Chapter 19
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: High Risk High Return, Paso Robles (6)
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The day had changed.
Around 8 a.m., the radio crackled to life.
[Comms check. Banana, Banana, this is radio check. Able, Able. Over.]
The radio, with a fresh battery swapped in and powered on since dawn. The voice that emerged, laced with faint static, wasn’t friendly from the start.
Able Company had been assigned the rescue mission. Led by Captain Markert, the racist company commander. With the world gone mad, he was showing his true colors. The U.S. military strictly prohibited racism by default. But these were extraordinary times. Many rules that should have been upheld were being ignored.
They were calling us Banana right from the outset. A slur for yellow-skinned people.
Using military comms protocol with civilians in the first place was inconsiderate. A polite interpretation of their message would be this:
“Refugee volunteers standing by on the net, how do you read? This is Able Company. Over.”
Attaching “over” at the end meant: I’m done talking, your turn. It was to avoid overlapping speech.
But they’d repeated “Banana” clearly. The group was displeased. There were ears listening. Jinseok and Jejung’s faces flushed red.
Among the people in the gym, the more reasonable majority glanced at Winter’s group’s expressions. Some were indignant. But the man who’d clashed with Winter yesterday, along with two or three others, were suppressing smirks. Their twitching lips were infuriating to behold.
“Banana” wasn’t even a proper callsign in comms codes. Demanding a rule-compliant response was mockery in itself. Comms protocol wasn’t something players would know without acquiring the relevant skill or experience.
Winter picked up the handset.
“Able. This is… refugee volunteer group, Han Gyeowol. Lima Charlie, five by five. How do you read, over.”
“Lima Charlie” was shorthand for Loud and Clear.
“Five by five” referred to signal strength. Readability and clarity—the strength and distinctness of the signal picked up by the radio. If the signal came in strong, readability was good; if it was clear, clarity was good. Korea typically rated it 1 to 3, the U.S. 1 to 5.
His response translated to: “This is refugee volunteer Han Gyeowol. Your transmission is loud and clear. How do you read me, over.”
[Copy, good readability on your end. Able-Actual requests callsign correction. Your callsign is… set as Banana. Acknowledge and repeat if understood. Over.]
Even the comms operator sounded uncomfortable. You could sense the irritation. Able-Actual—that is, the company commander—must have ordered it.
It was like making a Black person call themselves a nigger. Childish. The stone in his chest rolled halfway before stopping. Winter responded in a calm voice.
“Copy. Able, one request. The people here don’t know comms protocol. Call us Banana or whatever, but we’d appreciate simple words everyone can understand. Over.”
A brief silence, then the reply.
[Understood, Banana. Able commenced Oscar Mike… no, rescue op at 0800 hours. What’s your situation?]
“We’ve located thirty-four civilians. Twenty-one of them are students, no patients or injuries, all in good health.”
[Then can Banana lead them out to the 24th Street intersection?]
An absurd demand. Even after being told over half were students, they were asking if self-evac was possible. The civilians’ faces twisted in dismay immediately. The control AI’s system message popped up as a hologram.
「AI Help (Insight Lv. 8): Your response will alter the mission parameters. Choosing self-evac means Able Company stays put; success requires linking up with them 60 minutes before EENT. Rewards vary by performance.」
「Estimated Difficulty (Insight Lv. 8): Near impossible.」
「AI Help (Insight Lv. 8): Success probability is extremely low. However, perfect completion could yield up to thirty-seven times the reward evaluation. The choice is yours.」
No need to think. Over thirty unarmed people, twenty-one of them middle schoolers suffering underage penalties worse than Winter’s. Self-evac was impossible. Even Winter had limits.
“Negative. Three civilians are armed, but firepower is insufficient. High risk of losing control if contact occurs.”
[Copy. Able will continue the mission. Banana, stand fast at current position. Over.]
Comms ended there. Winter figured nothing major would happen and activated time acceleration. Barring incidents, it would auto-deactivate upon Able Company’s arrival.
But things went awry. When time acceleration broke, echoes of gunfire and explosions filled the air. Not far off. Roaring blasts followed, one after another. The latter weren’t human. People grew anxious, clustering around Winter.
Winter grabbed the radio. He tried hailing, but no response.
“Hey, little boss. What’s going on?”
Jejung, awkwardly polite. A hint of lingering attachment in the “little boss” nickname. It’d fade in time. Winter answered without delay.
