Air Supports

The person she was addressing was none other than Andre. The Siberian tiger shifter stood alone at the forefront of the zombie tide. His body, over five meters long, was battered and bruised. His tail hung limply, broken, and two ribs jutted grotesquely from his side—injuries dealt by a Mutated Lord. Still, he fought with unyielding determination. "I'm the fearless Siberian tiger! King of the jungle!" Andre roared, his voice shaky but filled with pride.

"Siberian tiger? Just say tiger! Why are you bringing Siberia into this?" Erza retorted through gritted teeth, her sarcasm automatic even in the heat of battle. Behind them, the high wall defenses began to falter. Soldiers and security teams scrambled to find any remaining ammunition, but every supply run came back empty-handed.

"It's over! We can't hold the line!" The morale of the troops shattered as the gunfire ceased. Without the constant barrage of bullets, the deafening roar of the zombie horde filled the air, reigniting old fears of the apocalypse. Memories of the early days of the end times—of terror and helplessness—flooded back, and panic spread like wildfire.

The first wave of retreat began. "NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO RUN!" On the wall, Scott grabbed a megaphone and bellowed at the top of his lungs. His voice carried a mix of anger and desperation. "Anyone who retreats will be court-martialed! STAND YOUR GROUND!" But even as he shouted, doubt crept into his heart. The tide of death was relentless, and the line between survival and annihilation grew thinner by the second. "Others are down there risking everything, fighting for their lives!" Scott bellowed, his voice raw and hoarse from shouting. "And we're up here, hiding behind the wall with empty guns? Are we cowards?" His voice cracked as he continued, veins bulging on his forehead. "They've been holding the line for so long—it's about damn time we take our turn!"

"But we're out of bullets!" someone shouted back.

"Then use knives! Use stones! Use your fists if you have to!" Scott roared, pacing the wall with a fiery determination. "We are not weaklings! If those fearless people can do it, then so can we!" The weight of his words filled the air. "Open the gates!" Scott demanded. "Anyone with the heart to fight, follow me! We will not retreat, even if it means dying here!"

His final cry echoed like a thunderclap: "I WILL NOT RETREAT!" "Don't retreat!" "Even if we die, we don't retreat!" "Let's go!"

Emboldened by Scott's ferocity, the soldiers began to move. Bayonets were fixed to rifles, and those without proper weapons grabbed steel pipes, wooden planks, or anything else they could wield. But courage wasn't universal. As the soldiers rallied, some broke away, retreating into the depths of the base in fear. "Forwards!" Scott roared, leading the charge.

The gates swung open, and he and the remaining soldiers stormed into the horde of undead, their battle cries piercing through the chaos. Several mutants took the lead, cutting through the zombie tide like living weapons. Even Scarlett, calm and emotionless as ever, wielded a blade and pushed forward without hesitation. "Are you all crazy? You're just throwing your lives away!" Erza shouted from her position, struggling to maintain control of the fire dragons protecting the line.

"Better to die fighting than die running!" one mutant shouted back.

"You're beautiful, by the way!" another yelled, grinning even as he charged into the fray.

"You—" Erza faltered, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of the comment. Then came the sound of rumbling footsteps, heavier and slower than the chaos of the charging soldiers. Behind the wall, tens of thousands of emaciated survivors emerged, armed with anything they could find—hammers, broken tools, kitchen knives.

Among them were the soldiers who had fled earlier, rallying the base's inhabitants. "Kill! If we're going to die anyway, we might as well take some of them with us!"

The roar of the survivors' charge was deafening. Malnourished, scared, and desperate, they surged forward with an almost primal fury. They crashed into the zombie tide like a second wave, an untrained, chaotic mass. Thousands fell almost instantly, but they took just as many zombies down with them. "Kill!" The battlefield descended into an orgy of violence. Amidst the carnage, the survivors and soldiers tapped into a deep, primal instinct to fight.

From above, the scene was horrifying—a roiling sea of humans and zombies tearing into each other. "Stick with the mechanical units! Don't throw yourselves away!" Erza yelled, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

For every survivor that fell, another rushed forward, their ranks thinning but never breaking. The ground turned into a morass of mud, blood, and shattered bodies. The tide of survivors looked like it would crumble at any moment. Then, the sound everyone had been waiting for. Boom! The sonic booms of returning Avalons split the sky. "Finally…" Erza whispered, her entire body sagging with relief. Two minutes and thirty seconds had felt like an eternity.

From above, twenty Avalons descended in formation, their sleek forms cutting through the clouds. The 30mm cannons mounted on the aircraft roared to life. Streams of armor-piercing rounds rained down, carving through the horde with devastating precision. The survivors, locked in hand-to-hand combat with the zombies, heard the roar of the Avalons' strafing runs. Then came the explosions. Zombies around them were obliterated, flesh and bone disintegrating in showers of blood and gore. The survivors paused for just a moment, awestruck by the destruction.

The Avalons pulled up after their first run, climbing to safer altitudes. As they ascended, the rear hatches opened, and parachutes filled the air. Underneath each parachute was a box of ammunition. "Ammo!" someone shouted.

Soldiers rushed to the crates, tearing them open and loading their weapons. Moments later, the mechanical beasts roared back to life. Spiders and mechanical dogs opened fire with heavy machine guns and micro-missiles, creating a wall of destruction. The relentless tide of zombies faltered under the renewed firepower. 

Finally, the Goliath joined the fray. The deep, rhythmic thunder of their 50mm cannons echoed across the battlefield. Each shell annihilated dozens of zombies, cutting massive swaths through the horde. With the combined firepower of the Avalons, mechanical beasts, and Goliath, the tide began to turn. Where moments ago the survivors had seemed like a fragile dam against an unstoppable wave, now the zombies were being driven back, falling in droves under the relentless assault.

From above, it looked like a miracle—the tide of corpses was breaking. But for those on the ground, it was simply the beginning of another brutal fight for survival. The Goliath, now rearmed with fresh ammunition, thundered back into the fray, mowing down zombies with mechanical precision. "We've got air support! Ha ha!" "Kill them all!"