Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 163: Prodding the Monster

The command center at the MOA Complex was tense—rows of monitors blinking in red as emergency feeds flickered across the main tactical screen. Thomas stood in the center, hands gripping the edge of the situation table, eyes locked on the drone feed last relayed before contact was lost.

"Black Hawk Two just went dark," Marcus called out from his console. "Telemetry cut out mid-transmission. Last ping shows possible crash near Arayat Street, Cubao sector."

Thomas's jaw tightened. "Shadow 0-1 was aboard."

"Affirmative, sir. Phillip's squad went down. Black Hawk One is rerouting to circle but… no comms. No radio. It's a black zone."

Thomas's mind raced. The Colossal Worm—this towering aberration—wasn't just a beacon. It was a jammer too. Its presence was distorting everything: comms, radar, infrared readings. Even the Reaper drones couldn't lock onto the area cleanly. Like the creature had bent the air itself around it.

"Deploy QRF. Now," Thomas ordered.

"Sir, without comms, they'll be running in blind," Marcus warned.

"I know. But they're not going in alone."

Thomas's eyes narrowed as he pulled up a separate interface linked to aerial assets.

"I want Warthog in the air."

Marcus's head whipped around. "The A-10?"

"Yes. If we hit the Worm hard enough, we might disrupt whatever field it's projecting."

"But sir—"

"Just do it."

Marcus nodded and keyed into the airbase.

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The tarmac lit up with yellow markers as the A-10 Thunderbolt II, callsign Warthog, taxied down the runway. Twin turbofan engines screamed to life, the aircraft's shark-toothed nose glinting under the floodlights. Beneath its wings, a deadly array of armament hung: AGM-65 Mavericks, Hydra 70mm rocket pods, and the ever-reliable 30mm GAU-8/A Avenger cannon.

"Warthog to Overwatch Command, airborne and en route," the pilot's voice crackled through the main feed.

"Mission parameters: engage the target designated Colossal Worm. Priority one is to interrupt electromagnetic jamming in the Cubao sector. Do not engage low unless ordered," Marcus relayed.

"Roger that. Setting altitude to 3,000. Approaching AO in three minutes."

Thomas leaned in as the feed lit up—Warthog's nose camera painting the skyline as it streaked across the Manila ruins.

On the ground in Cubao, Phillip crouched behind the twisted frame of the downed Black Hawk. Smoke curled from the engine compartment; the pilot and co-pilot were barely breathing, slumped in their harnesses. Shadow 2 through 11 had fanned out, rifles trained outward, forming a tight defensive ring as the infected swarmed toward them from the east.

"Still nothing," Phillip muttered, tapping the side of his helmet. "All comms dead."

The only sounds were groans—both mechanical and human—as the horde emerged from alleyways and storm drains, drawn by the wreckage and scent of blood.

"Shadow 6, status?"

"We've got at least sixty infected closing fast."

"Hold line," Phillip said, raising his rifle. "We're not dying here."

But as he took aim, a sudden rumble split the air.

High above, a scream of jet engines—low and thunderous—ripped across the sky.

Phillip looked up just in time to see it.

The Warthog had arrived.

"Holy hell…" Shadow 3 whispered. "That ours?"

It was.

And it was angry.

The aircraft dropped altitude just enough to aim. The GAU-8/A Avenger cannon whirred to life.

BRRRRT.

A stream of armor-piercing rounds rained from the sky, punching holes through the oncoming infected like paper targets. Explosive force shredded the lead wave, black mist and limbs flying in all directions.

Then—BOOM. Two Hydra rockets slammed into a Bloomspawn cluster behind a collapsed commercial building, lighting the street with fire.

But more importantly—Phillip's comms crackled to life.

"—adow 0-1, do you copy?—"

"Say again, command?"

Cheers erupted across the squad.

"Signal back!" Shadow 4 said. "We've got signal!"

At the MOA Complex, Thomas leaned forward.

"Phillip, report."

"Bird's down. Pilot and co-pilot are critical. We're intact, holding position southwest of the target. Engaged with multiple hostiles. Worm engaged us with plasma. Took out the rear rotor."

"We're dispatching QRF. ETA ten. But your mission's still green, Shadow 0-1."

Phillip didn't hesitate. "Copy that, Eagle."

Thomas looked to Marcus. "Tell Warthog to maintain pressure. I want that thing pissed off—but too busy to react."

The Warthog banked hard to the left, lining up another attack run. But as it reoriented, the Colossal Worm stirred.

Its mouth opened—jagged teeth spiraling wide—and something inside flashed.

A tendril shot outward like a whip.

It slammed into the pavement—then ripped.

A piece of the earth the size of a two-story house was hurled skyward.

"Evasive! Evasive!" Warthog's pilot shouted.

The A-10 rolled just in time, the debris chunk narrowly missing its left wing.

"Jesus! It threw a goddamn building!"

"Stay high. Maintain distance. Continue fire support," Thomas ordered.

"Roger that. Making another run."

On the ground, Phillip ducked behind a crate as another wave of infected poured in. Shadow 5 laid down suppressive fire with his squad's LMG.

"Hold the west flank! Shadow 9, grenade—now!"

Boom.

Body parts rained.

And above them, the Warthog rained more death.

Rockets slammed into a Bloom Nest node. The infected wailed in disarray.

"Call for fire!" Phillip shouted. "Mark 80 meters north-northeast. We've got armored infected incoming!"

Laser designators blinked on.

"Target locked," Warthog confirmed. "Firing Mavericks."

The missiles streaked across the skyline, impacting with surgical precision. The blast was massive, uprooting vines, shattering infected bodies into pulp.

"We're clear!" Shadow 2 shouted.

For now.

Thomas watched the feed as the Colossal Worm's tendrils writhed, smashing into buildings, lashing blindly—but not firing plasma.

"Why isn't it firing again?" Marcus asked.

"Recharge time," Thomas muttered. "It can't keep firing forever."

"But it's learning. It's reacting."

"Yes," Thomas said grimly. "Which means we only have a small window to break it before it changes the game again."

He turned back to the display.

"Keep hammering it. Keep the sky loud."

Back in Cubao, Phillip turned his rifle down the last alleyway.

More infected.

Too many.

But above him, the sky rumbled with thunder.

And in that moment—despite the hell around him—he knew Overwatch was still with them.

The mission was green.

The war was far from over.

But for now… they were holding.