Chapter 198
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 198
Chapter Title: #Survivors (1)
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The helicopter convoy that escaped Fort Baker headed north along State Route 1, the Shoreline Highway. It was the safest route out of the San Francisco metropolitan area from the Golden Gate.
"Safest" here meant prepared for a potential emergency landing at any moment. The northwest part of the San Francisco metro area was riddled with unbroken mountain ranges. Especially around the highest peak of the Marin Hills, Mount Tamalpais, they had to be wary of a vast area—and that region was a natural habitat for giant sequoias. If a helicopter went down into the forest, survival odds would be slim.
That said, a counterargument did come up once. It was at the point where the road started veering away from the coast, passing by the wide Bolinas Lagoon with its white sandy beach to the south.
[I think we should stick close to the coastline.]
A suggestion from a Coast Guard lieutenant.
[Marin County has lower population density the closer you get to the coast. That means fewer encounters with mutant hordes. Plus, there are hardly any rocky beaches, so emergency landings would be easier. Touching down on shallow water would minimize the impact.]
And the biggest advantage was something else.
[Above all, it’d be easier to signal Navy or Coast Guard patrol ships for rescue. Even if they’re in the thick of combat right now, it should wrap up by the end of the day at latest. We could get help from the Carl Vinson carrier group.]
A very Coast Guard way of thinking—reasonable enough.
But it wasn’t feasible. Before Winter could even rebut, opposition came from a trailing helicopter.
[Short-sighted thinking, Lieutenant. You know there are new monster types lurking underwater, and you still want to head for the coast?]
The Army captain, the highest-ranking officer present, made a rational call. The threat from Melville might decrease in shallow water, but there were other reasons too.
[The Navy’s got to be in chaos right now. Sure, a carrier group won’t collapse, but assuming they’ll sort it out in a day is way too optimistic. How effective was the Golden Gate blockade? That many ships pouring out...]
The Navy’s top priority was coastal blockade. With underwater monsters added to the mix, it’d take time to establish countermeasures—including administrative procedures—so their ops would inevitably turn defensive until command made a final call.
[And how much longer can we stay airborne? We’ll have to land soon due to fuel shortages anyway. But it’s not just fuel—we’re low on ammo and food too. Food’s the real issue. If my memory’s right, there’s nothing along this coast, is there?]
The Coast Guard lieutenant confirmed it.
[That’s true... Most of it’s designated preservation land.]
[Exactly. I don’t want to sit around waiting for rescue with no ETA. We’re not the only ones who escaped. Better to take a route where we can fend for ourselves. Following the road makes it easier to pinpoint our location and scavenge supplies or vehicles. Worst case, we hunt for food.]
With that, the captain asked for Winter’s input.
[You there, Lieutenant Han Gyeowol? Damn, only now getting to you. What do you think? I’d like to hear your take.]
The captain wasn’t issuing unilateral orders because they were from different branches.
It wasn’t just Army vs. Coast Guard. Even if Winter and the captain were both Army, different units meant different chains of command. Factor in a few CIA agents and the lone FBI investigator, and rank alone wouldn’t cut it.
Even so, it was a measured approach—not indecisiveness. He stated his view clearly and sought agreement. And he was keeping a level head in a situation ripe for panic. The same went for the Coast Guard lieutenant who’d spoken earlier.
‘Hard to tell for sure without more time, but they seem decent.’
A relief. They’d cleared one hurdle, but things were still precarious. With a sigh of relief at the officers’ competence, Winter responded from the empty copilot seat beside Joanna.
“I agree. Isn’t broadcasting a rescue signal to the Navy risky in itself? We’re already on low power just for comms... Tricksters might pick it up before any rescue team. And they won’t come alone. With the ocean on one side, we’d be easy to surround.”
A light groan rippled over the radio net—the Coast Guard lieutenant’s. Post-Trickster, upgraded radios had signal dampeners, but signaling the Navy would require max power. Dangerous if Tricksters were in range.
[I hadn’t considered that.]
“It happens. One more thing: Ships escaping the Golden Gate will hug the coast... Mines make landing tough, but they’ll try anyway.”
[Why?]
“Few have plenty of fuel, right?”
[Ah...]
“Drift and starve or blow up—either way, they die. Landing attempts will happen up and down the coast. That means clashes and firefights everywhere. Mutants drawn to it? Going seaward has more downsides than upsides.”
By the end of the exchange, the convoy was too deep inland to turn back toward the coast. The road wound through gentle canyons, so flight noise trapped between mountains and forests wouldn’t carry far.
The lead pilot radioed.
