I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun

Chapter 670

"<Occupy the highest building in the vicinity! Platoon leaders, make independent judgments but position yourselves where retreat will be the easiest!>"

"<The TMC International building up ahead is the tallest in the area... 2nd platoon! Move out! The moment a fugitive even gets close to that parking lot, I'll knock your heads off with my foot!>"

"<Damn, if we could just get the grenade launcher up on the roof, it would be perfect...!>"

The battle officially begins.

Fear starts to swell in my chest. I haven't encountered the enemy yet, but I have no idea how things are unfolding. Even though Sergeant Mitchell half-forced a bulletproof vest on me and handed me a rifle, I still couldn't process it.

The briefing and dispersal were so fast that I didn't understand a single word. I didn’t know any English, but when I saw over a hundred soldiers moving toward the nearby high buildings, I managed to get the gist of what was happening.

Meanwhile, Captain Parkwason observed the movement of the American soldiers carefully, while spreading out a map on the table, marking it with various annotations.

It didn't take long to realize that he was marking which platoon was assigned to which building.

Even amidst all this, the conversation between the two captains continued energetically.

"<What happened to the ammunition the transport plane dropped?>"

"<They put it in the baseball field next door. Just covered it with plastic. We were preparing to blow it all up when we retreat, but it looks like we don't need to do that now.>"

"<I don't think the guys going up to the building are carrying that with them.>"

"<Damn it. If we were told to move that stuff now, the guys wouldn't even be able to shoot straight, they'd be dead from exhaustion.>"

What am I going to do next?

That thought suddenly crossed my mind, but at that moment, I realized that there was no way I would be helping to repel the enemy with those who went up to the building. How could someone who doesn't even understand the language shoot alongside soldiers?

But considering the scene I had witnessed earlier—the fire I started with the uncollected ammunition, the fact that I had brought a grenade launcher and grenades...

The rifle I was holding was likely to be more of a hindrance than a help, so I just let it fall to the ground and shouted.

"Duffle bag! Duffle bag! Give me the duffle bag!"

At that moment, it seemed like Captain Parkwason immediately understood how to use me.

His eyes sharpened. He shouted into the radio several times, spent about 30 seconds yelling at the nearby communication soldier, and then drew four buildings on a piece of paper, writing numbers next to them.

The explanation was simple. For example, 1-7 meant the 7th floor of building 1, and 2-4 meant the 4th floor of building 2.

Then, he wrote the word "Ammunition" next to the paper. It didn’t take long to figure out what he meant.

"<Tell me. Ammunition!>"

"<Ammunition!>"

"<While climbing the stairs, shout this word. Got it?>"

"<Understood—!>"

"<Sergeant Mitchell, give this guy two duffle bags, and take them to the baseball field on the opposite side of the soccer field. Gather all the ammo cans and bring them here. Once there's enough, I’ll tell you where to distribute it. Got it?>"

"<Understood. I'll show him the way.>"

I didn’t understand a single word of the conversation with Sergeant Mitchell, but it didn't matter.

She rummaged around the area and found two empty duffle bags, double-wrapped them, and handed them to me.

Before long, Sergeant Mitchell began running toward the opposite side of the soccer field. It was my turn to follow her. As I stepped onto the frozen snow, I soon arrived at the large pile of plastic sheeting in the middle of the baseball field.

As she moved the plastic aside, I saw... a mountain of ammo cans. Among them were the same grenade launchers we had on our truck, but she ignored them and gestured for me to follow.

Just as Sergeant Mitchell had said, she immediately began filling the duffle bags with the rounds next to the ammo cans. In no time, I felt the weight accumulating on my back.

The next command was simple.

"<Go!>"

I run.

Carrying roughly 200kg of weight, I run to the place I was ordered to and drop off at least 10 ammo cans, then run back to the baseball field and repeat.

At the same time, gunfire began to ring out from the buildings. The intense labor combined with the shock made my body heat up quickly, and my heart began to race.

I was now running through the battlefield.

'...If I had just gone straight to Central Park, I wouldn't have to be doing this.'

But if I find out that these people all died after I safely arrived, and they died at the hands of the same people who had tried to rape me...

I would probably lose my mind completely.

"That... I can’t..."

I can’t bear that.

I don’t want to suffer anymore. I don't want to be in a state where it's like I'm not alive, groaning in the horrific mental pain, thinking that death would be a relief. I don’t want to spend all my time wishing I was dead.

So, I decided to do everything I could. While Sergeant Mitchell was sorting the rounds I had brought back, I began filling the duffle bags with the ammo cans with all my might. I started feeling breathless and parched.

But I keep running. Once, twice, three times... By the time I had more than 50 ammo cans, I was repeatedly going back and forth.

