Dispatch (6)
"Huuuuh..."
Realizing he'd been holding his breath for what felt like ages, Cheol-woo exhaled in a shuddering rush. The NewTontonMan suit had been flung back by the shell fragments, but it sprang right back up, brushing off the protective gear like it was no big deal. Yuri flashed an OK sign their way, as if to say she was fine. What a relief.
'That was close.'
When he'd spotted the antitank gun aimed at NewTontonMan, it had looked like game over. The trigger was already pulled; even if he sniped the gunner right then, the shell would fire before his bullet arrived. Shooting the bastard would be too late. So what then?
In that split-second flicker of thought, Cheol-woo's hand moved on pure spinal reflex instinct. His aim locked onto the empty space between NewTontonMan and the antitank gun, his trigger finger blurring in a frenzy—rat-tat-tat!—spraying bullets wildly.
The scattered rounds slammed into the incoming high-explosive shell headed for NewTontonMan, detonating it midair.
'It... worked?'
Intercepting a straight-shot antitank round from long range? Cheol-woo blinked in disbelief. He hadn't even considered if it was possible—just had to do it, so he did. No logic, no deliberation; his hand simply moved on autopilot.
He didn't like acting without thinking, but in combat, there was no time for deliberation. Sometimes you just handed the reins to instinct. And that instinct seemed to be sharpening by the minute.
'Almost done here.'
By now, the enemy lines were a smoldering ruin thanks to NewTontonMan. The machine guns lay in twisted heaps of scrap, and the terrified soldiers had ditched their rifles and gear, fleeing in every direction. Elite troops, my ass. Facing a longsword-wielding NewTontonMan up close must've been nightmare fuel.
The antitank gunner had looked like an officer. Had he slipped away? Cheol-woo ground his teeth, scanning the wreckage where the bastard had vanished—when gunfire erupted from behind it: rat-tat!
Out dragged Houndmaster, hauling the gunner's corpse, fresh reload in tow.
Son of a bitch. Enemies who switched sides always seemed nerfed, but this guy was proving useful.
Cheol-woo rushed over, linking up with NewTontonMan and Houndmaster.
"Sis. You good?"
"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. This thing's got blast protection, remember?"
"Hold still."
He checked her suit first. Helmet off—no head wounds, pupils focused, no signs of concussion. A thorough scan of the gear showed no shrapnel penetration. Maybe some fractures from the impact, but nothing serious. Still, she'd need a full medical scan back at base.
"First salvo hit dead-on. Plenty already dead."
Following Houndmaster underground, they found a dozen bodies under tarps. They peeled them back one by one, checked faces, collected dog tags. No John Friedman among them.
Company-sized recon unit, judging by numbers and gear. No way a commander like him would be here anyway.
Cheol-woo pocketed the tags, a touch disappointed, and headed out.
"Recon means their main force is nearby. We track 'em down and pursue. Sis."
"Oh. Right. Tank on."
"Nah. I'm taking point now. Stick behind me."
"Suddenly!? Why?"
"No backtalk."
"Tch..."
Yuri grumbled but fell in obediently. No telling how much durability the suit had left—pushing it further was risky. Even rifle rounds might penetrate now that the plates were compromised. Time to stop relying on her tanking.
"Worst case, we grab a POW or two on the way back."
Main force was battalion-sized at least. If they were out of artillery range, their current firepower couldn't touch them. But scouting their strength would be a win. Even snagging a fleeing straggler would do.
Cheol-woo quickened his pace—then froze.
"What?"
"Rocket launch."
"Huh?"
Fwhoosh—a familiar hiss whispered faintly in his ears. Pretty far off. Over the ridge? Not aimed at us, then?
White trails streaking skyward said otherwise. A dozen guided missiles blotted the sky, diving straight for them. Houndmaster bolted on instinct.
"Rockets! Scatter!"
"Those aren't rockets."
Houndmaster and his men dove for cover in all directions; a couple missiles veered after them.
Guided munitions—missiles!? Cheol-woo snapped up his rifle, hosing them down—rat-tat-tat! They blew apart short of target: BOOM!
Fragments rained; NewTontonMan tackled Cheol-woo flat, shielding him.
"More incoming!"
Another fwhoosh—double, no triple the number this time.
No way Cheol-woo could intercept them all with limited mags. Yuri scooped him up piggyback and bolted.
He twisted, tracking the missiles tailing them, firing one-handed—rat-tat!
"They're... evading?"
The missiles jinked erratically the moment he aimed, like dodging interceptors. Targeting humans, predicting shots, self-evading? No missile in service did that. No point either—why waste seekers and AI on tiny rockets? Inefficient as hell.
'Line-of-sight guided, then?'
Only logical option: human operators steering them manually. But that meant dozens of spotters, one per missile. Still wasteful manpower.
He burned to charge in and see their setup firsthand, but pursuit was impossible now. Open terrain ahead—no cover. He could handle missiles, but if enemy fire pinned them mid-intercept...
'Missiles make pinpointing their coords tough.'
Artillery barrage would've been sweet if he had a fix. Cheol-woo hid his frustration. Their direction gave a rough observer bearing, but not precise.
No counter left—time to pull back.
Once in the rubble and treeline, missiles stopped chasing.
"Fucking bullshit gear. No unit runs that, far as I know. Gotta be ability users involved."
"Hah..."
So, some multitasker controlling dozens at once? Straight out of a horror flick. Supercharged parallel processing or what?
Ridiculous.
"We wiped their recon and bloodied their main force—they'll be regrouping, stuck in place for a bit. Perfect time to bug out, no?"
"Smart. Can you handle recovering your dead? Do what you want with the bodies—just keep dog tags and gear. Deliver later; I'll pay double."
"Deal."
Cheol-woo shook on it. No idea of the guy's name or if they'd meet again, but it didn't matter. Easing his guilt over leaving the fallen gave Houndmaster reason enough.
"Sorry. Couldn't save everyone back in Hong Kong either."
"Water under the bridge. I was gunning for you too. Employers' orders—nothing personal."
"One-on-one?"
"I'd remember you as a rare breed."
Houndmaster chuckled, pulling him into a rough bear hug, clapping his back. One last handshake, and Cheol-woo turned away.
Houndmaster and his limping crew vanished down the trail, gear heavy.
"Cooler split than expected. He was ready to riot over those launch codes earlier."
"Yeah. Probably figured I shouldn't have 'em after seeing my handiwork. Or..."
"Or?"
"Ah."
Ah—shit.
Cheol-woo's blood ran cold. No way, right?
Pat-down confirmed it: a flat, hard object in his back pouch. Goosebumps exploded.
"Fuck..."
He yanked it out—a black card stamped with the US seal.
Such bullshit—curses spilled unbidden.