Chapter 86
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Lakeside Night (5), Santa Margarita Lake
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“Lakeside Night”
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# Lakeside Night (5), Santa Margarita Lake
“Whew, there’s no way around it. We can’t cross.”
Jeffrey let out a deep sigh as he said it. It wasn’t whining. All the officers gathered in the Humvee shared the same opinion. Under their attention, Winter slowly examined the map once more. He was tracing the upper reaches of the Burrito River.
The river’s source lay in the High Mountains to the south. Water flowing down from the northern foothills of the mountains fed into the lowlands west of Santa Margarita Lake. Even assuming every dried-up streambed had come back to life due to the rains, the odds of finding a spot where vehicles could ford upstream were extremely slim.
Winter made his decision.
“We leave the vehicles behind.”
At first, no one understood what the boy officer meant. Giving up the vehicles would solve their problem?
Winter proposed a rope bridge crossing. They would throw grappling hooks tied to ropes, secure them, and cross by hanging onto the lines. Jeffrey, who had expected the mission to be scrapped, looked utterly crestfallen. Even Sergeant Riverman, with his long service record, seemed a bit flustered.
“We should’ve brought the launcher. I should’ve anticipated this. My thinking was too shortsighted.”
The grappling hook launchers used by the U.S. military operated on the same principle as air guns. Compress air with a compressor, load the hook, and fire it off with a bang. They weren’t common gear. They were the kind of thing you almost never needed.
There were also grenade-launcher types that fired from rifle muzzles. But those were too small for a person to hang from. And they didn’t have any anyway.
Winter said,
“We’ve got the hooks, right? We can throw them by hand. Let’s hurry. If we wait much longer, even this might become impossible.”
The river was rising by the minute. Once the surrounding area flooded completely, it’d be too late. Jeffrey replied,
“The wind’s so strong, I’m not sure it’ll work. I’ll round up whoever thinks they can manage it.”
Fortunately, they had plenty of grappling hooks. As the soldiers tied ropes to them, they eyed the task with doubt. Sergeant Elliot muttered,
“I mean, we trained for it, but who’d have thought we’d actually use this in combat...”
Sergeant Riverman scolded him.
“Every training has a purpose, kid.”
“Who’s arguing? I’m just saying life throws some wild curves. Probably no one in the whole Army’s ever done this for real.”
They picked a spot where the river narrowed, but the throw still had to cover nearly 40 meters. And in the rain and wind, no less. Even for Winter, with his “Throwing” bonus, it was no easy feat.
At first, the soldiers acted like cowboys in a Western. They just spun them around in place before letting go. Caught in the turbulent air, the hooks flailed about and splashed down midway across the river. As failures piled up, pride kicked in, and they started throwing more by the book—using a run-up for momentum and launching their bodies forward as they released the spinning rope. That was the proper form.
Splash.
The results were still pathetic. Soldiers tumbled with every throw, their faces caked in mud. Those still waiting their turn snickered and jeered. But they soon ended up the same. The muddied soldiers cheered each other on.
“Hang in there, engineer! This is your specialty!”
“Shut up!”
An engineer charged forward with gusto, only to yield the hook to the wind and flop face-first. He lifted his head from that position to watch its arc. The hook sailed past the target tree by a wide margin. He slammed his forehead into the ground.
Winter didn’t hold back either. A commander didn’t stand on ceremony. So what if he got dirty? The rain would wash it off anyway. The grit sneaking into his clothes was a bit annoying, though.
Time dragged on. Just as Winter debated wasting XP to invest in “Throwing,” a muffled cheer erupted. One hook had finally snagged an oak across the river. The soldier who nailed it pumped his fist in triumph. Nearby troops slapped his shoulders and helmet.
Winter gathered the men and issued orders.
“Move the vehicles up there. Looks about 40 meters above the riverbank. That should keep them safe even if the lowlands flood. Plenty of trees around for camouflage, too. Tank crews, stay back and guard the vehicles. Main gun range is long, so they can provide fire support if needed. Head out now. Check visibility to the east and report back.”
Moments later, the tank commander reported a direct-fire range of 1.3 kilometers. Even starting from the far bank, that gave them a full kilometer. Sergeant Riverman nodded in satisfaction.
