I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun-Chapter 688: Central Park (17)

"Ugh, this is hard... No matter how I look at it, I just don’t get it..."

"I'll teach you calmly, so if there's something you don't understand, make a note of it. I’d like to help you with everything you don’t know right away, but lately the situation keeps changing so fast... There are so many operation coordination meetings, my head is spinning."

"Eeeh... Olivia..."

"...Ugh, I’ll be right back, so just wait a little longer!"

The textbook describes the essential elements for effective ground strikes: combat tracking, target designation, tactical risk assessment, weapon authorization, attack methods, and TAC types...

The TAC types are divided into types 1, 2, and 3, and aircraft are split between BOT (Bomb On Target) and BOC (Bomb On Coordinate) methods, depending on whether the aircraft approaches the target or mark (such as smoke grenades) to acquire the target position...

In short, BOT is suitable for attacking moving targets, while BOC is used for fixed or moving targets, and mixing them up can delay kill times or cause missed targeting opportunities, leading to confusion between air crews and JTAC...

The attack starts from either the IP or BP, where the aircraft — BP refers to rotary-wing aircraft — approaches the operation area...

Generally, when it’s difficult to set a target’s location coordinates, a "Key Hole" graphic is used to easily derive the coordinates for the IP/BP...

"Uweeeck..."

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I feel like I’m going to puke.

The textbook has 360 pages, filled with all sorts of diagrams, examples, theory problems, simulation exercises, and, to make it worse, a special reconnaissance manual attached, making the book on the table as thick as an encyclopedia.

There’s no way I can get through all of this in just two weeks. Honestly, Olivia and the others probably don’t expect it either. If it weren't for the Icarus Gear, I'd probably still be stuck here with no mission to do.

The problem is that I’m an Alpha-level mutant, so I’m being forced into the role of an operator. It’s not that I hate it, but it’s exhausting.

Olivia had left the room. My head aches. I let out a short sigh and lay down on the bed. The ceiling is unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar.

What’s unfamiliar is the combat uniform I’m wearing right now. It’s not the usual military uniform, but the combat gear for missions. Combat shirts, I guess you could call it. Even I, being designated as combat personnel, was made to wear it by the others.

I still feel embarrassed calling myself an operator. I know that about myself, so I just call myself a soldier, and everyone else naturally accepts it.

I wonder when I’ll meet their expectations.

But, unfortunately, just as I was lying there, Olivia suddenly opened the door.

"Stop pretending to sleep."

"Uhh, I wasn’t sleeping..."

"I was going alone, but there’s something you need to hear, so you’re coming with me. We’ll do the studying later."

"Okay."

And so, I joined her.

Actually, I had a feeling this would happen. I didn’t say anything, but the reason is simple. The way Olivia spoke when she left earlier was proof of that.

The situation changes every day. With two weeks until the mission, that’s a long time, but the constant changes are scary.

Max updates are once every 24 hours, and even if it’s short, data from Artemis internal sources and Hoffmann’s team keep changing the operation structure.

And sure enough, when I entered the briefing room, serious discussions were still going on.

"Artemis and the enemy contingent seem to have a strong cooperation. If either side is touched recklessly, it could be problematic."

"We’ll hit both at the same time. Otherwise, we’ll have to hit them in succession within a day."

"Whichever way, if we can seize their communication equipment, it could be an interesting move. But is that a difficult task?"

"Artemis might be tricky, but the contingent is a two-company force. It’s impossible just to remove people. Unless we release gas in a semi-sealed space, it’s not feasible. And they surely know that’s impossible."

"Let’s first figure out how far apart they’re communicating. It’s not easy, but if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to quickly eliminate both."

"So, where is Artemis?"

Hmm, this is a complete mess.

There were more people in the briefing room than I thought. Clearly visible were Logan and Lorenatina, as well as the Eagle Team and EX Squadron members who came with Logan.

There were just under ten people, and every time one spoke, it added up to a lot.

But it wouldn’t end with just one sentence. Even though I could proudly say I was getting better at English, it was so fast and fluent that I couldn’t keep up at all.

Luckily, this Icarus Gear does a decent job of summarizing and translating, so I don’t have to worry about not following the conversation.

Anyway,

"Well, it looks like it won’t be much different from before. Olivia will go solo or with this person for special reconnaissance. The strike team will target Artemis’ base location and wipe it out, then take a helicopter to Lower Manhattan."

"It’s going to be tough. We’re not dealing with some amateur ISIL, but enemy forces at the level of a state military contingent. We’ll need Icarus Gear to even have a chance."

