Radar Annihilated
"Commander. We've captured the ones who set the refugee camp ablaze."
"You fucking bastards. Let me see your ugly mugs."
The lieutenant colonel who had taken over as LA Base commander following Colonel Douglas's death scowled fiercely. Those goddamn sons of bitches—right when Colonel Douglas was getting murdered, they had to start the fire, delaying the alert. If he'd known sooner, he could've nabbed David Min before he slipped out of the base. As it was, he might just kill them on sight—
The lieutenant colonel took deep breaths, huff huff, forcing his rage down as much as possible.
"These ragged beggars on their knees are the culprits?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please, officer! Hear us out! We're innocent—"
"Who gave you permission to speak, you dog-dicked fuck?!"
Whack! The lieutenant colonel's foot lashed out before he knew it. A ragged man went flying backward, jaw shattered by the kick. Soldiers rushed to grab his arms and haul him back into place, but his body hung limp. The medic checked his pulse and shook his head slowly.
Ah—fuckin' hell—
The lieutenant colonel rubbed his furrowed brow and started deep breathing again.
"Fuck. Which one's the ringleader? If you say it's the one who just croaked, you're dead."
"C-Can I speak, sir...?"
"Don't pussy out. Speak. I won't kill you now."
"W-Well, you see... some guy in a mask recruited us. Said he was gathering folks unhappy with camp life... looking for like-minded comrades to protest together..."
"Ah, so you torched the refugee camp? We graciously let you non-LA locals in, gave you food and shelter, and that's still not good enough?"
"N-No, sir! Absolutely not! We had no such intent! We just planned a peaceful protest demanding improvements to a few inhumane conditions! The guy handed me a switch, said pressing it would play a recorded statement... so I did, and..."
"And?"
"It... exploded. The food warehouse and ammo depot..."
"..."
The lieutenant colonel was speechless. He'd thought the refugees had gone mad and rebelled, but it was some plague rat's doing? What plague rat? The federal army wouldn't attack us, right? David Min's accomplice? His head throbbed painfully.
"Describe the man's physical features and the mask's appearance. Write it down now."
"Yes, sir!"
The vagrants, tense as hell, took paper and started scribbling statements beside the limp corpse. The lieutenant colonel sighed deeply in irritation, then crunch! stomped the corpse's head to pulp before turning away. Only then did he feel some relief as he stepped out of the refugee camp.
"Lieutenant Colonel, sir. The Australian 2nd Company on recon has entered the combat zone."
"What do they report?"
"They found about a hundred federal army corpses and secured a dozen casualties from the Australian 1st Company. Looks like 1st Company left behind anyone slowing them down."
"No David Min corpse?"
"No, sir."
"So 1st Company teamed up with David Min?"
The Australian 1st Company had chosen to side with David Min. No guarantee 2nd Company wouldn't follow. At that thought, the lieutenant colonel recalled the fiery rage in the Australian deputy commander's eyes last night. Those were genuine eyes of hatred for David Min? It was confusing.
Still, they had to stay vigilant.
"Recon satellite?"
"Entering LA observation zone soon. From now: 5... 4... 3..."
At zero, the monitor lit up with a map. The satellite zoomed across LA, scanning everywhere. Then it locked on a large formation, resolution sharpening as it zoomed in further.
"Found them! Australian 1st Company!"
"Hit them with artillery now."
"Out of towed artillery range."
"Damn it. Why the hell did they go that far?"
1st Company's position had shifted far overnight. Had they climbed mountains nonstop after the fight, without rest? Already nearly 20km away.
Then brrrring!—the lieutenant colonel's phone buzzed violently. His face hardened at the caller ID. He swallowed hard and stepped aside.
"I've taken the call. Speak, Commander Friedman."
"Yes, I—"
"Y-Yes, s-sir...?"
The lieutenant colonel's face went sheet-white. HQ—John Friedman's HQ? 1st Company was that close to it? That's what I want to know...
"I-I'll handle it right away. Hang in there for now."
"Y-Yes, sir...!"
His face drenched in cold sweat, hands trembling, the lieutenant colonel ended the call. Emergency.
"Forget searches—everyone scramble! We're going after Australian 1st Company!"
...
"Goddamn. We actually found the enemy HQ."
A chuckle escaped the Australian commander peering through binoculars. A resort in the mountains. The parking lot brimmed with suspicious comms gear and command vehicles. John Friedman was there—no doubt.
How grueling the path here. Federal troops guarded every pass, forcing them to crawl through pathless terrain all night. Leading vanguard, Cheol-woo and 1st Platoon reached 4km from the enemy HQ. Assemble the company here, and seizing it wouldn't be hard.
They'd tracked radar-like signals—not enemy radar. So who was emitting this? Cheol-woo's gaze fixed on the resort. A truck with a large, sleek cylindrical structure. That it?
"Hand okay, Cheol-woo?"
"Yeah. Moving fine now."
He wiggled his index finger at NewTontonMan's worried voice. He'd slashed his palm, demanded they stitch the tendon roughly—medics fled in horror. Grabbed one medic, forced the procedure; the hack job mangled his hand. But the tendon connected. Chugged blue drug—hand restored in under 30 minutes. Slight off-feeling, but no combat hindrance. Plenty good for trigger spam.
Fix it properly with Mi-young later. Solid temp fix.
Then RWR blared an unfamiliar tone.
"RWR reacting. What's this?"
"Shit. Enemy radar switched from search to track mode."
"What does that mean?"
"Someone's locked on."
Before the commander answered, a missile rose from the horizon, white trail streaming. Cheol-woo clocked the trajectory instantly—heading for trailing friendlies.
"Crazy fuck! Our guys entered radar exposure zone!"
"Order missile intercepts."
"How with small arms?! Not everyone's a monster like David Min!"
What bullshit—
Irked, Cheol-woo aimed his rifle skyward. Lead pursuit—fire—rat-tat-tat—three missiles burst midair.
Then dozens more launched from the horizon. The commander panicked, pupils shaking wildly.
No answer—total wipe incoming.
"David Min! More missiles inbound! Company's done for!"
"Can't intercept all. Gotta smash that HQ radar."
"Mortars out of range! Shells won't reach!"
No options? Then someone gripped Cheol-woo's shoulder hard. NewTontonMan silently offered the railgun.
What with this? He almost asked, then ah—got it. No words needed; her helmeted eyes conveyed it.
He slung the railgun barrel over her kneeling shoulder, aiming at HQ.
No time. Gauge distance by nearby tire size. Wind direction, speed. No rifling, no spin torque calc. Coriolis? Fuck it, gut feel.
Over 4km shot. Railgun precision/range made it theoretically doable, but in combat? Eyeball and instinct only?
Has to work. Cheol-woo held breath, nerves locked on index finger. It trembled from surgery aftereffects—then stilled.
Now.
"Sis. Hold breath."
Bang! Plasma trail blazing blue, uranium-tungsten slug arced skyward. Cleared one valley, two—straight to resort. Perfect trajectory accounting for Earth's spin; slammed cylinder dead center.
Black smoke billowed from the pierced structure.
"Huuuuh..."
RWR chimed radar loss. Missiles flailed, confused—self-destructed en masse.
"Move fast. John Friedman might bolt."
"A-Ah. Y-Yeah... right..."
Wheee-ooo—sirens wailed from the resort. Cheol-woo and NewTontonMan rose without hesitation toward HQ.
The commander, about to blurt You just sniped 4km—, had no choice but to follow. No time for shock.