“We’ve got about five klicks on foot after crossing. That puts 20% of the route in tank range. Even if things go south and we’re chased by half-dead stragglers, we can breathe a little easier.”
Jeffrey sought Winter’s input.
“Lieutenant. What if we cross light, just with our basic loadouts? Round trip’s ten klicks, so factoring in opening the sluice gates, three or four hours tops.”
Light meant no rucksacks—just weapons and basic ammo. Winter couldn’t agree.
“No telling. Worst case, if the dam bursts on the way, we’d have to bug out to high ground and wait for the water to recede. Could be isolated for a while, so light’s out. At least three days’ rations, fuel, sleeping bags, spare ammo.”
“Huh? Three days? That much? Whole area’s lowlands anyway—water should drain in a day.”
“You never know. Tell everyone to pack nine MRE packs each. Stick to the lighter menus.”
Not all MREs weighed the same. Menus varied by over 200 grams. Seemed minor, but nine packs added up to nearly two kilos. Lighter ones meant three extra meals for the same weight.
They could pack more if it were the stripped-down FSRs. But they didn’t have any.
Sergeant Riverman shook his head, looking sleepy.
“Appreciate the thoughtfulness, but no need to worry that much. Our guys won’t fold over a one- or two-kilo difference. Route’s short anyway. Bulk’s the issue. We’ll have to strip down the rucks a bit.”
The soldiers bustled about. Repacking took a little time. Winter made up his own ruck too. As the sergeant said, weight wasn’t the concern.
Preparations complete. Now, who would cross first? The soldiers eyed the humming rope uneasily. Conditions weren’t ideal like in training. Even if the hook seemed secure—several men tugging together didn’t budge it—doubts lingered. They’d relax once someone crossed light and retied it properly.
At that moment, Winter stepped forward as if it were obvious. The others held him back.
“Leading from the front is an officer’s virtue, but Lieutenant Han, you take it too far. Send our platoon leader instead. He’s skimmed enough pay to earn this.”
“Hey, why you picking on me?”
Private First Class Guilherme’s joke made Jeffrey bristle. All in good fun.
Winter hesitated briefly but wouldn’t yield the first crossing. Better to minimize risks. Why waste “Movement” grade 14?
The boy hooked onto the rope in light kit. He’d tied a thin safety line around his waist in case he fell—soldiers could haul him back.
Right foot hooked over the rope, left leg dangling for balance. He pulled himself forward. At a light jog’s pace.
In a dozen seconds, he’d crossed. He climbed down to the tree, retrieved the hook wedged in the branches. Soldiers on the far side slackened the rope to give him slack for retying. Winter dropped below the branch. He looped the rope twice around the massive trunk base and knotted it secure, over and over. The other side did the same.
Next, they tied Winter’s rucksack to the rope. The safety line now pulled the pack across.
A few hairy moments as soldiers crossed, but no accidents.
Crossing complete, Winter checked his watch.
2011 hours. If all went well, back before midnight.
The path started with a gentle uphill. Narrow enough a tank couldn’t pass. Even cracked roads like this had names. Las Pilitas. With so many Latino immigrants, place names often made you forget you were in America.
‘Some neighborhoods don’t use English at all.’
They’d follow this oddly named road up until the Salinas River, then upstream. The dam was near the river’s source.
The uphill stretched nearly a kilometer. Walking it built heat through their bodies despite the chill. Marching did that. Winter’s ruck weighed more than most—he’d crammed in extra ammo and rations, trusting his bonuses.
Soggy boots weren’t ideal either.
Winter was satisfied, personally. He welcomed the physical strain. Pain meant reality. So he kept his pain-sync high on purpose.
As the uphill ended and they descended the hill, pins and needles in his soles, they met the Salinas River. March turned south.
How far along the rugged riverbank?
Winter shouted,
“Hit the dirt!”
Most soldiers reacted on instinct.
Some didn’t.
Rat-tat-tat! Tat-tat!
Amid the deafening roar of water, sharp gunfire cracked. Two slow reactors took hits. Deliberate aimed shots, planned ambush. Two enemies. Winter was caught off guard. He’d braced for mutants, not humans.
