Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 203: Another Flight, This Time to Japan

November 15, 2025 — 4:07 AMLuzon Strait – Aboard Valkyrie One

The pre-dawn silence was complete.

High above the dark sea, the KC-135 Stratotanker, Valkyrie One, soared through the void—four engines humming with mechanical calm, its matte-gray fuselage slicing silently across the lower stratosphere. The fuel indicators blinked green. Navigation systems held steady. There was no turbulence, no chatter, no motion—just the steady heartbeat of technology and purpose. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

In the cockpit, Thomas Estaris sat calmly in the pilot's chair, eyes fixed on the projected navigation arc. Their destination was far, farther than any flight Overwatch had dared attempt before: Japan.

Beside him, Madel adjusted the radio bands and confirmed their autopilot altitude. They had pre-set the route manually, avoiding old air defense corridors and presumed hostile zones based on outdated satellite data.

"How long till we hit Honshu airspace?" Madel asked, her voice low, as if the world outside could still hear.

"Forty-seven minutes," Thomas replied. "Assuming no major weather anomalies or unexpected… guests."

She gave a small nod. "Copy."

Thomas didn't say it out loud, but his mind turned, just as it had the day before when they flew over Taipei. This was no longer about reconnaissance. This was a search for answers. For connection. For a world that might still be out there—clinging to the edge of survival like they had.

Taiwan had shown them devastation. A silent grave.

But Japan… Japan had been different. Before the Collapse, the country had one of the most well-organized disaster protocols on the planet. Thousands of shelters. Hardened infrastructure. Military reserves. A population conditioned to react fast.

If anyone could've held the line, it was them.

Thomas wanted to believe that.

He needed to.

4:53 AM – Approaching Kyushu

As the coastline of southern Japan appeared on radar, Madel adjusted the sensor suite.

"Thermal scans live. No unusual cloud formations. No active radar sweeps. Coastal wind strong."

Thomas leaned forward slightly, hands on the yoke. The auto-leveling systems adjusted them to a slight descent, bringing the tanker to 26,000 feet for better visibility.

Outside, dawn began to smear orange against the eastern horizon.

Through the cockpit glass, the edge of Kyushu came into view—a black mass of forest, broken city outlines, and high coastal ridges.

Then came the first signs of ruin.

"Zoom on Fukuoka," Thomas said.

Madel complied. A second screen magnified the image from their nose-mounted optics.

The once-proud city was broken.

The bay still shimmered, but the port was crushed—cargo ships overturned, cranes rusted and crumbled into the sea. Buildings inland bore blast damage and overgrowth. Fires had blackened entire districts. Dozens of vehicles dotted the expressways, most covered in vines, others melted into twisted wreckage.

"Anything moving?" Thomas asked.

Madel shook her head. "Negative. Still no heat. No broadcasts."

"Log it. Keep going."

They followed the southern coast, passing over cities that looked more like battlefield mockups than once-living communities. The infrastructure had clearly held longer than Taipei. There were signs of barricades, perimeter defenses, and controlled burns. Whoever had fought here had put up a damn fight.

But the result had been the same.

Silence.

6:02 AM – Over Osaka Prefecture

The aircraft curved northeast, approaching Osaka, once Japan's second-largest metro area.

What they saw chilled the cockpit.

The city hadn't just fallen—it had been razed.

Entire zones bore the scars of orbital-level bombardment. Entire city blocks were flattened into glassy terrain, as though hit by weapons no man should've fired on his own soil. Bridges over the Yodo River were vaporized. Train lines melted into slag.

"My god," Madel whispered. "They nuked themselves…"

Thomas swallowed hard. He didn't reply, not at first.

But she was right.

This wasn't the work of infected. This wasn't even a last stand. It was containment.

And it had failed.

"Is Kyoto still intact?" he finally asked.

Madel ran the scan. "Barely. Fires scorched most of the surrounding forest. Downtown collapsed. The palace area is gone."

Thomas looked down at the jagged shadows below.

A chill ran down his spine.

"Then we keep moving."

6:47 AM – Nearing Tokyo Airspace

By the time the sun fully crested the horizon, they were climbing into the outskirts of Tokyo—or what had once been Tokyo.

The view was worse than Taipei.

Skyscrapers had fallen into each other like dominoes. Flooded districts created stagnant inland seas. Power lines lay snapped across highways, tangled like webs. An entire section near the Sumida River appeared cratered, as if something massive had exploded from below.

There were no plumes of smoke. No lights. No blinking towers.

Even from thirty thousand feet, Tokyo was dead.

Thomas stared for several long seconds.

Then he turned to Madel. "Run full-band comm sweep. All known emergency frequencies. Japanese military, maritime self-defense, aviation. Try them all."

She nodded, typing quickly.

One by one, they opened comm channels.

One by one, the responses were the same.

Static. Silence. Ghost frequencies.

Until—

6:59 AM — Unidentified Signal

"Hold on," Madel said suddenly, frowning. "I'm picking up something. It's weak. Not a distress beacon. Directional burst—encrypted."

Thomas leaned forward. "Where?"

Before she could answer, a ping lit up on the radar.

Contact. Altitude: 35,000 feet. Speed: Mach 1.1. Heading 267 degrees.

Madel stiffened. "We've got a fast mover."

Thomas immediately took manual control.

On the HUD, a red blip appeared—coming toward them fast. Not hostile, not broadcasting IFF, but flying like it knew exactly where they were.

"Could be an automated drone," Madel offered, but she didn't sound confident.

"No," Thomas said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "That flight pattern's reactive. It's adjusting to our altitude. It knows we're here."

Madel zoomed the camera. The silhouette came into focus.

A twin-engine fighter jet. Sleek. Agile. Low radar cross-section.

A Japanese flag.

"No way," she whispered. "Is that an… F-2?"

Thomas blinked.

The aircraft slowed, moving into parallel flight beside them—just fifty meters to starboard. Its canopy shimmered under the sun, tinted black.

Then—

The pilot tilted their wings.

A signal.

A maneuver old aviators used to say: I see you.

And I'm not your enemy.

Thomas and Madel sat stunned.

Then Thomas, heart racing, smiled.

"Well," he murmured, voice low and tight with restrained hope. "Guess we're not the only ones still flying."