Chapter 204
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 204
Chapter Title: #Survivors (7)
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Hunting was halted on the fourth day of their stay. Their stockpiled food had exceeded a whopping three tons. Thanks to spotting at least one deer herd every day, they’d ended up with this much even when only taking the bucks toward the end.
Of course, they couldn’t take it all. They planned to leave some behind. Captain Langford insisted on designating a rally point. Things could go wrong during the move, he said. If the unit got scattered for some reason and lost contact, they’d fall back here and regroup.
Preservation was straightforward, thanks to the solar power systems stripped from nearby inns and the post office building. With a fridge in every room, they hadn’t even salted the portions going into the freezers. It should hold up fine without human intervention for a while.
The mushrooms and edible plants spread out drying under the spring sun were plentiful too.
Horsemanship training progressed smoothly as well. Most managed at least a light trot. The soldiers and agents showed high enthusiasm, but to Winter, it seemed like a mental defense mechanism.
‘Laughing and chatting doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten.’
Many suffered insomnia or night terrors every night. Thinking of Joanna, who’d grabbed her gun before even opening her eyes, it wouldn’t be strange if an accident happened anytime.
Still, the officers’ careful oversight had improved things a lot.
Even today, two days before departure, Lieutenant Novak’s suggestion led to a platoon-versus-platoon greatsword throwing contest. The prize was whiskey. Everyone got some regardless of winning or losing, but the winning platoon picked first and drank first. They wouldn’t hand out much anyway, and feeding the whole company at once would be tough.
Even so, the mere chance to drink had the entire company buzzing.
“Jim Beam! Jim Beam! Jim Beam!”
Taunts from the spectators toward the thrower. No one knew who started it, but it meant “You get the cheap stuff.” Jim Beam’s white label was the least popular among the prizes. The soldier standing at the mark flipped off his squadmates instead of throwing.
Boo—
The troops reacted in unison. Only his own squadmates cheered him on.
The thrower shook his head, gave up, and glared at the target. Then he hurled it. In the exact stance Winter had 「taught」 him. The slowly spinning greatsword flew 67 feet—about 20 meters—and thunked into the target. Yes! The thrower thrust both arms skyward. The jeers thickened, but his squad’s cheers heated up.
Three throws per person. Squads competed on total hits.
The officers didn’t stop the rising cheers. They were staying another day anyway. If variants were within earshot, drawing them in early for elimination wasn’t bad. It’d make nights a bit safer. The soldiers knew it too.
They’d posted ample sentries too. Two per squad, covering open sightlines.
Scouting widely since acquiring the horses hadn’t turned up any large variant groups. This unnatural quiet probably foreshadowed hell at the blockade line... but no need to mope about it here.
Thunk!
The third greatsword embedded in the target. With 「teaching」 time so short, even proper flights often bounced off due to bad spin. This was top-tier in the company.
Several hugged the beaming thrower tight.
Even the officers weren’t exempt. Want booze? Throw the blade.
Captain Langford was the most dissatisfied with his own score. Good arcs, but no sticks. The platoon leaders weren’t much better, so the troops clapped and cheered.
Winter teamed with the intel agents and Joanna.
When her turn came, Joanna sighed heavily.
“I’d rather spend this time practicing riding.”
Her eyes flicked to Excel, tied to a tree, placidly munching feed. The others were out on sentry duty.
Right now, if picking the worst rider, it’d be Joanna. Surprisingly fearful. Phobia-related? Her grit suggested not. She fidgeted in the saddle but always looked dissatisfied after dismounting.
Surprising, but that tenacity likely made her such a versatile agent. Winter soothed her gently.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s okay to have one thing you’re bad at.”
“...Hearing that from you makes it really weird.”
Her grumbly retort made the boy smile.
Thud! Joanna’s first greatsword hit the target’s edge. Barely a hit—the half-embedded blade nearly slipped free from momentum. Her throwing habit sent the second on a similar path. Clang—It glanced off lying flat and ricocheted away.
