Chapter 240
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 240
Chapter Title: Suspended Execution (12)
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There was no need to slow down. The cavalry search team had swung around from the side to join them, heading in the same direction.
The platoon leader guiding them pulled up alongside Winter and saluted.
“You've worked hard all this time, Major. From here on out, we'll escort you in.”
Winter returned the salute and tilted his head.
“I appreciate the welcome, but I don't really need the escort.”
“It's an order, so just go with it. It wouldn't look right if the cavalry following the famous cavalry commander numbered less than a full squad. The embedded reporters would hate it. And for morale, we need to show the garrison troops too.”
It was all too familiar. Except that there was still a full day's infantry march left to Olema.
“I get the reasoning, but you didn't have to come out this far.”
“Half of it's a real ceremonial thing. Thanks to you catching and killing those sneaky bastards, the pressure on the front lines has eased up a lot. If it weren't for you, Major, we wouldn't even be riding these fancy steeds.”
“Doesn't look like horses procured locally.”
“Oh, I heard some Central Asian dictator brought them when he fled into exile.”
“If he gave up enough for a cavalry unit, one private jet probably wasn't enough...”
“Well, yeah, the guy's an undeniable scum who prioritized his horses over his people, but what can you do? With the Morgellons crisis, plenty of politicians have proven themselves trash.”
Throughout their conversation, the search team soldiers kept stealing glances at Winter. When their eyes met by chance, they'd quickly look away, stiffen up, or flash tense smiles. Those in the last group only relaxed when Winter smiled back. The platoon leader, following Winter's gaze, scowled at his men. The search team soldiers shamelessly looked away.
From them, Winter sensed hope.
That was why the provisional company was looking at the cavalry search team like some exotic animal—or something even stranger.
‘They're not just a ceremonial unit, though.’
Winter judged that cavalry was a solid branch for formal integration at this point. Great mobility, and below a certain scale, they could live off the land. The abundant pastures nearby provided enough fodder and hay to sustain a battalion long-term. If that ran out, efficiency would drop, but they could always graze. In the worst case, slaughter them.
“You'll get one of these yourself when you get back, Major.”
Winter shook his head at the search platoon leader's words.
“I'm good. I'm satisfied with what I have now.”
It wasn't empty talk. No matter how fine the horse, training a new one to Excel's combat readiness level would create an inevitable gap in capability.
But the lieutenant riding a prized steed couldn't accept it.
“You say that because that one's served you so well, but breed differences are unavoidable. Word is, if you put one like this on the New York horse market, it'd fetch over a hundred grand easy.”
A hundred grand? Gasps rose from the mobile team members eavesdropping. Seemed like their growing familiarity with horses stirred some greed. Winter paused.
“Might need a spare after all. But... they have a horse market in New York too?”
“Times being what they are, I'd buy one myself.”
Civilian car use was still restricted. Just limits on private vehicle hours for now, but civilians could worry about fuel shortages. Assurances of ample production wouldn't sway them.
Of course, Winter's own exploits had poured fuel on those fears.
As the sea drew near, faint explosions echoed now and then.
“Clearing mines, I take it?”
Winter's guess drew a nod from the search platoon leader.
“Yeah. Looks like they've finished at the entrance. Ships started coming in yesterday.”
It wasn't long before they saw it themselves. The sea opened up beside the road. From Point Reyes Station, a waterway snaking about twenty kilometers into the national park. It looked a good 1.5 kilometers wide, but the spaced-out ships sailed in an oddly straight line. Probably poor seabed topography since it wasn't a proper harbor. The dredging ships at work were proof.
“Whoa. Cavalry wasn't enough—they've got square-riggers too.”
Someone's incredulous sigh. Winter addressed the murmuring group.
“Hey, don't get the wrong idea. Those ships have been in active service all along.”
Meaning they hadn't dusted off relics out of desperation.
The search platoon leader looked surprised.
“How'd you know that?”
There was a hint of disappointment too. Like he'd hoped Winter would be shocked and ask.
“Overheard it somewhere.”
He didn't mention owing them a debt before. That had been a different loop.
Back then, there was no Melville. Just as encounters with Tricksters felt alien, the first few times brought an apocalypse without sea monsters.
The long, sleek hulls bore white bases crossed by a thick red diagonal and a thin blue one. A golden eagle figurehead stood out. USCGC Bark Eagle. Coast Guard vessel, the U.S. military's only square-rigger. Rumor had it Nazis built her originally.
Now she sailed under bare poles. Power when needed.
The difference from history? Armament. Originally a pure training ship with no weapons, now fitted with antitank missile launchers and multiple heavy machine gun mounts. The stern depth charge projector was for Melville countermeasures.
Deeper in, a hospital ship gleamed white with red crosses.
Winter pointed at the shore where waves crashed.
“That one's grounded?”
A listing freighter sat in the direction he indicated. Maybe tried entering before dredging. Thin oil slicks spread around it. Lucky the amount was minimal.
“Nah. Not sure exactly, but I heard it was used for minesweeping.”
