Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 132: Extracting Highest Officials

2130 hours

Airspace over Bataan

Shadow Team, Blackhawk 02

Phillip sat with his back straight against the side wall of the UH-60 Blackhawk. His gloved hands calmly checked over his rifle for the third time—round chambered, suppressor locked, optics clean. Across from him, Shadow 3 and 4 were locked in a quiet rhythm—checking gear, confirming ammo, syncing HUDs. No talking. Just precision.

The Blackhawk thumped through the night, rotors slicing the humid air above what used to be a fortified command base. Now, it looked like a scene pulled straight out of hell. Flames painted the horizon. Smoke trailed up like black banners. And in the distant dark, shapes moved—erratic, fast, and relentless.

Phillip tapped the comms embedded in his helmet.

"This is Shadow One. Confirming approach vector—Grid Juliet 7. LZ Alpha is hot. How copy?"

"Shadow One, this is Reaper One-One. We've got thermal confirmation. Target building surrounded by roughly fifty hostiles. No friendlies on the rooftop, but IR strobes active inside the west side of the command block. Target is marked. You are green to proceed."

Phillip keyed the command net. "Roger that. Blackhawk 02, slow to hover. Maintain minimum safe altitude. We'll insert after Reaper clears the grid."

"Copy that. Holding pattern in thirty seconds. Reaper One-One, you are clear for immediate fire mission. Danger close."

The MQ-9B adjusted pitch ever so slightly, its targeting software locking in on the outer ring of infected surrounding the command building.

"Target designation confirmed," Reaper One-one reported from MOA. "AGM-114R2. Impact spread—radius ten meters. All friendlies accounted for. Firing."

A second later, the drone spat another Hellfire missile into the darkness.

It streaked downward like judgment incarnate.

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BOOM.

The ground trembled. The western side of the courtyard exploded in a blinding flash. Dozens of infected were turned to dust, body parts flung across the pavement. The shockwave cracked windows on the upper level of the command block.

Blackhawk 02 – Shadow Team

"Fire mission confirmed. Grid is clear. You are green for drop," came the voice over comms.

The side doors of the Blackhawk slammed open as the minigun operator—callsign Vulture Gunner—locked in his arm brace and racked the belt feed into the spinning barrel.

"Engaging on drop!" he shouted.

Phillip didn't wait.

"Go!"

Shadow Team leapt from the hovering Blackhawk, rappelling down fast ropes in full tactical descent. Boots slammed into cracked pavement, rifles raised instantly in a 360-degree sweep.

The rotors roared above them like thunder. The sound was deafening.

But it brought everything.

Every infected in the area turned their heads.

Then they ran.

Command Block – Interior

General De Vera stood at the second-floor window, clutching his sidearm. His officers were barricading doors, dragging desks, cabinets, whatever they could find.

"CONTACT!" someone screamed from the stairwell.

But before panic could set in, De Vera saw them—silhouettes in matte black, dropping like angels through the smoke. One of them raised a fist, then pointed toward the building.

De Vera's radio crackled.

"This is Shadow One. Command block, do you read?"

He snatched the radio. "Shadow One, this is De Vera! We're holed up second floor. Multiple wounded, minimal ammo."

"Copy that. Stay put. We're coming in."

Ground Level – Outside Command Block

The infected came in waves.

A dozen broke through the eastern alley—skin peeling, some crawling on all fours like beasts.

Shadow 2 dropped to one knee.

"Contact front!"

Crack-crack-crack.

Controlled bursts from suppressed M4A1 rifles. Headshots. Each round punched clean through skulls and necks. Shadow 3 threw a flashbang into the approaching mob's path.

POP.

The light blinded them. Confused screams erupted.

Shadow 4 advanced under the cover of smoke, planting charges on the front barricade of the command block's main entrance.

"Door rigged!"

"BREACH, BREACH!"

BOOM.

The charges blew the entry open. Dust flew out, followed by a gust of hot, foul air.

"MOVE!"

Phillip entered first, sweeping the stairwell.

Upstairs, General De Vera had his pistol aimed low—but the second he saw them, he dropped it and waved.

"Up here! Let's move!"

Phillip and Shadow 2 moved to De Vera, helping the wounded down the stairs. One soldier had a tourniquet wrapped above the knee. Another clung to a side wound.

Shadow 3 covered the stairwell, picking off an infected that tried crawling up after them.

De Vera limped alongside Phillip. "Good to see someone in black armor for once."

Phillip gave a short nod. "We've got your ride warming up. Let's go. Where is Captain Villamor?"

De Vera grimaced as they moved down the smoke-choked hallway, stepping over broken glass and blood-slick floors. "I—I don't know. Last I saw Villamor, he was heading to the east wing with a fire team. That was over an hour ago. Comms went dead ten minutes later. We assumed he was…" He didn't finish.

Phillip didn't slow down. "Understood. We'll sweep the sector once you're clear."

As they exited the command block, the Blackhawk was already hovering low near the extraction zone, side minigun rattling off short, disciplined bursts into the approaching infected.

"Load them up!" Phillip barked.

Shadow 2 and 3 helped the wounded aboard, one by one. Medics already inside pulled them in fast. De Vera turned as he stepped up to the ramp.

"You're not coming with us?"

"No, sir. Extraction was just part of the mission. We're here to find out what did this. What caused this."

De Vera frowned. "You're going back in?"

Phillip locked eyes with him. "We're Overwatch, General. This is what we do."

Then he turned away and waved his team forward, fading back into the smoke as the Blackhawk lifted off.

"Now we are going to have a field day with this," Phillip said, cracking his knuckles.

Phillip turned as the last of the rotor wash blew past him, the Blackhawk shrinking into the haze above. Shadow 4 moved to his flank, sweeping the darkness with his rifle.

"Command block secured. Wounded evac successful. What's next, boss?" Shadow 3 asked.

Phillip scanned the ruined base, the fires still raging in distant structures, the faint outline of bloodied symbols barely visible through the dust.

"We find the ones responsible," he said. "If they're dead, we tag the bodies. If they're alive…well we are going to ask them why they did that, as simple as that."