Whew. Composing herself, she hurled the third. The blade blurred faintly in the breeze. Clang. The new one knocked the embedded blade loose.
“Doesn’t that count as one point?”
Someone’s joke drew laughs from several.
No jeers while she threw. The FBI supervisor was popular. So were CIA’s Kelly and Kowalski. Not always wholesome attention, but still firmly in check.
The issue was relations among the troops. Fraternization was strictly banned in combat zones, but that was just policy. As long as it didn’t impact the mission, they looked the other way. Always had, even more so since the plague hit.
Orders that wouldn’t be followed were better left unsaid. They just eroded command authority. Winter had heard of a division commander in Iraq who’d issued one and lost face.
Still, officers worried the few female enlisted might face unfair treatment.
That’s why Langford had consulted Winter last night too. Usually Lieutenant Escamilla’s role as the female officer, but if fear of reprisal kept them silent, Winter might be better. His war hero prestige and trust were bonuses.
It ended up being the captain’s needless worry.
“Man, the CO’s such a worrywart.”
Said Specialist Madeline Weaver, the Coastal Guard private Winter handled. Not yet a full NCO, but her experience matched any.
“I wanna enjoy it while I’m still breathing. When else will I get this kinda attention? Guys are getting scarcer beyond the line... Some rough ones, sure, but if they don’t wanna catch a bullet, they’ll toe the line.”
She snorted, confident in her skills.
The talk wrapped quickly. Leaving, Weaver winked at Winter.
“If you’re ever interested, just say the word. Any time’s good for Lieutenant Han.”
“...I’ll keep that in mind.”
Flat rejection might bruise her pride. But she caught the subtle pause, smiled, shook her head, and left. Winter felt a vague sense of déjà vu.
Lost in memory, the match had reached mid-game.
Intel’s Talbot wowed by throwing all three at once, sticking them together. Troops hurled fierce jeers. Unfair team comp with Winter there, they said.
Still, final score looked iffy. Agent Tucker, who’d thrown earlier, got merciless cheers—for whiffing all three badly.
Watching the next turn, contact came from the patrol circling the village outskirts at a distance. Small variant group inbound. Twenty-one individuals. Approaching on the road 200 meters south of the cemetery. No specials spotted.
Match halted. Of all times. Right when it was fun. Grumbling troops formed up by platoon.
But for small groups, Winter handled it. Save ammo. The company’s battle prep was just in case.
Cemetery was about a kilometer from the village. Variants sprinting would close fast, but scouts were stalling them now. No danger. The mounted soldiers were the best riders. Hell-bent flight outran even grumblers or tricksters.
Winter thumbed the radio receiver’s transmit button.
“Captain. I’ll clean ’em up and be back.”
[Be careful. If it feels even a bit risky, use firearms to suppress.]
Not their first skirmish since arriving. But Winter’s fights always used less or no ammo than variants killed. He stuck to melee unless pressed. Hence the captain’s reminder.
Mounting Excel, Winter snatched his weapon leaning against a tree.
Originally a gym barbell shaft. 1.5 meters long, 6.6 kilos. Overweight for a cold weapon. More than twice a typical two-hander, hard for average strength to wield. Winter’s swings were devastating.
“Let’s go.”
He spurred, and Excel accelerated swiftly.
En route, Winter checked the radio’s attenuator. Dials marked distance, not power—reception range without obstacles. Away from base, cranking output was fine.
Shortly along the road, he spotted the patrol lounging atop a slope. Far off, variants racing toward them. Even superhuman stamina couldn’t catch a galloping horse.
‘If there were more, or one using its head better than a beta ghoul, maybe.’
He still couldn’t forget those variants racing over the Salinas River. Failed, but stark proof of beta ghoul smarts. A pack led by one might try coordinated herding.
Spotting Winter charging straight on black mare, the low-IQ pack panicked. They crossed paths between original prey and new threat. Density thinned—grateful for that. Tight clump would’ve taken longer. Winter leaned forward, accelerating more. Body slicing wind.
Cut their path diagonally.