Ah, got it wrong. Winter nodded at the platoon leader's explanation. Chinese forces escaping San Francisco Bay had done the same. Stuffed with Styrofoam and pushed through.
Such talk carried them to the bay's end in under an hour.
“What the hell's a UN flag doing there...?”
Schultz muttered in confusion. Even Winter was a bit thrown. A blue UN banner truly flew north of Point Reyes Station. Multinational forces cooperating with the U.S. existed for various reasons, but they didn't wave the UN flag. Unless they wanted to join the U.S. military outright.
Glancing back, even the search platoon leader shook his head. He wasn't surprised, so he knew of it, but not the details.
The fortified abandoned village rang with non-English voices. Mostly Spanish and Portuguese, mixed with unidentified tongues. If just the first two, he'd guess Central or South American exiles.
Reporters waiting at the entrance thrust cameras forward. Faces familiar from before leaving Olema. Gilbert Martino tipped his hat in greeting; Helen Thamyris waved enthusiastically with a bright smile, mic in her other hand. Trevor Baptist, camera ready, counted down, then slicked back his hair and turned.
No one looked as grim as that night.
Garrison troops at the checkpoint pointed at Winter. Even those shirtless stacking sandbags dropped their work and gathered. Pure-blooded Black soldiers, their numbers making them stand out more. Camo patterns unfamiliar, but small arms standard U.S. military.
“Shin cewa shi? Gwarzo Han?”
“Han Gyeowol! You did well! Major! We honor you! We love you!”
“...”
Their English seemed oddly learned. Awkward phrasing aside, the officer was sternly dignified. He berated the rowdy men into ranks, then stood at attention in salute to Winter.
This repeated throughout the garrison. Only the nationalities changed. Even soldiers at outdoor showers poked heads from stalls and shouted.
“It's practically a triumph.”
Morales' troubled assessment nailed it.
Then Winter spotted an unexpected familiar face. Umehara Atsu, 2nd Lieutenant JG Navy. Captain of the Jinryu sub they'd indebted to during the San Francisco op. Off from the roadside clamor, but the lieutenant noticed Winter recognized him. Excusing through the crowd, he approached.
“Long time, Captain. Never thought I'd see you here. Glad you're safe.”
“Likewise. Made Major in the meantime, I see.”
The lieutenant looked gaunt but had decent color. Same as their first meeting—no familiarity despite his rank.
“What happened?”
Winter's loaded question made the lieutenant glance around. After a moment's hesitation, he murmured low enough to bury in the cheers, for Winter's ears only.
“Still classified, but... six days ago, we sank Changjeong 9-go. With U.S. Navy help, though Jinryu can't do missions anymore either. We're temporarily reassigned to the convoy fleet.”
“Too bad about the ship... Changjeong 9-go? That sub survived the nuclear retaliation?”
“Yeah. Plenty of warships slipped out in the chaos. Surface ships didn't make it, but subs did.”
Winter frowned. A crisis had passed unbeknownst. One nuclear sub launching ballistic missiles would've denied America's recovery.
“No need to classify something like that...”
“We're still verifying. I'm sure it's Changjeong 9-go, but if it turns out wrong later, it'd be more than an embarrassment for the U.S. government.”
But Winter caught the lieutenant's unease. Why worry now?
“Worried about losing the kill credit?”
Spot on. The lieutenant sighed.
“Sharp as ever. Yes. Brigadier General Kitchener said it won't happen... that the U.S. Navy doesn't steal honors... but in my position, doubts creep in.”
Would it? Winter glanced at the fluttering UN flag, mulling it over. Politics behind reviving the now-toothless UN. A president desperate to stave off internal and external fractures wouldn't yield credit to the military.
The lieutenant eyed the halted column.
“Sorry. Meant just a greeting, but held up a busy man too long. Let's meet again when there's time.”
“Yeah. Don't worry too much. It'll be fine.”
Personal hunch short of reassuring, Winter pocketed his thoughts. They shook hands before parting. The lieutenant minded the cameras. A soldier's plight beyond soldiering.
“What'd you talk about? Whoever he was, he looked shady.”
The search platoon leader seemed to dislike the JMSDF officer. Winter shook his head.
“Someone who helped me out once. Kept his voice down 'cause the mission's classified.”
Close enough to truth. The platoon leader dropped it at “classified.”
The elementary school where they'd once fought variants was now multinational HQ. U.S. sector deployed south across a stream, vibe unchanged. Dozens of horses grazed idly in fenced pastures.
‘Bigger than expected.’
Winter eyed a garrison big enough for a division minimum. Dispersed camps for blocking and fire support in emergencies, but even accounting for gaps, substantial scale.
And finally.
“Captain! Little Captain!”
A voice long unheard. Familiar faces appeared. Many teary-eyed.
But joy was fleeting—Winter stared in confusion at Yura rushing over, wiping tears. She wore tiger skin like a cape. The rest of the company, Jinseok included, looked normal...
Tiger skin...
Wait, why?