Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

"Three phases," Dr. Calix said, holding up fingers. "Phase one: Apaches fly in and dump incendiaries on the surface plates—light it up. This should soften the armor and agitate the plasma-reactive layer. Phase two: The Warthog makes a gun run and focuses fire on known weak zones from Phillip's recon. Those ridged plate lines you saw near the root base? Target them."

Thomas nodded. "And phase three?"

Calix brought up a final slide. "AC-130. After the surface is breached, hit the exposed inner structure with 105mm rounds. That's where you maximize penetration and damage the regenerative core. You'll only get one clean window before it reacts."

Marcus turned to Thomas. "We can fly that. We've got the pilots. The question is: will the Worm stay still long enough for all three stages?"

Thomas didn't answer right away. He stared at the live feed showing the Colossal Worm still rooted in Cubao, its body rising like a demonic cathedral into the churning clouds above. Even now, it didn't move. It didn't have to.

"We make it stay still," Thomas said coldly. "We hit it hard enough to keep it busy."

Dr. Calix stepped back from the console, satisfied. "Then I'll make sure the warheads are configured for heat-tipped penetration. I'll also prep a second round of anti-bio gel inhibitors—spray canisters. Just in case the Worm bleeds."

Marcus looked skeptical. "You think someone's gonna get close enough for that?"

"I don't plan for luck," Calix said. "I plan for when everything goes wrong."

"Very well…let's do that, let's send Shadows back to Cubao."

Thirty minutes later, in Cubao.

"Patch me to Shadow."

"Channel green," Marcus replied.

"Channel green," Marcus replied, keying in the secure uplink.

A few seconds of static followed before Phillip's voice came through, slightly distorted but clear.

"Shadow 0-1 online."

Thomas leaned closer to the mic. "Phillip. We're initiating an aerial strike. Three phases. You and your men have eyes on the target—you'll coordinate the uplink with targeting telemetry. Confirm your drone's active."

"We've got a line-of-sight recon drone 300 meters northeast of the target," Phillip replied. "Thermal and multi-spectrum active. Feeding real-time data now."

Thomas looked at Marcus, who gave a thumbs-up as the feed from the small recon UAV lit up one of the overhead screens. The Colossal Worm appeared like a scar in the earth—pulsing slowly, motionless but clearly alive.

"Good," Thomas said. "Apaches will hit the carapace with incendiaries. Your recon drone will lase the ridged plate lines near the root base. Warthogs will follow with kinetic. AC-130 will take final shot if breach is confirmed. ETA for strike group is twenty-five minutes."

There was a pause.

"Understood," Phillip said. "We'll mark the weak zones as soon as the Apaches hit."

Thomas nodded to himself, then added, "Dr. Calix is prepping anti-bio gel inhibitors. If this thing starts bleeding, we might see new biological reactions. Be ready for environmental hazards."

"We've dealt with worse," Phillip replied.

"Not like this," Thomas said firmly.

Another voice chimed in through the secondary channel—Callsign Reaper Two-One, the lead Apache pilot.

"Command, Reaper flight is green and fueled. We're armed with full Hydra-70 pods, thermobaric loadout. Standing by for coordinated flight path and entry vector."

Thomas stepped away from the mic. "Marcus, send the coordinates and targeting priority to Reaper, Warthog, and Spectre units. And prep the AC-130. I want it circling at high altitude until we confirm penetration."

"Already uploading," Marcus replied, hands flying across the console. "Command net linked. All three elements synced."

Dr. Calix approached the glass again, voice softer now. "We've never attempted something like this before. Coordinating overlapping fire missions against a semi-sentient, non-terrestrial biomass…"

Thomas looked back. "Are you saying we shouldn't?"

"I'm saying," Calix said, "make the first shot count."

Out on the tarmac, engines roared to life.

Reaper flight launched first, twin Apaches banking into formation as they rose into the ash-choked skies over Manila. Beneath them, the city sprawled like a dying organism—Bloom nests scattered like tumors, blackened ruins threaded with glowing red veins that pulsed toward Cubao.

Five minutes behind them, the Warthogs followed—heavy with fuel and ordnance. Their GAU-8/A Avenger cannons gleamed beneath the rising sun, and their payloads of Mavericks locked and armed.

And high above it all, invisible against the clouds, the AC-130 Spectre circled, waiting for its cue.

In the MOA Complex command center, Marcus updated the holographic strike map. Three colored lines traced the coordinated attack pattern—yellow for Reaper, red for Warthog, white for Spectre.

"Apaches will hit from the southwest, split into two teams. Reaper One targets upper carapace. Reaper Two flanks the midsection, lays down thermobaric spread. Total engagement window: forty-five seconds."

Thomas nodded, then pointed at the Warthog icon. "Gun run starts ten seconds after. Prioritize plate seams and the thermal spikes recorded by Shadow Team."

Marcus switched the display. "Spectre is holding at twelve thousand feet. Optics locked. If the Worm breaches or collapses, they're cleared for 105mm suppression fire."

Dr. Calix added from her station, "We only need one opening. Even a partial rupture in the gel layer means internal destabilization. Once that happens, the regenerative tissue collapses under kinetic pressure."

Thomas turned to the command net.

"All units—Operation Lancefall is a go."

Six kilometers out, Reaper One's cockpit was filled with flickering targeting data and red-lit instruments. The city loomed ahead—broken, silent, and yet not dead. Cubao's skyline was a jagged ruin. And at its center, the Worm stood unmoving.

"Target visual," the pilot called. "Holy hell. Look at that thing…"

Reaper Two locked its reticle. "Confirming thermal pulse. Lasers active. Beginning run."

The Apaches dove low and fast.

Dozens of 70mm incendiary Hydra rockets streaked from the pods, screaming through the smoke as they arced down on the Worm's upper plates.

The impact was immediate—gouts of flame and smoke erupted as magnesium-based explosives hit the hardened surface, igniting with violent flashes.

The Worm didn't move—but its carapace flared with light. Violet pulses rolled along its body like ripples on water.

Back in the command center, Marcus shouted, "Surface temperature spike confirmed! Heat is penetrating!"

Thomas leaned in. "Warthog. Go."

The A-10s came in next—low, with engines snarling.

"Targeting locked," Warthog One said calmly. "Engaging."

The GAU-8/A roared to life.

BRRRRRRT.

A burst of armor-piercing incendiary rounds slammed into the weakened carapace. Fractures exploded outward, and bio-gel began to leak in thick, steaming rivulets. Violet mist rose from the wounds.

Then came the Mavericks.

One. Two. Direct hits near the root base. The impacts blew entire plates free, revealing twitching muscle and inner membranes that shimmered unnaturally.

Inside the command center, the entire room went silent as the first breach was confirmed.

"Penetration achieved," Marcus said. "We've got gel exposure!"

Thomas turned sharply. "Spectre—fire."

High above, the AC-130's gunner made final adjustments.

"Target locked. 105mm HE ready."

The command came.

"Fire."

The gun mount thudded once—then a second time.

Two shells spiraled down.

They hit square into the breach.

The resulting explosion was almost surreal.

A dome of flame erupted around the Worm's midsection. Shockwaves rippled outward. Windows shattered across three blocks.

And for the first time…

The Colossal Worm recoiled.

Its entire frame quivered. Light flickered violently across its skin. The mouth at its top twisted open—but no beam followed. Not yet.

Dr. Calix whispered to herself, "We hurt it…"

Thomas clenched a fist. "And now we keep hurting it until it stops moving."