I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun-Chapter 803: Washington D.C (19)

"Sir, urgent communication has come in from the Kestrel and Talisman brigades deployed to Washington, D.C. They say the US military in the capital has acquired a new weapon that they had not previously identified, turning the tide of the war."

"...I see. Let's check here."

"Understood. I'll prepare a table."

6 p.m., Junkanoo Beach, New Providence Island, Bahamas.

The sound of crashing waves and the sunset slowly sinking toward the horizon envelop the entire beach. The world gradually darkens, and a sand island floating a few hundred meters ahead and a cruise ship half-sunk on the shore leisurely shine.

A man leisurely swimming in the emerald sea surrounding the wide sandy beach occasionally strewn with abandoned parasols and broken plastic chairs comes ashore.

There was not a single person around. To be exact, it meant that there was not a single person, except for the soldiers who were fully armed and guarding the surroundings tightly.

The white-haired man who was also the subject of the security sat down on the prepared chair, leisurely stepping on the sand.

Seawater was still dripping from his swept hair. The droplets on his fingertips touched the laptop, but no one paid any attention to that.

In the meantime, a separately prepared holographic projector additionally projected a separate screen into the air. The one called the Minister gently put his thumb on the laptop, and the security that had been on was immediately lifted.

The name Alejandro Webb appeared on the screen right after that.

"Explain."

"Please pay attention to the video playing in front of you. The ruins in question were the Zeta air defense base that was attacked by the US military 7 hours ago."

"Is there any report from Kestrel?"

"A report has been submitted that the attack was caused by a new explosive device that we have not yet identified. It is believed that a large team participated in the attack that day...."

"Them again?"

"Yes."

A brief silence.

Alejandro Webb, who had his eyes fixed on the screen with a sour expression, took a deep breath and waved his fingers. At the same time, a thick cigarette was clutched in his hand. It was a cigar that had been airlifted from the nearby country of Cuba.

A wisp of smoke rose above the deserted beach. As he rolled the smoke in his mouth, the nicotine began to spread through his body.

Secretary Webb added leisurely.

"As far as I remember, there was no lack of support or misplaced personnel in that area. Why are you still squabbling when you have that much power? Shouldn't you have pushed the Pentagon out long ago before something like this happened?"

"I'm going to find out about the battle as quickly as possible. After I get a list of the commanders deployed to Washington D.C., I'll arrange for them to compile and report on the results and progress of the half-year operation."

"I'll do what I can confirm now."

He waved his hand lightly. The holograms that had been aligned melted into the air in an instant and disappeared, and new information surfaced. Among them was a familiar appearance.

Of course, aside from the fact that we'd met once, the presence of someone so distinctive that Webb couldn't help but remember was confirmed among the scattered holograms.

Rebecca 'Wraith' Bailey. A commander who had become an Alpha-class mutant relatively recently, and also the only mutant of the Black Eagle. One whose name he wouldn't have remembered properly if he hadn't become a mutant.

And one of only two top field commanders of the Kestrel at this point.

Webb took a deep breath, as if he didn't like it that much, and opened his mouth.

"You must have been the one who wore the wrong gear last time and suffered. I don't feel so good about it."

"I'll investigate it as a top priority."

"It was a relatively unimportant campaign, so I gave you autonomy in command, but if your performance continues to be poor... that's unacceptable. What is the current purpose of the Washington D.C. operational area?"

"It's the destruction of the US military centered around the Pentagon. As the Minister said, it's less important than the operations we're currently preparing for or other campaigns where combat is taking place."

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"Tell me the size of the troops dispatched."

"About two brigades."

He frowned for a moment.

He didn't specifically tell the field commander that the Washington D.C. campaign wasn't that important from a national perspective, but even so... if two brigades were to disappear, it would likely be a huge headache.

Just then, more detailed data about the entire Washington, D.C. area appeared on the screen, and only then did Secretary Webb recall the current situation that he had forgotten for a moment.

"Yes. Now I remember. I was a little confused because the deployment location was the location...."

"Currently, all of the Syndicate's resources are focused on operations in the northeastern United States and southern Florida, training allied forces, and preparing for the landing, so reports related ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) to the capital are relatively low priority for confirmation."

"Hmm."

Secretary Webb nodded. He remembered that it was true.

At this point, the Syndicate was focusing on two operations - as I said, one was to support the Allied forces in the northeastern United States, and the other was to prepare for operations targeting southern Florida.

The purpose of these two massive backroom operations was to, on the small side, align the US and Allied forces, and on the large side, to erase the existing world and seize the initiative of the entire planet in the future - to achieve this, the weakening of the US military was absolutely necessary.

The reason was simple. The Allied Forces were spending astronomical amounts of money and resources just to land on the American mainland, and if they were pushed back once, the Allied Forces would disappear from the northeastern part of the United States.