“Two o’clock, 50 meters! Suppressing fire!”
Winter bellowed. Voice still safer than radio.
With direction given, soldiers fired back. Enemies hid in riverside woods—plenty of cover. Winter didn’t expect hits but hoped to pin them.
‘What the hell? No rebel groups in this round’s lore yet? Mexicans over the border?’
As the boy pondered identities and responses, Jeffrey called for the medic.
“Doc! Doc! Check the wounded!”
One hit man groaned and rolled aside.
“Ugh, I’m fine! Check on Greg!”
Two rounds, but he was okay. Body armor. Medic rushed to the other.
That one wasn’t lucky. He wailed in agony. Through-and-through thigh wound. Medic whipped out a tourniquet from the IFAK, wrapped it above the entry, and cranked the lever to staunch the bleed.
“LAW!”
“Hold! Cease fire, cease fire!”
Winter quickly stopped Jeffrey’s enraged rocket call.
“Why?! I mean, why?!”
Jeffrey was rattled, slipping to informal then correcting.
“Doesn’t something feel off?”
“What?!”
Even an ambush—two guys opening fire was dumb. If that was all, flight beat fight.
No backup likely—no fire from elsewhere.
Instead of explaining, Winter rose slowly, keeping his aim.
============================ Author's Note ============================
# I wanted to show readers that grappling hook throwing video, but uploading it to settings blocked HTML. Didn’t want to post it as a notice either...
Anyway, I’ll put the link in settings, so copy-paste if you’re curious. It’s short. And kinda funny.
#Q&A
Q. muze2000: Great read^^ @But are you getting any sleep? Posts in the morning mean all-nighters...
A. Yeah, pulled another one last night. Why does this keep happening?
Three posts a week might fix it. Gotta consider positively. :)
Q. 돌떵이불떵이: @Curious about clear conditions for those world games. Has Winter cleared that one? Galleries don’t seem to expect clears—maybe no clear condition, or too hard for anyone?
A. 트리플론: 돌떵이불떵이//Author already explained. Control AI clears when humanity’s survival in that world is no longer threatened.
Q. 淸流蓮: @Thanks for another great chapter! MREs sounding tasty—must’ve eaten some awful stuff... Oh, U.S. issue. Your descriptions make me hungrier. ㅇㅅㅇ Guessing Winter’s usual fare is Snowpiercer-level cockroach bars? Right?
A. Readers’ imaginations often outshine the writing. Leaving that to your fancy. Haha.
Q. 마스터칼솔럼: @Ate some ROK Army MREs recently. Ugh... Torture for a foodie.
A. Author’s a barbarian palate that chows down even old MREs fine. Talking pre-Type 2, Type 1 with the flat greasy rice block in green square pack.
Army days might’ve dulled the tastebuds. Back then, even matcha tasted good...
Q. 도화원: @For focus/readability, agonize over galleries/Winter lore as needed. (That’s my joy! More worry, better work.) TOM seems to affect zombies too. Others evolve stats/specials, but Winter’s high TOM makes their AI go wild? Early days, most galleries just feel off—.....Grah! Gyaaah..!
A. Viewers questioning if it’s the world I know. Winter’s apocalypse is qualitatively different from others’.
Q. 영광의 창: @Engineer buddies would cry seeing this. Heat reports whatever, gotta build three bridges this month...
A. Gratitude to all fulfilling national duty. Console your friend well.
Q. DuskTaker: @Sudden curiosity: Post-death insurance games vary? Like puzzles, racing, strategy? Descriptions all zombie games, so wondering.
A. Obviously varied. Check intermissions.
Q. 루시드림: @Author...de...dea!!! Death!!!
A. Death! Overwork death! Rest before overwork death! Summer break! Twisted author desires!
Q. 破雷: @Rangers from Santa Maria withdrawn? To Fort Roberts?
A. Recon of contaminated zones—no fixed base at Santa Maria. Not at Fort Roberts.
Q. 늙은오리너구리: @Dropping 700 minerals for hatchery command center.
A. Minerals appreciated. But why command center on hatchery...
Q. 리프레드: @Miss Matsuming.
A. Some hate her every chat pop-up, so only as needed, no increased role.