"Considering it’s a reconnaissance contingent, dragging out the battle increases the likelihood of the main force being notified. That part can be handled by UAV jamming... It’s all about choosing who dies."

"There are only about two battalions stationed in all of Manhattan, right? If just one platoon evaporates, there’ll be a huge gap in strength."

"Hmm. We might need to contact the Cleaners. Or, we can just slam missiles into the defensive line until it breaks."

I roughly understand what they’re saying.

Two companies means there’s about 200 heavily armed soldiers stationed near Lower Manhattan. If we attack, who knows what could happen? It wouldn’t even make sense to throw the soldiers from Central Park into that mess.

Honestly, the only viable option is the Cleaners. I’ve heard enough stories about them, and pushing them into a heavily armed defense line is probably the safest bet.

But deciding who lives and who dies isn’t up to me. It’s probably best if I just keep my mouth shut.

‘That’s true...’

The world has become so strange.

As Olivia joined the discussion and they exchanged various ideas, I sighed, reflecting on how things had turned out. The people who used to work at the New York City sanitation department had become arsonists, burning people alive.

Surprisingly, later on, I learned that it was thanks to them I was able to escape from Brooklyn.

And when I became an Icarus operator, I found out additional details—during the escape from Brooklyn, some of the escapees were sent to help, and when things turned bad, the person later managed to escape along with the others, abandoning the prisoners. Apparently, they sold out the escapee positions in Central Park...

That kind of quick thinking is necessary if you want to survive in a post-apocalyptic world.

I heard their code name was Zodiac. Eventually, I’ll probably end up using those cooperative escapees as well.

Huh?

Wait a minute.

"..."

Click.

Not wanting to interrupt the heated discussion, I raised my finger and called over to Olivia, who was in the middle of the conversation. By now, she probably felt the vibration from the Icarus Gear on her wrist.

As expected, she noticed and came over to me.

Now it was time for me to share my thoughts.

"So, who’s going to handle the defense line for the contingent?"

"Not sure. The Cleaners are the most likely, but if they refuse, it’s pointless."

"Could we send the escapees?"

"...How?"

"Didn’t Zodiac maintain secret contact with Central Park? What if they gather the anti-government escapee forces and send them to hold the Lower Manhattan defense line? That would be a free gain, right?"

"...Hmm."

Unexpectedly... the response is... positive?

If it wasn’t a reasonable thought, she would have patted my head or pinched my cheek, but the fact that she’s considering it means it’s not a bad idea.

Unfortunately, Olivia left with a “let me think about it” and, thinking I had heard everything, I headed back to my room.

It reminded me of when, during New Year’s evening or night, the adults would send the kids to another room for their conversation.

Anyway, the good little baby studying would seem praiseworthy to the adults. I thought this as I walked back to my room.

The last thing I saw was Olivia sitting thoughtfully in her chair.

"Well, our youngest suggested this. What does everyone think?"

"If it’s possible, it’s better than nothing. Not sure if we can convince the escapees, though."

"Can’t hurt to try. Let’s bait them for a week and see."

Meanwhile, the butterfly's wings began to flutter.

"Bridge and tunnel blockages on the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges have been partially lifted. This information was confirmed 6 hours ago."

"Six hours? Is that reliable?"

"See, this is why you can’t talk to idiots. Information from six hours ago is pretty much the same as brand new in a world falling apart."

"Zodiac’s here too. The only one missing from the Hyena Council is... Rebound? I figured."

"That bastard still doesn’t know his limbs got blown off in Brooklyn. Stop sniffing that spice? How can we let brainless bastards like him into the committee?"

"Shut up, assholes. We can’t even start the meeting."

NYC Langon Hospital Brooklyn.

A few months ago, this place used to house members of the New York National Guard’s 442nd Military Police Company and the 104th Military Police Battalion, along with hundreds of civilians. But now, it had become the base of the Riker gang.

In the small conference room inside the hospital, about nine people with various appearances gathered. At a glance, most of them looked abnormal or intimidating, and their actions matched their appearance.

These people were the leaders of a large gang alliance formed by escapees and criminals who had been looting and surviving in Brooklyn. Naturally, every member was either an escapee or a criminal.

Zodiac, a female mutant escapee, gestured with her hand.

At the same time, one of her guards activated the projector.

Light filled the dark room, revealing long, murky silver hair and a wolf’s tail. Her fragile and slender body was adorned with wolf ears twitching atop her small head.

Though her appearance might suggest she was a victim in this broken society, she was far from it.

In fact, there was another reason for her confidence.

"God, this is taking too long. What’s taking so long? Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Great insight from the guy who’s never used an electronic device except a stolen smartphone. Alright. Want me to explain what a projector is?"

