Volume 2, Chapter 8 – The Silent Silence. The Magic Toggle.
15 hours later.
I opened my eyes. The tent ceiling was above me. The smell of alcohol and death hit my nose. My eyes closed automatically from the light. My ears were ringing like bells.
My entire body was wrapped in bandages, with bloodstains in some places. Used surgical instruments, dressings, cotton, empty vials, and syringes were everywhere.
"Commander," the Chief Doctor said quietly, putting on his gown and walking toward me. "How are you feeling?"
It felt like water was in my ears, and the voice made everything vibrate before my eyes.
"I... What? Uh..." I couldn't even form words.
(I don't understand anything... No thoughts in my head. What happened?)
"Rest," the Chief Doctor said quietly, deftly snapping an ampoule and drawing it into a syringe. "I suggest intravenous aid to help you sleep. What are your orders?"
I tried to say something, but passed out.
—
10 hours later.
I opened my eyes, and the sounds of rifle bursts and sharp cracks hit my ears — the whole tent was vibrating from them, creating mini-earthquakes.
Adrenaline surged in my blood, and with blurred vision and severe nausea, covered in bandages, I headed toward the tent's exit.
It was night — an icy night. To the right, thirty meters away, was the exit, where bright flashes of gunfire from hundreds of rifles constantly appeared, and at intervals, loud shots rang out — making the tent seem like it wanted to run away but was holding itself back. The entire base was brightly lit by floodlights both inside and outside.
And I saw a... fireworks display in the sky?
The most painful part of all this chaos was the unbearable screeching of thousands of creatures.
Pex ran up to me.
[Pex] (holding me under my arm): Base. Seraphim.
[Base]: Pex. Copy. Escort to CUB.
"A-a-ah..." I stared with bated breath at the sky, where fire kept exploding, creating a thick cloud. And Pex was already leading me down the street to headquarters.
We entered headquarters, which had changed radically. It was now completely dug into the ground, with a HESCO roof — but still surrounded by a forest of antennas. Inside, there was more space, many different maps, radars, lists — and it was all very bright, yet quiet. The walls were made of black wavy material. Only the voices of the CUB clerks could be heard, constantly communicating and clicking on their laptop-briefcases while sipping tea.
Pex handed me over to the Strategist and took his leave.
"Good evening, Commander," the Strategist caught me so I wouldn't fall and sat me down in my usual chair. But now... Instead of a map, there was a full-fledged screen with multiple camera feeds. [Ten wide, three high]
The first row was a panorama of the perimeter beyond the walls — fully illuminated and empty, showing only a massive lake spanning the entire ring.
The second row looked like ten body-cam feeds, where soldiers were killing monsters one by one — and the creatures paid them no attention, heading straight for the base.
The third row was ten drone cameras flying above the base at considerable altitudes, covering the entire area.
"Did anyone die?" I shouted, staring intently at the second row of cameras.
"No casualties. Damage, yes. Five Super Hornets suffered engine surges / clogged air intakes / sensors and lights, and belly-flopped during a low pass at fifty centimeters altitude. BREM Officer is working on the equipment," the Strategist reassured me.
Hoo-oh... Five fighters damaged, but repairable. (I hope Aviana won't be mad at me.)
"I won't," Aviana appeared out of nowhere in her double-breasted jacket with a high collar, and slowly sat down next to me in Paladin's spot.
"I can only allocate one squadron for transfer to the base," Aviana addressed the Strategist. "Three more days until Monday."
"Good. That's exactly where I wanted to start the briefing. Resources," the Strategist responded calmly and took a sip. "We can make forty-three sorties daily across all six squadrons. Not counting helicopters."
(That's a lot...) — I glanced cautiously at Aviana — (or maybe not enough... So tonight is Thursday-Friday. Fine, I'm listening.)
"We've already used twenty sorties," the Strategist sat down calmly, turning his chair backward. "An Abrams can spend fifty rounds per day at a calm pace. That's two thousand five hundred total. Currently we're spending about a hundred rounds. Also, a problem with air defense: continuous fire for fifteen hours completely wears out the barrels, and our ability to replace them is running out," the Strategist continued explaining calmly, matter-of-factly.
(I see... And what do we do?)
"What do we do?"
