Chapter 208
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: #Survivors (11)
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Two platoons established security along the eastern riverbank and the northern road. Captain Langford maintained the route of withdrawal with the headquarters platoon. It was the same spot where the task force had crossed the river. Meanwhile, Winter went out on reconnaissance to a distant range. To check for any additional approaching variant groups. If there were any, he planned to sweep them away and return. No matter the size. It was a fight with nothing to protect.
But the deep night over the mountains and fields was nothing but quiet. The wind blowing from the forest carried no stench. Winter, who had advanced to a distance where the city was no longer visible, circled back counterclockwise over a hill for quite a while before returning. There were no significant threats within ten kilometers, including line of sight.
There were nine survivors who had been rescued alive.
First, they gave everyone plenty of water. Most were in agony. Their throats were parched like sand. Some even vomited. Their stomachs were cramping.
When they tried to load the exhausted ones onto the horses, the horses were greatly displeased. The smell was overpowering. The fishy odor was one thing, but many had black, crusted filth from their hips down to their legs. No one in the company laughed. At most, someone with a weak stomach might dry-heave involuntarily.
"Uh, Lieutenant, I'll just walk."
Winter replied to Sergeant Osborne's gloomy words.
"What are you talking about? You can barely stand. Get on."
Winter, seated in the saddle, grabbed the back of his neck and easily pulled him up. By the time Osborne was flustered with "Huh?", he was already in the rear seat of the mount. Excel behaved obediently even with the weight doubled.
"Hold on tight."
As the horse began to move, Osborne wrapped his arms around Winter's waist. It was unavoidable for someone unfamiliar with horses. Winter could feel his awkwardness. Winter picked up speed.
Those who ultimately couldn't ride were sent back by vehicle with the medical personnel. They had to make two trips to transport the bodies. There was plenty of diesel extracted from the heavy equipment, so no one begrudged the twenty-kilometer drive.
Back at the outpost, food came first. They looked like they hadn't eaten for days. While they sat trembling at the table, crying, collapsing asleep only to jolt awake from nightmares, the CIA agents prepared a thin stew. They used tender meat to shorten cooking time. With many ingredients like tomatoes missing, it was just a poor imitation. Taste-wise, plainly grilled meat without seasoning would have been better.
But they shoveled it in like madmen. Telling them they'd die if they ate so much so suddenly did no good. Everyone watching was stunned. The officers dismissed the soldiers. There was no benefit in watching.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
One person stopped midway, bowing his head. Saliva leaked from between clenched teeth as curses poured nonstop from his mouth. His hand gripping the spoon turned white. Tears dropped steadily. Infectious sobs spread around the table. They choked it down while crying. They emptied their bowls and begged for more.
"Eating so much all at once could cause problems..."
Lieutenant Barker, apron-clad, looked troubled. But in the end, he portioned out a little more. Pleading with them to eat slowly. Captain Langford, leaning against the wall and watching, fiddled with the back of his head. He looked worried and full of questions. But now was not the time.
After eating, they were given hot showers. Isolating them one by one was risky, so each had at least a sergeant overseeing them. Winter took Osborne. The captain cautioned.
"Make sure no one takes your firearm, just in case."
It was a commander's warning, born from experience with post-traumatic stress incidents.
Even during washing, intermittent sobs continued. Their bodies were dirtier than their clothes, requiring a long time. The comfort of hot water was crucial. Supervising wasn't easy. There was a risk of self-harm. They'd cleared razors from the bathrooms, but a determined person can die in countless ways.
From downstairs came the faint hum of the washing machine. They'd already run it once during mealtime, but the smell and stains hadn't fully come out, so they set the timer to max for another cycle. It was fortunate there was a dryer in the laundry room. They had to rummage through soldiers' pockets for quarters.
The combat boots were soaked in diluted bleach water for half an hour. Then strong liquor was poured in and shaken vigorously. There was plenty of cheap gin to spare. Even after dumping it out, they rinsed with clean water several more times before spreading them out around the fireplace.
After showers, the nine freshly cleaned soldiers were herded into the bedroom. Dressed in civilian clothes and wearing slippers, they looked awkward.
"I don't like the dark... Can we sleep with the lights on?"
Winter nodded to the anxious asker.
"You don't need permission for that. The windows are blacked out, so it's fine."
They lay on the beds with incredulous expressions. How long had it been since soft, warm bedding?
With the situation finally resolved, the Baker Company troops got rest, but Captain Langford posted more sentries than usual. Orders included periodic checks on the rescued personnel.
However, he briefly called out Sergeant Osborne. It was regrettable, but higher rank meant greater responsibility. Gathering the officers, Captain Langford said to Osborne.
"Sorry to interrupt your rest. I'd love to let you just relax, but I feel we need to confirm a few things first. I promise to make it quick."
"No, sir. Thank you for saving us. Ask anything."
"Have a seat comfortably. Must be exhausting. Care for a drink?"
Osborne hesitated, then accepted. Lieutenant Escamilla brought a glass with ice. The captain poured himself. The smoky oak aroma wafted thickly from the amber liquid.
"First, what's your unit?"
"Alpha Company, 1st Combined Arms Battalion, 30th Armored Brigade Combat Team."
The unit patch he'd mistaken for a bridge was actually a red background with a blue circle, an inscribed ladder shape representing the letters O and H—initials of their nickname, Old Hickory. The XXX filling the square wasn't a truss; it was the Roman numeral for 30.
