“This is Iron Convoy Actual to all units. Strike and scout teams deployed.”

“Received, Iron Convoy Actual,” Hans remained seated on the armored SUV. “Strike Team Actual, command is given to you. Proceed when ready.”

“Copy that, Golden Eagle.”

Matilda walked toward the roadside barrier.

The armored column remained stationed along the hillside road.

From that elevation, the entire industrial district stretched beneath them wide and open.

“Ms. Kimmy, we will be quick on the uptake,” Matilda approached Kimmy. “You need to be carried either by us or by your guardian. Choose.”

Kimmy turned her head towards Yunera.

“You choose, Kimmy,” Yunera surprisingly didn’t insist.

“I will choose my sister,” Kimmy answered. “I’m sorry, officer.”

Yunera’s face twitched, feeling guilty about Kimmy’s choice. Left with no choice, she lowered down in front of Kimmy and gave the latter a piggyback ride.

“Understandable,” Matilda nodded, unfazed by the rejection.

“Strike teams, move. Eagle One Actual, find a good spot.”

“On it,” Zolyah responded.

The DASFs advanced down the slope without hesitation, their figures quickly shrinking against the vast refinery landscape below.

Behind them, the sniper teams broke away from the highway. Some of them climbed nearby cranes, while others settled on the high ground covered in shrubs.

They planned to cover the entire sector with their sniper rifles.

Hans rested his arm against the window frame of the armored SUV. From this position, every movement in the district was visible.

And there—he saw the dead already responding.

As if by instinct, the swarm began drifting toward the highway.

“They’re moving!” Kimmy alerted the DASFs.

“Strike Team Six, deal with it.”

Three DASF units immediately broke formation. They sprinted down the slope, flicking their combat blades into action.

The first zombie reached the edge of the industrial road; it never saw the three units coming.

A flash of steel cut through its neck; killed by one strike. Another infected staggered forward. Then another.

More humanoid shapes began emerging between the refinery pipes.

“Contact confirmed,” one of the DASFs reported calmly. “Multiple hostiles approaching. Engaging them now.”

Strike Team Six did not retreat; they advanced.

Their combat blades weaved around the bodies, cutting their rotting corpses like butter.

Zombies dropped one after another, stalling the advance of the swarm for a moment.

But from Hans’s vantage point above, something else was happening.

The refinery district woke up; more figures appeared between the warehouses.

Dozens turned into hundreds; their shadows interweaved like a one giant body.

The infected that once wandered aimlessly now moved with intent—their slow steps became hurried strides.

Then, without a warning, they began running like mad men driven to an edge.

“Strike Team Six, fall back,” Matilda ordered calmly.

The three DASFs disengaged without hesitation, their blades cutting down the last infected that reached the slope.

Behind them, the armored column finally moved.

The Vanguard MBTs rolled forward first. Big Rhino’s turret rotated toward the refinery road.

“Target cluster ahead,” the gunner reported. “Firing!”

The 120-millimeter cannon roared.

The shell slammed into the asphalt road below, detonating in the middle of the advancing swarm.

Bodies were obliterated down right at the center, leaving nothing but ash behind.

Farther from the blast, the rest were thrown away into the air.

The explosion rocked the refinery road like thunder; shrapnel killed whatever the outset couldn’t.

Almost simultaneously, the Guardian APCs opened fire.

Their 30mm autocannons thundered across the hillside, ripping through the first wave of infected charging toward the strike teams.

For the first time—steel and fire finally joined the battle.

The second wave didn’t slow down, neither did the armored column.

“War Elephant, taking aim.”

Another Vanguard MBT joined the fray, slightly forward from Big Rhino’s position.

“HE loaded. Fire it!”

The turret jumped backward as the shell launched into its target with unwavering speed.

Smoke and dust stirred up from the second explosion; staggering the swarm’s advance.

Dozens of infected ceased to exist—erased by the enormous tank shell.

Burning corpses littered the broken asphalt.

However, the silence lasted only for a while until more figures poured from the adjacent refinery yards.

They climbed over the shattered bodies of their own kind without hesitation.

The swarm did not stop; it only grew as time passed. And with that growth came the specials.

“Watch out, Strike Team One,” Zolyah chattered on the radio. “Brute on your eleven. Taking it out.”

Her scope settled on a zombie larger than the rest; the most common special of them all—the brute.

But something about it was wrong.

The creature’s shoulders were covered in thick, plate-like growths—dark ridges layered over its skin like crude armor.

It was so crude that it looked like it could be easily pulled out.

The flesh beneath looked hardened, almost chitinous in nature.

Its movements were heavier than the others, yet for some reason, it was even faster.

