time?”
“…No, sir.”
“AI analysis put the minimum at one hundred thousand. Maximum four hundred thousand.”
“Cough!” The sergeant, who had been chewing buttered toast, choked and hastily gulped down water. Once he had cleared his throat, he asked again.
“That… that many?”
“Yes. You saw the state of the city. How long could civilians last in those half-assed shelters? Four thousand people crammed inside? Those shelters ran dry in three days. A few more and they would have started eating each other.”
The captain spread butter on his bread with deliberate calm. Even accounting for severe overcrowding, most shelters had been designed around conventional human wars. In an endless apocalypse, a few months was the realistic limit; a year at the absolute maximum.
“If the west is that bad, the north and east are probably already lost. Still, we took a heavy beating this time. I hear a lot of equipment upgrades are in the works. They’ll finish those before we deploy, so we should get a full week of rest no matter how quickly things move.”
“I see… The men are anxious, sir. Remember that enormous bastard?”
“Forgetting that would mean I have dementia, you idiot.”
“Fifty of us were killed by the things that came out of it… We couldn’t recover the bodies, let alone the dog tags. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The sergeant’s eyes trembled. The fear in them could not be concealed.
The captain studied that gaze for a moment, then picked up his tray and stood.
“I’ll raise the issue with the Commander. Keep your heads on straight. Especially watch the ones who were close to the fallen.”
“Yes, sir.”
No amount of training could erase the fact that they were still human. Fear was an instinct they could not escape. After losing comrades and trading fire with grotesque monsters for an entire day without a single minute’s rest in brutal urban combat, the survivors’ minds were inevitably fraying. It was only their strong sense of purpose that kept them together. Had they been nothing more than the shattered remnants of a defeated army, gunshots would have rung out every minute—fragging or suicide, the usual grim repertoire of desperate men.
Breakfast ended, but the captain did not forget the conversation. He sent a direct-line recommendation to the Commander regarding the troops’ mental health. The Commander, in turn, contacted the Controller once more.
“Damn it…”
“…Among the returning soldiers, identify those with outstanding leadership and character and promote them to non-commissioned officers. Also distribute four-day, three-night leave passes. In this critical situation the troops’ morale cannot be allowed to fracture.”
“Yes. I’ll leave it to you.”
It was a genuinely troublesome issue. If the soldiers ever burst into my office and shouted, “You should gear up and kill at least one monster yourself!” I would have no easy answer. The fundamental problem was the divide between those who protected and those who were protected. Worse, every soldier had already lost friends, family, or comrades—one by one or, in the worst cases, all three. Losing even one person could break a man in an instant. Losing all three left no remedy I could offer. I was the Controller, not God; I could not conjure loved ones out of thin air. Time was the only cure, yet in a situation where they had to fight monsters every week, time was a luxury we did not possess.
The four-day leave had been ordered with exactly this in mind. Let them visit the market, eat decent food, meet people, remember that their duty was noble, and reflect on the value of their fallen comrades’ sacrifices. Yet the effectiveness of such measures ultimately depended on each individual’s values and convictions. To maintain actual control over the troops, I needed a reliable corps of non-commissioned officers. They absorbed friction between soldiers and commissioned officers; whether that buffer existed could decide if discontent turned into simple desertion or armed mutiny. The importance of that role could not be overstated.
It was no coincidence that a new platoon leader who spoke down to his NCOs was immediately labeled useless. The current military structure had too few NCOs, and replenishing their numbers would be difficult. On that point, however, I could only trust Commander Alfonso. As a former field officer he might be clumsy with administrative matters, but he was not without resources. After all, the exclusive right to use the Ark’s artificial intelligence did not belong to me alone.