operation, maybe mayday

“—and such an unchartered area, Huru never made it to the city archives. It wasn’t like that place by the equator… was it Basalt? It had its entire demise documented and live taped to see. This was back in the day, of course, when the radiation wasn’t as serious as it is now. I mean, no one expected the world to just end like that, you know? It was straight out of those apocalypse films – by that, I mean people used to film television shows with devastating scenarios, like zombies, vampires and whatnot. The irony, eh?”

“Anyway, Huru Village, once home to a dwindling population of 50,000. It was one of the last places to be seriously affected by the radiation, with it being so far up north and all. The sun’s blocked by a ton of mountains and elevated terrains here.”

“The ‘Tale of Huru’ wasn’t all that special – just about a few villagers encountering an inter-species wolf or something. A fox, maybe. They were bitten by one and managed to survive only to come back infected. That’s how it goes, just a small mistake, and then the entire village was purged overnight. The remaining survivors lived underground and all that. Lucifer went in on the details – could be a sob story, really. Wonder how he gets all this intel, though. Could they be a soldier? Doesn’t make sense to me how they’d gotten their books so circulated.”

“Never heard of it,” Yang Rong muses. “Why was it banned?”

Hannes lights up. “I was waiting for you to ask. Why do you think it would be banned, as with all materials classified as propaganda?”

“Division and chaos.”

“This one was a little different,” says Hannes. “It was because it was too depressing.”

Yang Rong hums. “I see. The Nexus markets life and hope.”

“Else productivity and morale will spiral down the drain,” Hannes adds, “and Yang Rong, is now a good time to ask? Were you actually smitten by his pretty face?”

“You can ask, but do it quietly,” the colonel replies. “He’s sleeping.”

“On your goddamn shoulder.” Hannes slurps up a can of soup loudly. It doesn’t wake Noah, who is planted by the colonel’s side, the side of his cheek resting on a broad shoulder. Sometime during Hannes’ monologue, he had fallen asleep, lolled over, then upon finding a warm spot to nap on, had comfortably nuzzled onto Yang Rong. “And you’ve even changed into a clean shirt. Have you two been fucking outside my supervision or somethin’?”

It’s good he isn’t shivering anymore. Yang Rong had wondered how he could survive this climate with his body being this thin. The colonel lifts a hand and rubs Noah’s hair for absolutely no reason. He doesn’t normally get to do this when the latter is awake – call it taking advantage, but Noah is also using him for warmth after all, even if unconsciously.

“The little prisoner is incredibly docile when asleep,” Yang Rong says, “but if he wakes up and sees himself on top of my bloody clothes, the mysophobe will kick up a fuss for the entire trip.”

“Yang Rong, it is unlike you to bring an anomaly along, much less to a biobank.”

“What do you think he is?”

“He can be a cat, dog, rattlesnake or songbird for all I care.”

The colonel weighs the options. “The former is more likely.”

“So you took in a stray cat fully knowing the risks of infection and even decided to accompany him to a biobank where earth’s most valuable resources are stored.” Hannes picks up another can of food. It’s salted haggis, foul-smelling and not in the least appetizing but there isn’t room to complain. “What are you thinking, Colonel? This is unlike you.”

Yang Rong curls his fingers on a lock of gray hair. The shade of it is light down to the roots. He’s convinced it really is Noah’s natural hair color – soft to the touch, no brittleness that bleach would cause. The young man’s eyebrows are a darker shade of gray as are his eyelashes, wispy and slightly curled on the ends. They are long enough to cast shadows down his cheekbone. Yang Rong smirks a little – if Noah were aware of how closely he’s being looked at, he’d complain for sure.

The colonel playfully flicks his forehead and revels in the way his eyelids tighten subconsciously. There’s still an adhesive patch on Noah’s left side browbone. The young man, for all his unruliness and sarcastic way of speech, is intolerably high maintenance, refusing to allow even a small cut exposed to air. If they kept him any longer, the squad’s medical supplies will be drained as will their celebratory snack rations – what a hassle.

Yang Rong says, “I’m not thinking.”

Hannes snorts. “Damn right you ain’t.”

Across from them, Li Jiayun is having no luck contacting the 641st combat unit. The group had decided that if they don’t get a response by midnight, the operation will be forfeit. Allied voices are tense on the other end of the transceiver. The background noise is coarse and staticky, the voices of radiomen who are all occupied with other platoons. Their signalman, thankfully, remains professional.

“We will request to send reinforcements to your location,” he tells them. “Unit 1, you are to stand by for a fortnight.”

“…A fortnight?!” Li Jiayun exclaims. She grips the handset and turns toward Yang Rong, her round eyes signaling to him so intensely he can practically hear it, stutter and all – “C-Colonel Yang! They’re expecting us to wait two whole weeks! Are they insane?”

Yang Rong holds out a hand and the female soldier immediately throws the transceiver at him, relieved to be absolved of responsibility.

“It is not necessary,” the colonel says into the mic. “If we aren’t signaled by midnight, the joint operation will be forfeit. Unit 1 will proceed on its own.”

A few seconds later, the signaller taps in. “Authorized.”

“—Colonel!” Li Jiayun jumps to his side and begins to incessantly ramble. It’s rare for her to be so egged on. “I knew 641 wouldn’t come. Adams… I mean Sergeant Adams isn’t known for much. He hasn’t responded to any summons for the past half a year and he’s always conjuring up excuses. His mission success rate hasn’t been on par and half of his men aren’t even out in the fields the last time I checked and he’s—”

“And he’s a jerk!” yells Jae, coming in heatedly. “Yoo Seok-hyung told me that he’s a waste of tax money.”