When the tank shell detonated nearby, the brute didn’t fall.

It simply staggered, roaring in distress against the shock it just experienced.

The flames swallowed him whole and walked out of it unscathed.

Zolyah’s finger paused on the trigger. The doubt lasted for a microsecond before it settled out of her mind.

Her body jolted, shoulder thumping in response.

The .50 Cal punched through the armor, cracking a small section on its chest.

The brute roared in pain and instantly crossed its arms. It bent its body forward, its leg muscles tensing as it gathered strength.

Upon the sight of this, Zolyah gritted her teeth and quickly chambered the next round.

The bullet hit its head faster before the brute could push forward.

Concrete cracked from its sideways stagger; blood poured out like a flood from its demolished cheek.

Its eyes locked to where the attack came from, snarling whatever it was that hit it.

Zolyah exhaled sharply and chambered the third round. Her face reddened around the jaw.

The brute moved.

Its massive frame lunged forward, tearing through the burning wreckage of the road as it charged into Strike Team One.

Each step cracked the asphalt beneath its feet.

“Strike Team One, move!” she barked into the comm.

Matilda let out a snort and pointed her HCMAR’s grenade launcher forward with one arm.

The barrel coughed out the first grenade and exploded upon the brute’s face.

The hit staggered the brute once more—a sensation that irked it twice already.

Zolyah steadied her rifle, eyes glowing fervently. A chance!

The scope settled without pause; this time—between the armored ridges of its skull.

She fired.

The .50 caliber round pounded the brute’s face like a hammer, snapping it backward as the shot ripped through its eye socket.

Bone shattered into fragments.

The massive body swayed forward for two more steps; it collapsed not long after.

“Target down,” Zolyah reported. “Thanks for the assist.”

“No time for chatter,” Matilda pulled back her HCMAR. “More specials coming in hot.”

The refinery yard answered her call. A high-pitched scream echoed between the pipelines.

Zolyah’s scope shifted toward the sound.

A thin figure stood atop a rusted storage tank, its jaw stretched unnaturally wide.

“Screamer,” she muttered.

The creature shrieked again, exploding the swarm into a larger horde than before.

“Kill that bitch before it screams once more!” Matilda cursed as she slashed another zombie to its death.

A Barrett thundered from the hillside—an absolute response to her yell. The .50 round tore through the screamer’s neck, snapping its shriek mid-breath.

“No more screaming, Strike Team One,” a Sniper reported.

“Took you long enough,” Matilda halted her swing and raised her head.

A bloated figure burst through the refinery gate.

Its swollen stomach convulsed with disgust—and a stream of green bile arced into the air above them.

“Move left!”

The strike team scattered.

A torrent of green bile crashed into the road where they had been standing seconds earlier.

That liquid hissed violently against the asphalt; it even smoked the nearby concrete.

The nearest zombies dissolved where the acid splashed across them.

“Bilers!” someone shouted over the comm.

Two more bloated figures emerged from the refinery gate, their distended bodies wobbling as they strode for cover under the swarm’s advance.

Behind them, something heavier moved.

Hans observed from the hillside.

Strike Team Six’s silent assault still caused a reaction from the hive, he thought while the yard was filled with movement.

A rough experiment, but I should have trusted my experience from before.

He scratched his head in annoyance. Dealing with the hive won’t make it easier. The nest is already stirred awake. There’s no way around it. This place is too packed with zombies.

His thoughts paused. But something is missing. I can’t get my mind over it, but this one is too different from the hive in the fish processing center…

His boots tapped slowly. Think, think, think.

He closed his eyes and looked back to the day of his first hive encounter.

A sky painted on orange hue, blurred in the distance by the dense presence of spores—

That’s it! This hive has no spores! Hans stared back at the industrial sector again. Perhaps it’s because the environment is different here.

“Iron Lance and Convoy,” he spoke calmly into the radio. “Maintain suppression.”

Then he switched channels.

“Strike Team Actual, proceed to formation two. Search for the hive’s main structure. It should be in the central refinery complex.”

He paused, recalling some unpleasant memories.

“Watch out for its tunneling capabilities.”

“If it’s underground, Commander?”

“We’ll dig it out,” Hans’s eyes flashed coldly. “Go now. We don’t have much time.”

“Roger that. Strike Team Actual out.”

He leaned back on his seat, glancing at the two Hellhammers. The large cannons slept soundly, but Hans knew better that the silence stifled them even more.

“Iron Hammer.”

“State your orders, Commander.”

“Stand by for target acquisition from the strike team,” Hans ordered.

“Your entrance shouldn’t be for long.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep