Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 191: Recon on the Land

Three days before system maintenance completion

Thomas stood before the tactical operations table, a large digital map of Central Luzon projected across the surface. Green overlays denoted Reaper drone scans from two months ago, while red markers warned of potential Bloom Nest concentrations. The largest icon blinked softly near San Jose, Nueva Ecija.

Behind him, a few operators clicked away at their stations, but the room was otherwise quiet. Focused. Clean.

Phillip stepped in through the sliding door, still dressed in field gear from morning drills. His black vest bore faint scuffs, and a pair of gloves was tucked into his belt. His expression, as always, was serious.

"You called?" he asked.

Thomas didn't look up. "Come here."

Phillip approached the table. His eyes followed the blinking terrain markers.

"San Jose," Thomas said. "You're going there."

Phillip didn't flinch. "Recon only?"

"First pass, yes. I need a visual confirmation of terrain usability. No engagement unless necessary. You'll take a Black Hawk from MOA Airfield. You leave tomorrow at 0600."

Phillip gave a small nod. "Team?"

"Five Overwatch SFs. Shadow-class only. Quiet, disciplined. Each one's been briefed. They're prepping gear as we speak."

Thomas pulled up another window on the screen—photos of irrigation networks, decades-old silos, and a potential landing zone.

"This location was once a rice farm cooperative," Thomas continued. "Old silos. Nearby water pumps. We think it could serve as a central farming hub, if reclaimed."

"What's the last known infected presence?"

"Low, but dated," Thomas replied. "Last Reaper scan showed minimal movement. That was fifty-two days ago. Could be quiet. Could be a nest."

Phillip crossed his arms. "Extraction protocol?"

"If you're compromised, you radio Marcus. We'll have Spooky One on standby for aerial support. If it's a Bloom Nest outbreak, pull out. No heroics."

Phillip gave a slight grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Thomas finally looked at him.

"You're not invincible, Phillip."

"I'm aware."

"I'm sending you because I trust your judgment," Thomas said, his tone sharper now. "Not your bravado."

Phillip's grin faded. "Understood, sir."

Thomas hit a button on the table. A printer near the wall buzzed to life, producing the mission folder. He handed it to Phillip.

"Two flight plans. One primary, one emergency reroute. Drone imagery. Last known terrain elevation data. And a full map overlay of the west irrigation grid."

Phillip flipped through the folder. "Looks thorough."

"It has to be. We're not just checking dirt. We're laying the groundwork for something bigger."

Thomas stepped back from the table. "Howard and I agree—urban salvage isn't enough. We need farmland. Real production. And if we can't secure that… then everything we're doing here eventually collapses."

Phillip tucked the folder under his arm. "You'll have your eyes on the ground by sunrise."

Thomas nodded. "Report at 0530. Wheels up at 0600."

Phillip turned to leave, then paused at the door. "What if we find survivors out there?"

Thomas met his gaze. "You know the drill. Assess, document, approach only if safe. Bring them back if they're stable."

Phillip nodded. "Copy that."

He left without another word.

Next Morning — 0547 Hours

The sky was still dim as the sun rose over the Manila Bay, casting a faint orange glow across the airfield. The Black Hawk sat parked at the center of the pad, rotors still. A low hum came from nearby fuel tanks as mechanics completed last-minute checks.

Phillip approached with his team—five operatives in full gear, each with matte black rifles slung across their chests and tactical packs secured tight. Their helmets bore the Overwatch logo.

Phillip greeted them with a nod. "Final check. Comms?"

"All green."

"Weapons?"

"Loaded and secure."

Phillip climbed into the co-pilot's seat, while two team members secured themselves inside the bay. The others took positions on either side of the open doors.

The pilot flicked switches across the control panel.

"Clear for takeoff in five," he said over the headset.

Phillip clipped his earpiece in. "Shadow One to Overwatch Command. Ready for lift."

"Confirmed," a voice responded from control. "Godspeed."

The engines roared to life. The rotors spun faster and faster until the air trembled.

The Black Hawk lifted off the deck, rising over the Mall of Asia Complex like a silent hawk taking flight. Below, the buildings shrank, the boardwalk curved into view, and the sea glinted faintly beyond the flood barriers.

Phillip stared down as they passed over the fortified perimeter. The glow of solar panels, the shimmer of rooftop gardens, the tiny silhouettes of civilians walking the mall corridors—all of it slowly disappeared behind them.

Then came the ruins.

They flew over Parañaque and Las Piñas, the bones of the old city below them. Collapsed buildings. Abandoned roads. Some neighborhoods looked like they had burned long ago—others looked like they had been swallowed by something worse.

Twenty minutes into the flight, the first signs of green appeared on the horizon. Central Luzon.

"Approaching San Jose airspace," Vargas announced. "No anti-air. No contacts."

"Copy," Phillip replied. "Take us lower."

The chopper descended, skimming above the tree line.

Fields began to appear—patches of green, muddy pools, the shattered skeletons of rice terraces. Old irrigation lines stretched like spiderwebs through the landscape. Some silos still stood, rusted but intact.

"Visual confirmation on target grid," one of the Shadows said. "Landing zone clear."

"Bring us down," Phillip ordered.

The Black Hawk touched down on a flat patch of cracked dirt. Dust swirled as boots hit the ground.

Phillip disembarked last, rifle slung low but ready. He scanned the field. Quiet. No birds. No movement.

"Shadow Team, form perimeter," he called. "Two scouts with me."

They moved quickly, checking for Bloom growth, signs of recent infected activity, or anything that looked unnatural.

Twenty minutes passed. Still quiet.

"Sir," one of the operatives called out, kneeling near a collapsed shed. "We've got buried tools. Intact. Farming gear. Still usable."

Phillip knelt beside him and brushed off the mud. Old plows. A rusted tiller. A box of rice seed packets, waterlogged but still legible.

It wasn't much.

But it was something.

He reached for his comms.

"Shadow One to Overwatch. Landing successful. Terrain appears viable. No immediate hostiles. Recommend secondary team for assessment and soil testing."

"Copy that," the reply came. "Good work, Shadow One."

Phillip looked out across the field, wind sweeping across the dry grass. In the distance, broken windmills creaked faintly.

"We're going to make this work," he said to no one in particular.

Then he signaled to his team. "Hold position. Reaper support's en route. Let's prepare for drone relay."

Above them, the sky was clear. No monsters. No shrieks. Just the hum of a hopeful morning.