"This bastard..."

"Don’t reach for your holster, slingshot. Did I say something wrong? Go smoke some marijuana or something. Just because you heard one thing doesn’t mean you can go acting all agitated..."

Early in the Omega Virus crisis.

Many escapees had run out into the cold winter air of Manhattan after breaking free from Riker’s Island, pondering how to most effectively loot civilian lives and resources.

Eventually, a female mutant escapee, later known as Zodiac, would recruit escapees who were good at fighting and others with useful skills or higher education.

And this would lead to tremendous results.

The proof of this was the conference room — where only she and her guards knew how to properly operate the projector.

Of course, she also had the only people who knew how to operate the hospital's generator and repair its broken electrical systems.

Because of this, Zodiac became an irreplaceable figure in the Hyena Council, and naturally, her voice held weight.

As the pictures began to appear one by one, a person from behind her walked up to the podium.

"I’m Andy Sanders, a former drone operator now handling reconnaissance. To cut to the chase, the automated turrets at the ends of the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges seem to be inoperative."

“Not working? Or it just looks like it’s not working? You’re not sure, are you?”

“I’ll show you an enlarged photo.”

Swish.

At the same time, a photo is shown.

As expected, unless you have a good eye, it’s hard to see, but the man who introduced himself as Sanders continued speaking slowly.

“The automatic turrets were supposed to be here... in black containers, waiting to shoot anyone with an unclear identity and preventing civilians from escaping Manhattan. However, they’ve been heavily damaged recently.”

“Damaged?”

“The sides of the container have expanded and punctured. From this, it’s clear they’re destroyed.”

“...The point is, it’s not the container, but the road to Manhattan that’s been cleared. There’s a problem because reinforcements are urgently needed, and manpower is dispersed. It’s important to get the right personnel, and Lower Manhattan is filled with apartments. This means we can easily gather resources.”

At that moment, several people sitting in the chairs subtly turned their heads.

As expected, the reason everyone gathered here was to discuss such ‘carrots’—resources that might be easily gathered. The gang leaders here responded quickly, understanding the implication.

Zodiac gestured, and Sanders projected more images onto the screen—pictures of food and weapon supplies scattered across Lower Manhattan. These photos were taken by drones from a long distance, so they were difficult to identify clearly.

Before anyone else spoke, one person added:

"Coyote."

"So, Zodiac, you need someone to throw into that fire pit, right? I’ll support that."

“Is that fine?”

"I recently took out the Bronx gang from El Salvador, wiped out their whole crew. The old clan members are rebelling fiercely, so we need to reduce their numbers. And... if it’s not a fire pit, it’s even better. Heh..."

As Coyote spoke lowly and chuckled, the others exchanged quick glances.

The problems mentioned—food and weapons—were also an issue. But if they could secure the resources scattered around Lower Manhattan, it would be a game-changer.

This would undoubtedly break the balance of power within the Hyena Council.

To prevent that kind of dominance, they would have to take action.

"...I’ll go too."

"After Coyote, it’s Styx. Who’s next?"

"About 100 people should do. That’s the maximum I can send. I won’t go personally, but I’ll send my right-hand man, Hound, as the leader."

"Do as you like."

"Zodiac, what about you?"

"I’m busy fixing the communication equipment. You’re welcome to help find repair supplies if you want."

"Got it."

With that, the screen flickered and turned off.

The three who agreed to go, and the five who hadn’t responded yet, along with Zodiac, who declined, all remained in the room.

She knew she no longer needed to be in the room and stepped out. Once the bait was thrown, the rest would figure out where to assign people.

She left with her guards and Sanders, heading toward the abandoned military base beneath Brooklyn—Fort Hamilton—where the communication equipment was located.

As they arrived near the site, she began assembling some parts.

After some time, a uniquely designed machine was placed in her hands. She pressed a button and turned switches this way and that.

When a clicking sound was heard, she spoke up.

“...This is Zodiac. Please respond. Jackpot.”

“Gardener Actual, Jackpot acknowledged. A heavy rain is expected in Lower Manhattan within a week. Do not approach.”

“...Rain?”

“Not certain, but it’s likely a white phosphorus (P) and thermobaric rain. Bring an umbrella.”

Zodiac’s face paled almost instantly.

She exhaled deeply, removed the device that had acted as a radio, and muttered to herself.

“I thought only the Cleaners were crazy...”

For the first time, she was glad to have cooperated with Central Park.

The darkness of modern warfare was deep, and even the expert leading hundreds of escapees could not match the madness of the post-apocalyptic world.