What the Syndicate wanted was the two forces to unite, not the US military to survive and push back the Allied Forces.

Let's get back to it.

If we describe the operation in Washington D.C. in terms of grand strategy, it could be said that it was a side story of the main scenario - the Syndicate's grand strategy.

The Northeastern operation was to put the Allied Forces in front of the US military, and the Florida operation was to force the South American gangsters into the US military stationed in Miami, and send the troops that could be operated separately to the capital - in short, it was a tribute operation, not a main attack.

In other words, from the Syndicate leadership's point of view, losing two brigades deployed in Washington D.C. would be painful at the moment, but it would not be a major problem for the grand strategy.

As if to represent it, Web muttered without much thought.

"Can't we just put those guys in the Pentagon? We'll probably have hundreds of thousands of troops available for operation in the next few months, so let's just put about 2,000 and count them as losses during the operation."

"If you really want to give orders, I'll try to connect with the Kestrel."

"Tell them to keep that in mind. Looking at the tail, it seems like the calculations aren't working out well either way..."

"Understood."

Considering the numerous premises mentioned above, from the Syndicate's perspective, the two regiments deployed to the capital were 'money they could afford to lose' in stocks.

Even if it was funds that were supposed to be lost, the fact that they were actually lost was equally painful in many ways... In any case, Web didn't like the obvious future where the tribute would continue to be pushed back and they would have to withdraw from the capital.

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In that case, it might be much better to hold on to your pants and blow yourself up, Webb leisurely thought.

And the feeling of guilt had long since disappeared from the leadership.

The moment they conducted a biological experiment that forced the soldiers to take them halfway and restricted some of their brain functions, the Syndicate had crossed a river of no return.

"That's right. If I remember correctly, there was... eclipse gas there. Can't we use that?"

"I'll mention that too."

"We're going to use the entire world as our stage, so there's no need to be obsessed with the capital. Just in case, I'll add that retreats are up to individual judgment. If necessary, we should be able to open a path by ramming our phones into enemy territory, but it's not desirable to waste our phones pointlessly either."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay. That's it."

Click!

Webb closed his laptop and set it aside. No one there knew that someone in the capital had been desperately hoping for support.

Or maybe they did. The order Webb had given was the exact opposite of what the commander of the Kestrel that had been deployed to the capital wanted, and it was difficult to give an order without knowing what the commander wanted.

But whatever, he gestured for the laptop to be set aside, as if he was annoyed.

The contents of the article were waiting for the web.

"Minister, I have an email from Representative Natalia Vertinskaya. The Allied Forces have secretly contacted us to sound out our intentions."

"It's okay, so report directly."

"The Allied Forces are preparing for a landing in the western United States, and two field armies are currently moving toward the Chukotka Autonomous Region. They have expressed their intention to cross the Bering Strait during the winter snowstorm after securing sufficient winter equipment and fuel and to establish an outpost."

"What did you request?"

"They want to cause chaos in the eastern United States, including Florida and the Boston area. They seem to want the landing operation in the west to be unimpeded. They are also willing to use nuclear weapons if necessary."

"Since they have sounded out directly, I guess they want us to move up the schedule. But if something actually happens in the west, it will be difficult..."

There was no answer, but that was the answer.

He added.

"It can't be helped that things don't always go as planned. Let's discuss that part directly. Connect with Natalia."

"Confirmed."

"I'll finish it as quickly as possible. I don't want to miss the sunset in the Bahamas."

Web muttered leisurely, and the soldiers began to set up separate equipment on the table, moving without a single error.

Far away from the United States, the world was moving.

"...That's right, you damned bastards."

Meanwhile, in Washington D.C.

Race's prediction was right.

"...Now that I'm actually facing reality, my bones hurt so much..."

It was the expected result.

No, an even colder answer than the expected result flashed across the inorganic screen. The meaning was clear. There was no more support. But that wasn't the end.

The Syndicate leadership did not support them, but instead authorized the use of Eclipse gas and cruise missiles, and even nuclear weapons if necessary. At first glance, it seemed like a decisive, almost quick action.

However, it was impossible to take that as meaning, 'It doesn't really matter.'

"I thought it was somewhat like that, but this is no different from driving the wedge in."

All soldiers had to take responsibility for their actions.

In that vein, calculating the aftermath of an operation's results was also a commander's virtue. Race had the authority to use the various tactical weapons Black Eagle possessed and the authority to deploy troops, but he could not abuse it. People's lives depended on one choice.

However, in the midst of all this, his superiors told him to 'use the various tactical weapons more actively.' When he asked for guidelines, they only said irresponsible things like leaving it up to his own judgment.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't a bad order - that is, when the chain of command was clear, there was a formal order, and the responsibility was clear because the higher-ups ordered it.

However,

"These guys wouldn't do that."

