Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 105: Angel of Death Part 1

Mall of Asia Complex, Pasay City

Inside a large reinforced hangar near the waterfront, the AC-130 gunship loomed like a metallic beast, matte black paint gleaming under the high-powered floodlights. Ground crews buzzed around it, cables snaking across the floor, tools clanking, and engineers shouting over the low drone of generators.

"Fuel levels topped up. Seals checked. Oxygen systems green," one technician called out from under the wing.

At the side of the bird, Staff Sergeant Ethan Vega pulled off his gloves, wiping sweat from his brow with a patch on his uniform sleeve. "Bird's ready, boys. First flight since we tore her from the grave."

Captain Rochelle "Roach" Alano, the aircraft commander, stood with her helmet under one arm, eyes scanning the checklist tablet in her hand. Her voice was calm but clipped.

"Copy. Final preflight. Loadout status?"

"Guns hot and loaded," replied Master Sergeant Ibarra, the gunner. "We've got one 105mm howitzer, a 40mm Bofors, and the 25mm GAU-12. All rounds green-tagged and chambered. Gunners are strapped in."

Roach nodded. "Nav?"

Lieutenant Torres, the flight officer, raised his hand from the cockpit ladder. "Flight path uploaded. We're locked in to grid sector Kilo-Five. Drone telemetry and forward recon all synced. Wind shear minimal, vis is ten clicks out."

Roach stepped back, looking at the full silhouette of the gunship.

The crew had dubbed it Spooky One. A nod to history. A promise to hell.

Her radio crackled.

"This is Overwatch Command," Marcus's voice came through, grim and steady. "AC-130 support authorized. Immediate scramble. Your objective is to provide direct fire support to Villamor's unit. They're pinned southeast of Route 29, grid Kilo-Five-Seven. Three Mawbeasts are closing in. It's a slaughter."

"Roger that," Roach replied, climbing the ladder into the bird. "Spooky One is rolling out."

Outside, the hangar doors groaned open. The AC-130 was towed out onto the main tarmac as the early afternoon sun glared off the bay. Ground teams stepped back, giving the gunship space as its four turboprop engines roared to life—slow at first, then faster, harmonizing into a steady mechanical growl.

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In the cockpit, Roach flicked switches one by one. Lights turned green.

"Tower, this is Spooky One requesting immediate takeoff on Runway 1-A."

The tower responded within seconds. "Spooky One, you're cleared hot. Good hunting."

The gunship thundered down the runway. Its wheels lifted off with a shudder, and the AC-130 rose into the sky like a titan reborn.

Inside the cabin, the gun crews secured their harnesses and adjusted their sights. The 105mm's breach clanked shut with a solid metallic chunk. Ammo belts rattled in place, the tension rising with every meter of altitude gained.

"This is going to be our first operation and I am excited," Ibarra said.

"Don't get too excited yet," Roach replied. "We've got a killbox waiting."

Torres adjusted his headset. "Approaching grid. Five minutes out."

Roach switched over to Command net. "Overwatch, this is Spooky One. We are airborne and en route. ETA five mikes."

Meanwhile, in the refinery.

Thomas still has his eyes on the screen of the tablet showing the live footage transmitted by the Reaper drone. But he knew that in order to coordinate a fire mission with the AC-130, he needed eyes from them as well.

Suddenly, Marcus's voice cut through.

"Overwatch to Eagle Actual—Spooky One is airborne and is OPCON to you. Confirmed lift-off from MOA Runway 1-A. En route to Kilo-Five-Seven, ETA four mikes."

Thomas nodded, eyes still fixed on the chaos unfolding on the screen. "Copy, Overwatch. Put me on their net."

"Establishing uplink now," Marcus replied. "Spooky One, this is Overwatch. Patch your internal feed to Eagle Actual's station for live coordination."

A second later, Thomas's tablet vibrated. The screen lit up with a new feed—live interior visuals from the AC-130's targeting systems and gunner cams. Multiple angles. IR overlay. Data synced with Reaper One-One in real-time.

"Feed online," Marcus confirmed. "You're synced, Commander."

Thomas spoke into the command mic. "Spooky One, this is Eagle Actual. We're seeing you loud and clear. Paint me the picture."

Inside the airborne gunship, Captain Rochelle "Roach" Alano glanced at the overhead camera screen and keyed her headset.

"Eagle Actual, this is Spooky One. We're two mikes out. Visual contact with Villamor's last GPS ping confirmed. Terrain is dense—target zone is a jungle gully with low canopy, limited visual markers. Holding altitude at 6,000 feet for initial scan."

"Copy that," Thomas replied. "Thermal feed from Reaper confirms three Mawbeasts still active and closing. Friendlies are dug in at gully bottom. Your fire arcs will be tight."

Roach turned to her crew. "You heard the man. Eyes on thermals, double-check IFF tags. We're going surgical."

"Guns green and cycling," said Master Sergeant Ibarra from the gun deck. His gloved hand hovered over the firing controls. "105's ready to rain hell."

Lieutenant Torres chimed in from the nav station. "Marking target zone as Grid Lima-Niner-Echo. Coordinates sent to gunners. Reaper's got the high eye—we follow its lead."

Roach nodded. "Overwatch, patch Reaper's live telemetry into our fire-control HUD."

"Done," Marcus said over the net. "You'll see synchronized red-box overlays in ten seconds. Reaper's lasing your primary."

Back at the refinery, Thomas watched as the screen updated. Reaper's infrared feed highlighted the hellish chase—three Mawbeasts still clawing through the jungle, tossing debris aside as they hunted Villamor's unit.

He saw it in real-time.

One of the beasts leapt, crashing through tree branches.

"Jesus," Thomas muttered, then keyed the mic again. "Spooky One, adjust fire vector five degrees west. You're cleared to engage when hot."

"Roger that," Roach said. "Gunners, line it up."

Inside the AC-130, targeting brackets locked over one of the thermal signatures—massive, irregular, moving with terrifying speed.

"Target One locked," Ibarra said. "Firing."

BOOM.

From the skies above, the night howled with the thunder of the 105mm. The shell streaked into the jungle below with a whistling hiss before detonating.

The feed from Reaper One-One shook slightly as the explosion consumed the western ridge of the gully in fire and smoke.

[You have killed a Mawbeast]

"Direct hit," Cruz called from Reaper Control. "Mawbeast One is down. Splash confirmed!"