“The military uses suppressors. Hearing gunfire means something’s wrong. Weapons without suppressors? Only vehicle-mounted heavy stuff. Means they’ve run into something requiring that, right?”
“No way.”
“Plus, multiple explosion types by size—at least three kinds. They’re not just using grenades; among military explosives louder than frags, it’s rockets and plastic. Still hearing fighting after that firepower… the group they hit must be massive, no?”
“…….”
At this point in Winter’s analysis, the three wore varied expressions. Disappointment and defeat radiated from Jinseok.
“You know a lot for your age. Guessing all that from sounds alone…?”
“Anyone calmly thinking it through would reach the same conclusion.”
The young man bit his lip. The boy’s nonchalant reply deepened his sense of defeat. The boy glanced at his eyes. Groups needed one or two like this for motivation.
The one among the three whose pride wasn’t an issue, Yura, was frank.
“Staying calm in this situation is impressive. The rescuers might not make it.”
Worry mixed with clear trust. Reverence favorability had built up enough to show outwardly. Winter remained serene.
“We need a goat.”
“Huh? A goat? What’s that…?”
“Nothing big, but explaining’s a hassle. I’ll tell you later.”
A casual toss carrying implication. ‘I believe in a safe return.’ Yura’s face brightened a bit. Yelling outright, “We’ll get back safe!” would’ve backfired. That’d imply even he doubted it.
“What’re you all talking about among yourselves?”
The Americans eyed the Korean conversation suspiciously. Though few, some flashed inexplicable anger. People get like that. In anxiety, they want to blame and resent anyone.
Should he be honest? Winter, weighing the ripple effects, chose yes.
“Said the rescue team seems to be struggling.”
Immediate backlash. A white man pointed and raised veins.
“Ha, no way! World’s strongest army! They wouldn’t struggle against half-dead freaks!”
Instant, emotional. Rebellion against dashed hope. No need to confront head-on. Winter nodded.
“Maybe. That’s just my take, anyway.”
“…If you don’t know, shut up! Don’t stir up anxiety for nothing! The rescuers will come.”
“Hope so.”
A naturally warm smile, gently deflecting. Empathy for the words, but realistic disagreement. The boy’s calm demeanor targeted not the man, but the watching crowd.
The subtle mood shattered as the radio blared again.
[Break, Break! A…5…relay…! Able 1! A…! Current…position…break off…! Engaging…mission abort…Romeo Point…E&E…!]
Good readability, but ragged breaths, gunfire, and blasts made the shout hard to parse. Layers of screams mixed in. The gym froze cold. Mission abort and E&E were clear enough.
The radio grew frantic. One word repeated amid the chaos: “monsters.” Winter was puzzled inwardly. Too early for special or enhanced variants. And no reason to call regulars “monsters” now.
‘Tougher mission than expected.’
Outside, gunfire and blasts tapered off in frequency but spread in direction. The military was scattering. Persistent heavy gunfire meant some vehicles survived. But fading sounds were bad—vehicles ditching stragglers.
No point asking for sitrep now.
Someone started sobbing. It spread gradually. Crowd psychology. As cries multiplied, radio bursts decreased inversely. Constant screams would’ve been better. Voices screaming over the net faded one by one, until one man ranted alone. No replies, he sounded panicked.
[Hey, is everyone really gone…? Someone answer!]
Terror-struck, he’d ditched protocol entirely.
That was normal, actually. Military comms weren’t always by the book. Public U.S. examples showed more casual chatter.
So earlier had just been the racist’s boomer game.
The lone cries grew madder. Winter took the handset. Tilted his head briefly. No need for the clown callsign.
“Han Gyeowol here. I’m listening, go ahead.”
[Oh! Thank God! Forgot you guys were out there! Damn, can’t help, but… someone to talk to is great! So glad!]
“Any injuries?”
[Fuck…tumbled down stairs, leg’s busted. Feels broken…]
“How many with you?”
[Just me. Buddies scattered. Probably other idiots alive.]
“Safe for now?”
[Safe? Eh, nothing about to kill me yet. How long that lasts, who knows. Haha.]
The final tear-soaked laugh dripped despair and resignation. The expected plea was absent. Winter pointed it out.
“You’re not asking for rescue. Injury that bad?”
[Injury’s not the issue. With those monsters around, how could I…?]
“Sorry, but can you describe the monsters?”
[…….]
Silence. Just as Winter wondered if he’d passed out, the answer came—the one he wanted.