“Right!” Li Jiayun pulls him to the side and they both begin to diss the living hell out of the man. Li Jiayun aside, Jae hadn’t even met this Sergeant Adams and already has an extremely negative impression of him. “The rumors say all he does is drink and sleep around. He’s lucky he’s an alpha else he’d be thrown out in the slums and beaten black and blue. Listen, Jae, there was this time he…”

“Shh,” Yang Rong tells them to quiet down, “save the gossip for later, you brats. There’s someone coming.”

Yoo Seok wipes the fogged-up window with his shirt sleeve. “That him?”

A lone figure treks through the tundra. His back is bent low as he drags along a cargo bag almost double the width of his sickly figure. A small flashlight is strapped on the shell of his helmet. His legs seem to almost give up until he spots the military truck ahead. He brightens up upon noticing the vehicle and then he moves as fast he can toward it.

His boots imprint heavily onto the snow. He gasps out, his face getting redder with each step. He cups his mouth with both hands and shouts as loudly as he can, “The First Unit! Are you the First Unit?”

“That’s not him,” Hannes says. “Adams is three times his size. Fatter and has an uglier mug, too.”

“Let him in?” asks Li Jiayun, her eyes squinting to see past the winter fog.

“No,” Yang Rong replies. “We’re heading out.”

Yoo Seok is the first to wretch open the car door, roughly shoving away the snow that’d gathered on the crevices. A boulder of ice has already coalesced up from the wheels to the shaft of the opening. Immediately as the door opens, a strong gale makes way through the rear quarters of the vehicle, blowing out the kerosene lamp wicks.

The weight on Yang Rong’s right shoulder shifts. Noah is still deep asleep and bundled into a coat so large it swallows him alive. He’s draped with another thick coat, this one Yang Rong’s, and only the top half of his face is visible. The disheveled mop of gray tousles in the wind, though somehow, it remains tangle-free.

Yang Rong is unable to get up. Noah seems to have gotten even more comfortable, smushing his face into the meat of his deltoid, sighing softly in contentment. Yang Rong clicks his tongue – “am I a portable heater?” he asks only to get no reply.

He lightly slaps Noah on the cheek and declares, “Wake up! We’re under attack!”

“…Nn,” comes the younger man’s slurred reply, completely uncaring of the situation. It is certain that even if they were actually under attack, Noah will manage to sleep through it. When shaking him and yelling at him didn’t work, Yang Rong feels more and more like he’s hosting a too-problematic freeloader whose habits are more than lethal.

Take, for example, how unknowingly clingy Noah is when sleepy. He would lean in closer and then he would part his mouth slightly, let out a soft hum and then rub against his body – Yang Rong curses at how much it affects him. He really can’t take it anymore when the younger man starts murmuring “feels warm” and then for him to “stay still” and “shh.”

The colonel presses him away, tugs on his ear and leans forward.

“You are being coquettish,” he whispers for him to hear alone. “Little kitten, are you seducing me?”

Noah finally blinks himself awake and slowly kneads the back of his neck. His hair is disheveled and fluffed, and then coupled with his cheeks tinted semi-pink, the sight is almost… tempting. He seems pleasantly surprised that there is little soreness and he hums in contentment. Then upon noticing Yang Rong staring at him with an indescribable expression on his face, he sends over a confused look.

“…Why are you looking at me?”

Yang Rong sighs. “Can you not look like that?”

“…?”

The man clicks his tongue in irritation, gets up and heads out the vehicle, leaving Noah even more confused. Yang Rong clicks his tongue again. He’s inexplicably bothered – seems to take it out, even, as he violently shoves the door aside and stomps on his way out.

“—Colonel Yang!”

The foreigner toddles his way toward him and the four soldiers. He is exhausted; his breaths are coming out ragged, his body is shivering, and his nose is beet red. He dons a solid white puffer coat, layered trousers and a pair of rainboots – clearly not combat attire. The middle-aged man holds out a gloved hand in greeting. “It is a pleasure. I am Orlando Walker, a genomics specialist from the Nexus.”

The colonel gives him a once-over. The man’s clothes are splattered red on the sides. Dirt is visible from his boots up to the hems of his coat. What is more off-putting is his helmet light, flaunted like a beacon that would attract organisms from a mile away.

“Are you going to the mines?” Yang Rong asks.

The man salutes him. “My destination is the Nordak biobank, Colonel Yang.”

“Then are you suicidal?”

He blinks in confusion. “Pardon? I don’t quite…”

“Are you a dolt or do you lack common sense?” The colonel’s eyes drill into him and the temperature drops lower. Yang Rong is harsher than usual, his bad mood making him even more intimidating. “You have a lot of guts high-beaming in the alpines. Would you like to drench yourself in a gallon of blood next to see how many more creatures you’d attract?”

Walker fumbles with the switch on his headgear but still remains flustered. “Colonel Yang, with all due respect, my equipment has been personally selected by Sergeant Adams. I trust his judgment and intuition in the battlefield, and it is precisely that—”

“If you cannot follow my orders, then leave.” Yang Rong is the first to walk away, slinging two firearms on one shoulder and a rugged black backpack on the other. “Do not be a liability, Walker.”