I Have a Modern Weapon Gacha System in the Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 46: Sudden Intrusion

Upon unloading all the goods to the storage area of the Basa Air Base, the team returned but with Adrian not coming along. He watched from the command center where his soldiers were breaking their backs moving crate after crate into position, stacking supplies, calling out inventories, and organizing everything with a level of discipline that didn’t need supervision.

From the main screen, the live feed showed the storage again where the soldiers were retrieving boxes using pallet jacks and improvised carts, dragging them across the concrete floor toward the loading bay.

Crates of canned goods were stacked near the exit. Sacks of rice were lined up in rows. One team worked the freezers, prying them open and transferring frozen stock into insulated containers as fast as they could manage.

"Keep the cold chain tight," Ryan’s voice came through over the comms. "Anything frozen gets priority load. Don’t leave it exposed longer than necessary."

"Copy," one of the men answered, already moving.

Another group pushed a loaded cart up the ramp and into the FMTV. Boots thudded against the metal bed as they shifted the cargo into place, stacking it tight to maximize space. One man climbed up after them and started organizing the load, pulling straps over the crates and locking them down.

"Next batch!" someone called out.

Boxes moved again.

Inside the command center, Adrian stood still, watching them.

The feed switched briefly to another angle.

The front entrance.

Two guards held position behind the broken glass, rifles up, scanning the empty parking lot.

Back inside, the loading continued.

Ryan stepped into frame on one of the helmet cams, glancing over the stacks. "How much left?"

"Still a lot," the squad leader replied. "Storage room’s deeper than we thought."

Ryan nodded once. "Good. Keep cycling. Fill the truck, send it out, then repeat."

"Copy."

Adrian leaned slightly forward, resting one hand on the console.

"Ryan," he said over comms.

"Go ahead."

"How many runs are we looking at?"

A short pause as Ryan looked around, estimating.

"At least three more," he said. "Maybe four if we take everything."

"Take everything," Adrian replied without hesitation.

"Copy that."

On the feed, another set of crates was brought out—dry goods this time. Instant noodles, bottled water, sealed packs stacked in bulk.

The FMTV’s suspension dipped slightly as more weight was added.

One of the drivers climbed into the cab and started the engine, letting it idle as the last of the current load was secured.

"Truck one almost full," he reported.

Ryan turned his head slightly. "Good. Once it’s packed, send it back. Keep one MRAP escort."

"Understood."

While they were at it, in the command center, Adrian got approached by one of the personnel.

"Sir, we have a bogey detected by Patriot’s radar system."

Adrian didn’t look away from the screen at first.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is it the flyer?"

The personnel shook his head immediately.

"No, sir. Negative on biological. The radar signature is... different. It’s clean. Consistent."

Adrian finally turned.

"What do you mean consistent?"

"Speed and altitude profile matches a fixed-wing aircraft," the man said. "Not erratic like the infected variants."

That made Adrian pause.

An aircraft.

Not a drone from his inventory.

Not one of his own assets.

His expression hardened.

"Show me."

"Sir."

The personnel turned and moved fast. Adrian followed without hesitation, boots striking the floor in quick steps as they moved deeper into the command center.

They reached another console where two operators were already working.

The radar display filled the screen.

A single track.

Adrian stepped closer, eyes locking onto the symbol.

"Okay, tell me about it. Distance, bearing, everything."

"Range fifteen kilometers and closing fast, sir," the operator replied, fingers moving across the console. "Bearing zero-eight-five. Speed... four hundred knots and increasing. Altitude holding at twelve thousand feet."

Another operator leaned in, pulling up a secondary feed from the Patriot system.

"Radar cross-section is small. Single engine profile. Not a drone. Definitely manned aircraft."

Adrian kept his eyes on the track.

"Heading?"

"Direct vector toward this base."

That was enough.

"Open comms. Try to reach it."

"Yes, sir."

One of the comms personnel switched frequencies, adjusting the band to standard aviation channels.

"Unidentified aircraft, this is Basa control, you are entering restricted airspace. Identify yourself immediately."

Static.

A second passed.

Then—

A voice came through.

"This is Viper Two-One of the Philippine Air Force. State your identity and affiliation. You are operating military-grade radar and assets without identification."

The room stilled.

Ryan’s voice cut in quietly over Adrian’s shoulder. "Philippine Air Force..."

Adrian didn’t react outwardly. He reached for the mic.

"This is Adrian. We are a private militia operating in the area. Designation—Shadow Private Military Company. We are securing the base and conducting humanitarian operations."

A pause.

Longer this time.

Then the pilot came back.

"...Say again. Private military company?"

"That’s correct."

Another pause.

The radar track continued closing.

Then—

"Negative identification. You are occupying a military installation. Stand down all defenses and prepare for inspection."

Adrian’s expression didn’t change.

"That’s not happening," he said flatly.

Then the tone in the pilot’s voice shifted.

"Last warning. Power down your systems."

Adrian didn’t answer.

He lowered the mic slightly.

On the radar screen, the track suddenly adjusted.

"Sir—" one of the operators spoke up, voice tightening. "Aircraft changing profile. Speed increasing. Descending slightly."

Another alert flashed on the console.

"Fire control radar spike detected."

Adrian’s head snapped toward the display.

"Confirm."

"Confirm, sir. He’s locking us."

The Patriot system responded automatically, tracking the change.

"Radar warning receiver signature consistent with targeting radar... likely APG-67 or equivalent," the operator added quickly.

A sharp tone cut through the room.

"Missile launch!"

Every screen updated at once.

A secondary track split off from the aircraft.

"Infrared signature detected. Likely air-to-ground missile. Time to impact—thirty seconds!"

"He fired at us?" Adrian was shocked knowing that. Why would a Philippine Air Force fire a missile on them? Nevertheless, it was a hostile act and they’ll have to respond.

"Launch intercept missile," Adrian ordered.