It was a bewildering answer. Captain Langford ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm no expert, but that doesn't sound like a unit around San Francisco."
"San Francisco? What do you mean... Wasn't the reclamation op never extended that far? We were positioned between Stockton and Tracy, south of Sacramento."
Mutual confusion. Osborne was unaware of the U.S. military foothold in the San Francisco area, and Captain Langford was stunned that troops from a clear liberation operation, over a hundred kilometers west of the ops zone, had ended up here.
"Stockton? You're joking?"
"Why would I lie? HQ was at the regional airport south of Stockton city, and our battalion's mission was defending the San Joaquin Depot below that. We conducted mobile defense in the western plains."
Specific details. Even Yuba City ahead was actually based at Beale Air Force Base, a bit outside the city. Occupying major cities isn't easy.
"Ha..."
Captain Langford glanced at the other officers, paused, then asked reluctantly.
"Harsh question, but what happened to your unit? How'd you end up here?"
"Seems you don't know the front-line situation well."
"We were at Fort Baker, the San Francisco landing bridgehead. That base fell five days ago. Things in cut-off areas weren't well-reported even before. Maybe for morale, or maybe higher-ups didn't grasp it... Anyway, tell us in as much detail as possible."
"...Damn, where to even start."
Osborne sighed and tilted his glass. He grimaced after a sip.
"After resupply cut off, variants started probing more frequently. Not just the city—forests and mountains too. Not full assaults, but constant enough we had to respond every time."
Speculation had long existed that variants, especially Tricksters, understood supply lines and deliberately depleted ammo while preserving their numbers. Hence warnings not to abandon functional vehicles carelessly—they might notice fuel shortages. But there was no choice.
"Retreat was tough too. Abandoning here meant troops in central California would starve... We had to hold until withdrawing units could pick up supplies."
The captain nodded gravely. Shortage of fuel and trucks meant many units on foot—makes sense.
Winter, experienced in scavenging army bases in this ruined world, also knew the Stockton depot. He'd visited several times under Logistics Command. Nominally one base, split across two cities. Tracy side was larger.
"Before ammo ran out, we decided to dig traps."
Osborne shuddered.
"Plan was to feign weakness and lure an attack. Hit 'em hard once, they'd stop prowling. We were about to abandon the Bradleys anyway, so everyone figured no choice."
A horrific scream echoed from outside. Everyone except Winter jumped. As they scrambled to assess, Lieutenant Ruben Pennington on duty relayed the sentry report via radio.
[Seizure in a sleeping survivor. Handling it here. No need to worry.]
Langford slumped dejectedly upon hearing. A few sighs of relief escaped.
After silence, Langford prompted Osborne.
"So, what happened?"
"Mistake. Numbers beyond imagination poured in. Artillery and air were supposed to handle it, but those bastards... Sorry. Anyway, range and scale were insane. When the line broke, battalion called Broken Arrow, I guess. Bombs rained from above."
He drained his glass. Broken Arrow meant friendly fire—dump everything on my position, we'll die with the enemy. Last resort when retreat's impossible or the line must hold at all costs.
The sergeant wiped his reddened eyes. Weakened, one drink was hitting him.
"Crawled out of an overturned APC, nothing left around, monsters charging straight at me from afar. Company commander rallied survivors, but way back to base was blocked. Fled blindly toward fewer variants, got scattered somehow. Don't even know how I got here. Hell, don't know where 'here' is."
With Captain Langford's permission, Winter spoke.
"Osborne. This is Olema village. About 35 kilometers northwest of the Golden Gate. That's why everyone's surprised."
"We came a long way."
Even he seemed astonished. Probably cross-country through pathless mountains. Otherwise, impossible not to know rough location.
'At least a road sign would've clued them in.'
Winter surmised their journey was more grueling than expected.
"Don't even know where the company scattered?"
"Sorry. Just some ranch... Ambushed at night. Chased ever since. By those bastards you wiped out today, Lieutenant."
"Then, any signs of other units? Asking if other forces fled this way besides you."
Osborne's face darkened further.
"No direct contact, but heard gunfire multiple times en route. Definitely others out there."
He added they'd been too busy fleeing from yesterday to today.
Winter judged the trip to Yuba City would be harder. Hard to ignore traces of other survivors. Question was their scale.
Sharing the concern, Captain Langford sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"That's enough for now. No point grilling someone half-dead. I get the gist; more questions won't change anything immediate. Everyone, rest up. We'll discuss at dawn."
Ultimately, what the captain wanted confirmed was whether other survivors existed nearby.
============================ Author's Note ============================
#KakaoTalk - Wake-up Call
Tongguska: When you really hate waking up, set alarm 30 min later and sleep again
Tongguska: Wake up in dream to alarm
Tongguska: Actually only 5 min passed...
Office worker friend: ........
Manhwa artist friend & Programmer friend: lolololololololololol
#Q&A
Q. Reineysis: @Met survivors, but they're battered remnants after fierce fighting... Need ammo resupply... Do average US marts sell ammo?
A. Sometimes. Walmart has dedicated gun sections. Specialized gun shops are surprisingly few otherwise.
Q. Illuina: Bought the book... When's volume 2?
A. Paperbooks release every 2.5 months or so.