As I struggled to hold onto my fainting mind and was about to run back to the baseball field, he spoke.

"<Stop. 4-7. Break. 3-4, Eugene. 4-7. Break. 3-4. Repeat after me.>"

"4th building 7th floor, 3rd building 4th floor—!"

"<From now on, speak in English. Take all the .277 Fury rounds here and distribute them evenly.>"

"<Understood!>"

I didn’t understand much, but I could see the direction his finger was pointing, and I even heard the word "Half."

The soldiers waiting around began stuffing the ammo cans into the duffle bags, and as soon as I finished, I suddenly stood up. Captain Colton, standing next to me, was impressed while I was trying to recall what "Break" meant.

In short, it was like the commas used to clarify when two or more targets are mentioned. I learned that from Sergeant Mitchell.

However, this ammo wasn’t the same as the rounds used by the soldiers who had lost their rifles. It was different from the rifle I had received—later, I learned that soldiers prefer 5.56mm rounds, which are easier to find and have a lot of spare ammo, because military supplies were hard to come by.

Anyway.

It was time to go.

I pushed myself forward, quickly climbing the stairs visible through the open doorway. In the process, I was desperately shouting "Ammunition."

Ultimately, that decision was the right one. When the guards at the stairs heard my voice, they let me pass without aiming their guns at me.

Additionally, I learned something else. The 7th floors of buildings 3 and 4 meant the rooftops.

I had arrived at the rooftop.

"<Ammunition, ammunition!>"

"<What the hell, how did a kid get up here... Damn, how many cans of ammo did you bring?>"

"<Half! Just half!>"

"<Unbelievable... Guys without ammo, throw your empty mags on the ground! Vincent and Lois, collect all those and fill them up before redistributing!>"

One part was done.

I started descending the stairs again. It felt like I had become Upham from that old movie "Saving Private Ryan." The difference was, I had finished what was asked of me.

But it didn’t take long to realize that when the battle began, the rounds would melt away like snow. And the people calling for me were increasing as I went.

Buildings 3 and 4, then 1 and 2. But delivering once wasn’t enough. There were links for the machine guns, grenade boxes for the underbarrel launchers, and high-speed grenade launchers for targeting the most populated areas.

I delivered them all.

How many times had I ascended the stairs? My breath was burning, and for the first time since I came to this world, I understood what real, terrible exhaustion was.

Then, after about 20 minutes, with my body drenched in sweat—

"<Damn it—!>"

Boom, boom, boom!

Just as I was about to leave after delivering the rounds, a soldier with a machine gun shot incessantly at something, then spat out.

"<Damn, did you see that? One of the fugitives was carrying a rocket launcher!>"

"<What the hell... Wait a second. Damn it, it's real! Where the hell did they get something like that from?>"

"<Attention all friendly forces in combat! Fugitives are believed to be carrying anti-tank rockets! Repeat, the enemy is carrying anti-tank rockets!>"

Bang! Then, boom.

But it wasn’t here. It was somewhere else. Simultaneously, everyone turned to the direction of the explosion, and thankfully, the corner of building 3, shattered by the blast, was there.

But how many more times would the same thing happen? How many would die in the process? At that moment, those thoughts entered my mind.

However, before my nightmare became reality, an instinctive word escaped my lips.

Something... something was approaching.

"<Something’s coming.>"

"<Damn, if you're going to say something ominous, go get more ammo—>"

"<No, it’s not that....>"

Whoooom.

A vibration seemed to touch my skin ever so slightly, like it was echoing through the air.

Like—

"<Is it a plane….>"

The next words didn’t come out.

The next moment, flames began to rise from the ground.

A terrifyingly beautiful blaze.

"<It was just a little provocation, and they came rushing in like moths to a flame. It's unbelievable… though, I guess it’s lucky that they’re pulling out the rocket launchers just because they lost a few guys.>"

"<The Hyena Council might hold you responsible for this attack failure, Zodiac. We are the reserves. Are you just going to leave those guys to die?>"

"<If they all die over there, it doesn't matter... it's true that the US is falling apart, but it's not like I can't turn these out-of-control idiots' heads around. Looks like they've lost their minds after tasting the outside air and some drugs.>"

Click.

Zodiac, a woman who was part of the Hyena Council, the leaders of the fugitive gang, spat out a dying cigarette and exhaled a deep breath.

The booming explosion from outside reverberated, and her white ears perked up above her head.

She spoke.