[No mutants chasing us. No towns or cities ahead for a while, so we can drop lower. Descending to 20 meters.]
A safety measure. Rotorcraft could glide short distances at low altitude even if engines quit—unless terrain was rugged or obstacle-heavy.
No objections. A Grumbler showing up would be bad, but special mutants were unlikely in this low-population stretch.
‘Could be scouting packs like at Salinas, though...’
Winter recalled heading to the lake to stop the dam breach. Even with Santa Margarita ten klicks away, a group including Tricksters had been scouting.
But that worry could ease for now.
The overt liberation op had failed.
During the operation, mutants had conserved forces. With nukes cutting supply lines across vast areas, they were likely prepping a massive push—or already had. Winter figured the latter.
The plague hadn’t breached lines in over a year. With a rare chance, the cunning ones would mass their hordes.
Areas far from the front had lower plague density. The frontline crisis made this region safer for survivors.
Shortly after dropping altitude, one chopper finally acted up. Huh? Before the inexperienced pilot could report, #3 peeled off, spinning slowly as it lost height. They’d kept safe distances at low speed, but the trailing birds panicked—except Joanna’s.
#3 never regained power. Its fuselage skidded roughly down a gentle slope.
Boom—
Not a steep crash, yet the impact pierced the rotor noise.
[#3, respond! #3!]
Lead bird called repeatedly. No reply. Looked like they’d survived but were too shaken—or the radio was busted.
“Landing! Brace for impact!”
Joanna’s sharp warning, sweat beading on her forehead. She feared screwing up from nerves. Landing on a dark, sloped hillside without guides—who could blame her? No way to help, so Winter just gripped her shoulder firmly.
But the landing was remarkably smooth.
“Whew...”
Listening to the fading exhaust, exhausted Joanna slumped against her seatback. Only then did her hands tremble violently on the stick. She’d sweated buckets—dehydration risk.
“I’ll check first. Rest a bit before coming out. We won’t move right away.”
He wanted to let her nap, but left the weakly nodding girl behind. Cold wind blew from the black forest under the deep blue dawn sky along the ridge. No rotten plague stench mixed in.
Other choppers landed in sequence. Landing beat takeoff in difficulty, but they managed. Debarking troops grumbled—it was joy in disguise. As soldiers formed a perimeter, officers checked the crashed bird and injuries.
Kyyaaaaah—
A distant screech tensed everyone.
But minor threat. Winter, rifle suppressed and no NVGs, aimed north. Three mutants charging across the meadow—his senses warned of no more. Fitting for low-density area.
Crack-crack-crack!
Three aimed shots like full-auto gifted rest to what might’ve been a family: father, wife, daughter. The child’s white dress was a stark target even at night.
“Laser aimer-less headshots at that range? With the naked eye?”
The Coast Guard lieutenant marveled, finally confirming direction and distance post-shot. The same voice pushing the coastal route earlier.
“That’s Lieutenant Han Gyeowol. He’s not like us normies.”
Barker the lieutenant chimed in. Same branch meant camaraderie; the first lieutenant pouted.
“Don’t lump me in with you so casually.”
Winter checked the stranger’s nametag.
“Name’s... Lieutenant Escamilla?”
She saluted crisply.
“Belated intro. Coast Guard Sector 11, San Francisco Port Security Unit (PSU), Violeta Escamilla. That guy’s academy classmate. Honored to serve with you.”
First combat-arms female officer in this world. Not shocking—quarter of Coast Guard junior officers were women.
Likely Hispanic by surname, but features blended—multi-gen mixing.
A voice command barked aloud. Low power still too risky; better loud than radio.
“Langford the captain’s calling. Let’s go.”
The Army captain was rounding up officers in the direction Escamilla pointed.
There, he eyed Winter closely first.
“Without the voice, I’d swear you were someone else. Can’t wipe that disguise yet? Troops keep doing double-takes. Even I feel awkward.”
“Difficult. Tech’s here, but barely extricated. Guess we wait for it to fade naturally.”
The captain grimaced, then introduced himself properly.
“Damian Langford. CO, Alpha Battery, 2nd Battalion, 111th Field Artillery Regiment.”
“Artillery...?”
Winter better grasped his caution around juniors.
“Yeah. Fort Baker was a beachhead for the landing op. We provided fire support to the base while vanguard for the regiment and 116th IBCT, awaiting main body. Meaningless now.”
A sigh at last night’s regrets.
“Not the time for this. Greet our officers first. Then decisions, then action.”
Officers had gathered. Different units even in same garrison meant intros needed—even between Army and Coast Guard. Winter considered calling CIA and FBI but nixed it—pointless.