Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

November 19, 2025 — 11:38 PMMOA Complex – Hangar 4

The hangar was dark, lit only by soft red work lights clipped along the walls. Their glow cast long shadows across the floor, bathing the massive gray frame of the C-17 Globemaster III in a muted hue. Engines cold, wings still, the aircraft waited like a beast in slumber—too large to ignore, too quiet to announce itself.

At the side entrance, the heavy steel door opened with a hydraulic hiss.

Marcus stepped in first, followed by Chief Warrant Officer Ortega and a four-man loading crew handpicked from the Quartermaster division. All of them wore plain gear—no identifiers, no name tags. Just black fatigues, work gloves, and headsets on a secure comm loop.

No one spoke.

They had their orders.

Behind them rolled in the first two supply sleds—heavy steel carts loaded with reinforced crates. Ortega tapped her tablet, checking the manifest as she walked briskly beside the pallets.

"Payload one: four relay towers, broken into modular frame packs. One-point-eight tons total," she muttered. "Secure to port wall, row two."

Two loaders moved to the C-17's rear ramp and activated the hydraulic lift.

The ramp hissed as it lowered to the floor.

Ortega looked at Marcus. "Once this goes in, there's no hiding it anymore."

"We're not hiding it," Marcus said flatly. "We're moving quiet. There's a difference."

One by one, the sleds were wheeled up the ramp and into the aircraft's belly. The interior lights of the C-17 came to life in a soft blue, illuminating the cavernous cargo bay. Tie-down points lined the deck. The overhead straps hung neatly from support beams. Everything was ready.

As the first crates were bolted in place, Ortega gestured to the loadmaster on her crew.

"Double-check balance. I don't want this thing yawing left when we're two hundred kilometers off the Luzon coast."

The crew responded with nods and clipped radio confirmations.

Marcus crossed his arms as he watched it all move like clockwork. "How long until the full set is secured?"

"Three nights," Ortega said. "We'll roll in new sleds every night at 2300 and have the bay cleared before sunrise. By next week, this bird will be carrying the backbone of a remote command network."

Marcus looked around, then back at the towering shadow of the aircraft.

"She's the biggest thing we've ever flown."

Ortega gave a half-smile. "Biggest thing we've ever summoned."

November 20, 2025 — 11:52 PMHangar 4, Night Two

The second night brought heavier equipment—solar-tuned fuel pods, autonomous drone crates, and emergency rations sealed in long-term storage barrels.

The loaders worked in silence.

One by one, the containers were moved up the ramp and slotted into the cargo hold.

Ortega stood beside the cargo netting, checking the ballast figures. "We're within weight tolerance," she said into her headset. "Stabilizers don't need adjustment."

From the side of the bay, Sergeant Li emerged, his hands behind his back. A veteran of the Stratotanker crew, Li had now been reassigned as the mission loadmaster for the Japan flight.

"Balance feels good," he said, giving the loaded sidewalls a once-over. "Tail section's clean. Emergency gear's next, then we begin the sensor crates."

Marcus arrived ten minutes later with Thomas in tow.

The moment Thomas entered, all work stopped for a second.

He raised a hand. "Carry on."

Then he moved up the ramp and inside the C-17. He paced slowly along the hold, observing the tied-down equipment, noting the precision of every lock, strap, and secured hook. Nothing rattled. Nothing loose.

He looked at Ortega. "Good work."

She gave a curt nod. "By the end of night three, we'll be ready to fly."

Thomas turned to Li. "You have flight experience with the C-17 profile?"

Li nodded once. "Simulator-trained. Transitioned from C-130 two years before the outbreak. I've flown heavy-lift operations in flood zones and contested airfields. This aircraft is a dream compared to what we used to get."

Thomas smiled faintly. "You'll be in the seat behind me when we lift off. Make sure the crew knows you're calling the loading orders until we hit Japanese airspace."

"Understood."

He walked back toward Marcus.

"Anyone asking questions yet?"

"Not yet. The ops team thinks we're staging a mock deployment for internal drills. The night cycle helps. No one's seeing the crates roll in."

Thomas nodded. "Keep it that way."

November 21, 2025 — 11:43 PMMOA Complex – Logistics Control, Upper Level

The third night was the heaviest lift yet. Three modular command tents, fuel reserves, and two auxiliary comms towers—all fitted and secured before sunrise.

Inside the adjacent logistics control room, Thomas and Marcus stood beside the viewing window, watching the final sled roll into the hangar.

Below them, the full silhouette of the Globemaster was now covered in strategic markings and placeholder mission flags—just generic Overwatch emblems. No insignia. No identifiers.

Clean and neutral.

Marcus turned. "Do you want to go public with this bird before the mission?"

Thomas shook his head. "No point. This isn't about appearances. The people don't need to know what we're flying over the sea. They just need to know the mission succeeded."

He took a deep breath.

"One more week of prep. Then the crew boards. Then we go."

Marcus watched him for a moment.

"You really believe Japan will link up with us long-term?"

Thomas didn't answer immediately. Then:

"They're soldiers. Like us. They've lost everything. But they haven't lost their will to hold ground. That's enough for now."

Marcus looked back at the massive cargo hold below them, where Ortega and her crew locked down the last pallet for the night.

"It's gonna be one hell of a flight."

Thomas turned and walked toward the door.

"That's why we're flying it. After all...it is calling me like I am destined to fly it. You know the moment I flew aircrafts that I summoned the more I want to fo fly."

"Is that so sir?"

"Yes it is. And I can't wait to fly it."