"We're already extracting iron and ores to build factories for dismantling Tomahawks first. Also, the Scientist is conducting experiments with Argo — our name for the black liquid the creatures secrete. But the magic that creates the protective layer makes it impossible to extract pure oil," the Strategist continued.
"But," the Strategist changed the subject, and two faceless ones brought him a constantly illuminated box — painful to look at — "these creatures are a compass — and their north is you." The Strategist began walking around me with the box, and inside, a three-eyed fly with constantly blinking eyes was throwing itself against my direction, regardless of position.
(At me...) I looked at the box in fear, then stood up and walked over to the Strategist, staring intently at the fly with a frightened face, my legs trembling from weakness, acute pain shooting through my wounded hands.
(Maybe I don't have magic?)
The fly froze. And then the entire second row of body-cams detected how the creatures seemed to lose their target and simply scattered across the desert.
(What was that?)
I turned my head to the screen.
(They all forgot about me? That's strange — one thought and it's all gone. How does it work? Why?)
(What if I believe that Democracy is magic? Then what?)
The fly jerked in my direction and hit its forehead against the tempered glass, with bright dots arranged between the layers — the whole box was like an oven.
I recoiled from it.
(But Democracy is equipment and people. I don't understand.)
The fly forgot about me.
(I'll just believe I have no magic. That means I'll never be able to learn this world's magic, like I wanted?!... Probably, but it's better than making the officers wear out their equipment or lose it.)
"Are you doing that?" the Strategist asked, handing the box to a faceless one.
"Probably..." I answered uncertainly, sitting back down.
Aviana looked at me coldly and then disappeared.
"Good. Then here's my plan. The Scientist studies Argo, extraction of basic resources, territory expansion, and factory construction," the Strategist put the kettle on again. "Alpha and Bravo Groups will seal caves near the base. Charlie Group, accompanied by BREM Officer, will build roads from the two quarries that have already been deployed."
"I'll participate too!" I said hoarsely, clearly feeling worse than ever.
"Of course. As soon as you're back to normal, you can join any group for tasks," the Strategist deflated me.
"But..." — but I couldn't say anything, because I didn't want to be dead weight dragged across the desert. I just accepted it as given — a task to recover as quickly as possible.
"Strategist," the Radio Operator called out. "Lelik is requesting evacuation. Quote: 'Guys. So I was walking through the desert checking out the monsters, and bam — I'm in a crevice, can't summon a heli, too narrow. So come on, tadpoles! [Coordinates]'"
I almost laughed — it was so absurd in this situation.
The Strategist sighed, looked at me (turning red), and clicked the kettle again out of habit, not even pouring anything — as if the sound of the electric kettle's wheezing was soothing.
"Pex, Alpha Group, and one M1132 Stryker from BREM Officer," the Strategist gave the orders.
"Lelik is five hundred kilometers from headquarters," the Radio Operator added.
"Aviana. MH-60S Seahawk," the Strategist countered.
"Copy," and the Radio Operator started "making calls."
(Wait. I calmed down and adjusted my bandages — they were coming undone. Probably better go see a doctor.)
"Hey, guys," I called out to the Strategist and the Radio Operator. "Ahem. I summon Lelik," I said, and Lelik appeared before me in a strange pose — a pike pose, facing upward.
"Bro! Thanks a ton!" Lelik quickly shook my hand — dirty and smelly, covered in Argo.
And disappeared.
"Where did he go?"
"To his helicopters."
"Why didn't he just do that from the crevice?"
"At the moment of the fall, there were no helicopters on the ground or in the air," the Strategist began explaining. "You can't summon inside the ground — only at the altitude Lelik is at. When he's on the ground or in the air, he can summon one helicopter next to himself at the same altitude, and then either teleport into it or control it from here, switching between all his equipment," the Strategist finished calmly.
(I see... I probably should go recover, so I can join the operations as soon as possible.)
List:
— Get into sports. (In progress)
— Buy or build my own house.
— Start some kind of business.
— Find a partner.
— Plant a tree.
— Learn a new craft.
From this world:
— Try to learn magic. (Strikethrough)
— Learn the language.
— Become independent and not rely on the officers. (In progress.)
— Become proficient with weapons.
— (NEW) Recover! (In progress.)