It was obvious to anyone that the higher-ups were just eating the results and trying to pass the responsibility down to their subordinates.

No, it was actually worse than that. The Syndicate leadership was considering throwing the Kestrel and Talisman brigades out in the face of the undesirable results across Washington, D.C.

Of course, they added a hollow statement that they could retreat if the situation didn't work out, but if they actually did retreat... well. What kind of ending would await them?

'They probably didn't send support because they thought it was useless. If they retreated in the meantime... .'

What was certain was that even a race that I didn’t know the details of would have a good ending, and I had long since given up on the idea. I wouldn’t be scrapped, but I might end up in a place like the heavy armored unit.

Just like she had threatened one of her subordinates who was talking nonsense.

‘Artemis also used a huge number of gang members in the Bronx as combat troops. Maybe in the future, the hardware called the human body won’t be that important.’

Many thoughts swirled around in my head, but in the end, I had only one thing to say.

The recommendation came down under the name of ‘Recommendation for Operational Performance Improvement Brigade Operation Plan.’ If I were to interpret it roughly, it would mean, ‘Since the performance is poor, why don’t you risk your life to hold on to at least your trouser legs?’

I asked for additional answers in order to interpret it in the most positive way possible, but all I got back was, ‘This is an order that came down directly from Secretary Webb.’

“... Is this why you put pins in the soldiers’ heads? So that they can’t disobey orders like this?”

They said that if they were useless, they would blow themselves up, but no one would argue with that fact.

Maybe it didn’t matter to the soldiers, except for those who had become mutants like her and had their sanity restored, and those like Crow who were in charge of adjusting her body. The orders from the higher-ups were absolute.

But that wasn’t the case, so she had doubts - she couldn’t expect a future for these authors who played like this. That much was certain.

Race shook her head and sank into the sofa with difficulty.

But that didn’t mean she could just shake herself off, leisurely cross the Memorial Bridge, and surrender to the Pentagon. There were still countless soldiers under her.

If she were to surrender everything because she didn’t like the Syndicate, how would she be any different from her superiors?

While she was pondering this, the knocking continued.

She thought he was an adjutant or an operations officer, but she soon realized that it wasn’t. The usual procedure of asking if she could come in was skipped, and the door opened right away.

It was Crow.

“What do you think?”

“That’s all you’re saying when you come here... No, that’s okay. I’m going to get my thoughts together, so get out.”

“You’re being so rude when you’re on the same ship. Stop being so rude and talk to me. If you do anything, I’ll give you my nape... Ouch!”

“Shut your mouth before I turn you into a real mummy.”

Thud.

Crow sat down on the chair next to him with a leisurely smile, and added.

“Don’t try too hard. You know? There aren’t many sane people in here.”

“...What?”

“It seems like you’re deliberately ignoring it, but... except for you and me, most of the guys here are absolutely loyal to the Syndicate. That means you don’t need to worry about your subordinates.”

“That’s not the issue, you fucking punk.”

“That’s why I came here to make a suggestion.”

At that moment, Race saw Crow’s mouth opening like a mischievous child.

She sensed the ominous air current and focused her eyes, but Crow quickly waved his hand and opened his mouth.

“This one has a nose firmly pierced by Artemis, so I can’t leave until I solve this body, but you’re different. Isn’t that right?”

“... You’ve been talking about obvious things since a while ago, and if you’re going to beat around the bush, then....”

“No, that’s not it.”

A brief silence.

He laughed.

"If you're going to leave, don't you think it's not bad to proudly raise your middle finger in front of those guys and leave?"

"Huh?"

At that moment, Race's face frowned.

However, Crow opened his mouth as if nothing had happened.

"There's no listening device in this room, so don't worry. No one will hear you."

"... Are you in your right mind when you say that?"

"Of course. I'm more in your right mind than anyone else."

"...."

"It's not that grand. I came to the same conclusion. Those guys are blatantly trying to restructure. Since the utility value is low, they're just telling us to just take it easy and blow ourselves up."

She couldn't deny it.

The current situation was closer to neglect. They knew that they were going to pour out Eclipse gas and cruise missiles without reserve, and then tell us to retreat or not.

He opened his mouth.

"Seeing as they even passed the authority to execute the retreat order to this side, it seems like they feel it's a waste to blow up two entire brigades in the meantime. They're such hypocritical guys who think they're useless but still feel it's a waste.

. Then what should we do?"

"... No way."

"Yeah. We should do whatever the guys resting in the Bahamas want."

Even she burst out laughing at that ridiculous idea.

The rest of the story was short.

"Let's fold the table."

"... For this reason, I have decided that further operations in Washington D.C. are impossible. I have submitted the plan, so please check it later."

"What?"

"Are you crazy, Race?"

And then a while later.

Race raised his middle finger directly at his superiors by submitting a plan that said, 'I will fold the table as you wish.'