At plunge, the bar spun wide. Crack! Crunch! One motion, two hits. Two heads in arc. One shattered, one lofted. Decapitated torso spun with residual force. Blood sprayed everywhere. Amid it, rolling eyes. Clack-clack-clack—gnashing teeth echoed hollowly.
Retrieved steel swung faint-speed, instant-killing another.
Glancing half-breath: three more down.
「Horsemanship」, 「Close Combat」, 「Melee Weapon Proficiency」 meshed perfectly.
Thud-thud-thud. Hoof vibrations climbed his spine and faded. Winter gauged re-engagement arc. Excel snorted roughly. Not tired—excited. Days ago, terrified of variant stench; now adapted after a few fights.
Trust in rider.
Man-horse unity whittled the pack repeatedly. Living plague peeled layer by layer. When five stragglers remained, Winter slowed, no longer circling. Reversed on spot to meet them.
Shrieek—!
Variant leaped at his face; Excel sidestepped sharply. Fruit of days of Winter’s 「horsemanship」 training. Plague hit air mid-leap. Wham! Backhand launched it with drum-burst sound. Steel emerging from spine gleamed with rotten blood and oil.
Trailing guts flung far by centrifugal force.
Unceasing spin chained into offense. Twist grip lofted long bludgeon skyward. Added inertia to downward smash. New crown pulped liquidly. Thrust hard in that state. Male behind, length of Winter’s arm, impaled. Ribs caved. Gurk! Human host mimicked leaking gasp.
Snap, retrieve arm; Excel backpedaled, sidestepped, spun, toying with last two. Winter flowed with it. Horse motion transmitted to arm, tracing warped but lethal lines. Crunch! Jaw-side hit snapped neck; monster flopped like a doll. Weight-shift and leg-squeeze flipped Excel’s turn abruptly. Duped plague lunged into empty space.
Superhuman strength, subhuman wits flailing.
Half-face caved. Peak at side-swipe impact maximized damage area. Dull skin mottled dark red underneath. Fallen variant twitched, then stilled.
============================ Author's Notes ============================
#Winners
Comment event winner is KarlJ. Please contact the author within the week, see the notice.
#US Military Fraternization in Combat Zones
Contrary to common belief, the US military also bans enlisted fraternization in combat zones in principle. It’s just not enforced.
The division commander who lost face, mentioned in the story, is retired Major General Tony Cucolo.
After taking command of the 3rd Infantry Division in Iraq in 2008, in 2009 he set a hardline policy: any pregnant female soldier and her male partner would face court-martial. Effective January 1 the next year.
Before that, pregnant soldiers just got reassigned to safe bases stateside, no other penalties.
Intent: prevent non-combat losses. Out of 22,000 troops, 1,700 women—not negligible, and every loss hurt in Iraq.
But the whole division rebelled hard. It blew up across the entire US military. Troops hooking up was commonplace.
Cucolo eventually softened to general discipline over court-martial, but backlash was so bad it got scrapped entirely.
#Q&A
Q. KarlJ: Author, botulinum from anaerobic Clostridium botulinum seems unlikely in regular salted meat, not even sausage. Is sodium nitrite really necessary?
A. Every salting recipe I checked included nitrites. Probably because air doesn’t fully penetrate meat?
Q. 破滅神: Entering. Can’t we see skill types, points, etc., like a setting document?
A. You commented similarly before. Accusing the author of real-time rigging.
Rigging... It’s a VR world, but this is a novel at base. Questions like memory cheats are baffling.
I just advance the story within plausibility limits.
So, answer: I don’t have full lists/graphs of all post-apoc skills and XP reqs either. Winter’s current skills, maybe, but not all.
No point pre-setting; realistically impossible.
In-setting, post-apoc rewards evaluate all user interactions. Pre-graphing XP is meaningless vs. overseer’s situational judgment.
From my game design reading: rational graphs need fixed reward amounts first.
E.g., what reward eval for SF escape?
Same variant kill varies by context.
Factor in Talent Advantage halving resource costs, variables explode.
Could detail if wanted—inflates wordcount easy. But I avoid needless trivia sinks.