"<It's annoying being thrown into prison just because I had some fun outside, but I should still be able to tell the difference between rotten ropes. I’ll bet on Central Park’s survival. Only those who want to burn alive in napalm should stay.>"

"<...Damn. The transport planes bombing there are scarier than the Council. I’ll follow your orders. Do what you want.>"

"<I guess we’re in deep now. But still, those crazy guys who shoot first are worse than soldiers who won’t shoot if they’re low-key… I’m leaving it to you. If you understood, let’s move like bullets.>"

"<Alright. You’ve got some sense. We're taking off from here now. It's time to fold up the game.>"

Naturally.

Just as there were fugitive soldiers rushing in like moths after the death of their comrades, there were also those among the fugitives who, blinded by plunder and destruction, betrayed their own and sought to cozy up to the last remnants of the official power.

There were dozens of conductors and hundreds of instruments, but there was no sheet music to follow in this chaotic orchestra as it raced toward its peak.

The final destination had long been set.

"<This is Photon 1. We have identified multiple enemies through the optical camera. Apologies for the delay, we were adding a 50mm chain gun. Please designate the hottest spot with an infrared laser.>"

"<Additional update! It is suspected that the enemy is carrying anti-tank rockets!>"

"<Acknowledged. Hovering—stationary flight—will not be possible. We will circle tightly and attack. To avoid friendly fire, please mark the position with an IR laser.>"

"<Confirmed. IFF activated.>"

"<Location confirmed... Wow, the buildings are in a shape like rats have eaten through them.>"

Whooooosh!

The V-44TA1 Valkyrie, a tiltrotor aircraft with its propellers replaced by jet engines, emitted a deep noise as it flew, tracing a narrow circle in the air.

The exhaust vapor from the engine condensed as it touched the freezing cold outside air, forming a halo, almost like an angel's head, as it leisurely glided through the sky.

But below it was nothing but a sea of flames.

Boom!

"<Aaargh!>"

"<Damn, damn! I’m getting out of here! I didn’t come here to die!>"

"<Reserve forces, reserve forces, Zodiac you bastard... Aaaargh!>"

The 50mm XM913 autocannon began unleashing high-explosive and incendiary rounds into the air.

It was a solo stage. Below, hundreds of meters down, terrible things were happening. Every enemy in the open was being mowed down, completely overwhelmed.

One shot, two shots, three shots. The gunner manning the camera didn’t realize that some of the enemy, high on drugs, were avoiding taking cover in nearby buildings as the hellish storm poured down. Instead, he was simply giving them a swift and simple funeral.

But it was only a matter of time before the gunner started to understand why the friendly forces at the Brooklyn docks were stubbornly holding out and why the enemy was equally relentless in their fight.

"<Photon 1 reports to Guardian Actual. There are too many enemies in the area. Additionally... the enemies have all retreated inside the buildings. No doubt they are rats.>"

"<The last update indicated nearly two battalions of enemies approaching. How many we’ve killed... it’s hard to say exactly. Can you confirm the enemy numbers from above?>"

"<This is Photon 1, difficult to answer. But it doesn’t appear that their combat strength has been completely neutralized.>"

There were buildings everywhere here, and there were more over there.

Brooklyn, the entry point to Manhattan, was a massive harbor teeming with ships passing by, and naturally, countless facilities had been erected to handle the massive flow of goods.

Warehouses, wholesalers, factories, offices, repair shops, and all sorts of stores had been built, intertwining and eventually forming a complex area, no one knowing the full extent of it.

All the infrastructure became cover, and with the environment turning into a maze, both attackers and defenders were bound to get lost, setting the stage for a tense battle.

But at this point, the ones with the upper hand were none other than the American forces.

Of course, assuming they could retreat.

"<This is Guardian 1, the battle has subsided. We request an emergency evacuation. We need three transport planes to evacuate safely. Are there any available extra transports at Central Park?>"

"<Currently, a simultaneous evacuation operation is being carried out within a 30km radius centered on Manhattan. If we want to call in other aircraft, it will take at least 20 more minutes.>"

"<Damn, 20 minutes, 20 minutes... We’ll hold on as long as we can if continuous fire support is guaranteed. Can you maintain altitude?>"

"<....>"

A brief silence followed.

Unaware that Captain Parkwason was growing anxious, the Photon 1 gunner paused for a moment, then quietly spoke.

"<It looks like it won't take 20 minutes, Guardian 1. But I’m notifying you that we will have to act as bait for a few minutes.>"

"<What’s... what are you seeing, Photon 1? Answer!>"

"<It is predicted that hundreds of escaped prisoners will converge on your location within two minutes. Our aircraft will attempt to provide as much aerial support as possible.>"

At the same time, the gun camera began to rotate.

And at the end of it, the Photon 1 gunner witnessed armed soldiers in fluorescent vests and gas masks firing from their guns, spewing flames.

His mouth opened in a quiet gasp.

"<The incinerators are coming.>"