Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 98: Trying to be Diplomatic

Captain Enrique Villamor sat crouched behind thick brush, eyes fixed on the fortified refinery in the distance. From their position on the ridgeline, the site looked like a small city—floodlights humming, soldiers patrolling in tight formations, and even watchtowers rigged with long-range scopes. Whoever these people were, they were serious.

And they definitely weren’t part of the Philippine Armed Forces.

Behind him, his recon team kept quiet, their breaths shallow, fingers resting lightly on the triggers of their rifles. Villamor didn’t need to say it aloud—this situation had just gotten far more complicated.

"Still no movement toward us," Private Diaz whispered. He kept his eye on the perimeter, watching for even the smallest shift.

Villamor gave a silent nod, then tapped his radio earpiece. "Sentinel Actual, this is Villamor. We’re observing a heavily fortified position. Approximately thirty personnel outside. No visual on Alpha One. Repeat, no visual on Alpha One."

On the other end, Lieutenant Moreno’s voice came through, laced with concern. "Copy. Do you assess the area as hostile?"

Villamor hesitated, eyes narrowing at the distant guards moving with clear military discipline. "They’re armed, organized, and they’ve taken over the refinery. But they’re not engaging. They’re not even acting defensive—like they don’t feel threatened."

Moreno’s voice dropped in volume, thoughtful. "So… they’re confident. They know someone’s watching, and they don’t care."

"Exactly."

Villamor lowered his binoculars, rubbed his forehead, and took a deep breath. "Sir, we can’t keep sitting here. Alpha One’s last known coordinates place them inside that refinery. There’s no radio contact, no distress signals, and no confirmation they’re still alive. We need to confirm their status. We have to make contact."

Silence on the line.

Then Moreno spoke. "You’re sure?"

Villamor’s voice was steady. "Yes, sir. If we don’t do something, we’re just guessing. And I’m not about to leave our men behind because we were too afraid to knock on a gate."

Another pause. Then, finally:

"Understood. You are authorized to initiate contact. Proceed with caution. Rules of engagement are clear—only fire if fired upon."

"Copy that."

Villamor turned to his team, his expression hard but calm. "We’re going down."

The team exchanged glances. No one objected.

They began the descent.

Every step through the underbrush was measured, controlled. Villamor kept his eyes on the lights ahead, watching the shifting silhouettes of armed men at the refinery’s gate. A few carried night vision gear. One or two had thermal scopes mounted to their rifles. Whoever was leading this force had spared no expense.

Once they were within three hundred meters, Villamor raised his hand, signaling the team to stop.

"Diaz. White flag."

The scout hesitated, then reached into his pack and unfurled a folded strip of white cloth, tying it to the tip of his rifle barrel.

Villamor exhaled. "Ramos. With me. Everyone else—cover us from here."

The two officers slowly stepped out of the brush, rifles slung, hands raised slightly, keeping the white flag in view. They made their way to the perimeter slowly, not attempting to move covertly. It was a gamble—but if these guys weren’t immediately hostile, a calm approach might be their best chance.

At the refinery walls, the nearest guard raised his rifle slightly—alert, but not aiming.

Seconds later, more guards appeared from behind sandbags. Two of them had shoulder-mounted radios. One of them spoke quickly into his mic, eyes never leaving Villamor.

A small detachment of four guards approached, their uniforms crisp, boots clean, weapons modern and well-maintained. They weren’t just holding a position—they were projecting strength.

"Identify yourselves," one of them barked.

Villamor kept his tone even. "Captain Enrique Villamor, Philippine Army. We’re here looking for Lieutenant Colonel Santiago and Alpha One. They were dispatched to this refinery yesterday. We’ve lost contact."

The guard didn’t answer. He tapped his earpiece. "We’ve got a representative here. Claims he’s from the Philippine Army. Says he’s looking for someone named Santiago."

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There was a pause, then the guard nodded. "Understood."

He turned back to Villamor. "You’re going to wait here."

"Understood."

Inside Ironhold’s command post, Thomas stood in front of a monitor displaying the live Reaper feed. He had watched Villamor’s team descend the hill. Watched the white flag. Watched the calm, measured approach.

"They’re making contact," Cruz said over comms.

Phillip, standing beside Thomas, glanced at the screen. "How do you want to play this? They’ll be eager to know what happened to their comrades."

Thomas stared at the screen, his jaw tight, eyes following the feed in real time. Villamor’s calm approach and discipline told him one thing—this wasn’t some green unit sent out of desperation. These men were trained, and they were smart enough not to rush in guns blazing.

"We play it measured," Thomas said at last. "No blindfolds. No threats. But no lies either. They came to ask what happened—so we tell them."

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "The truth?"

"As much of it as they need to hear," Thomas said. "Escort them in. I’ll handle it."

Logan gave a short nod, then stepped out of the command post.

Back at the gate, the tension was thick. Villamor could feel the eyes of multiple sentries locked onto him—some behind scopes, others behind cover. The guard who had questioned him turned as a squad of four approached. At their lead was a man in full tactical gear with a hardened look, a rifle slung across his chest with casual ease—Captain Logan.

He stopped a few paces from Villamor and gave him a once-over. "Captain Villamor?"

"Yes."

"Commander Thomas will speak with you. You’ll be escorted inside. No blindfolds. Keep your weapons slung."

Villamor gave a tight nod. "Understood."

He and Ramos followed the escort, moving past sandbags, armored vehicles, and steel-plated barriers. The interior of the refinery was a stark contrast to the jungle they had come from—clean, secure, buzzing with activity. Workers in mechanic coveralls moved equipment, while uniformed soldiers patrolled with purpose. This was more than a camp.

It was a base.

They were led into a large office building at the center of the compound. Inside, power was running, lights were on, and the air was cool from portable fans. A digital map of the facility glowed softly on a wall-mounted screen.

And standing in front of it was Thomas.

He turned as the two officers entered, offering no salute, no smile—just a quiet nod.

"Captain Villamor. You’re looking for Santiago."

Villamor stepped forward. "Yes. He and Alpha One were sent to secure this refinery. We lost contact. I need to know what happened."

Thomas held his gaze. "Santiago arrived without warning. No IFF, no radio coordination. He demanded control of the refinery. Then he opened fire."

Hearing that, Villamor’s eyes widened in shock to the point he had reached to his pistol that was on his holster—.

"Don’t even think about it," Thomas warned as his soldiers promptly trained their rifles at him.

Villamor froze, his hand hovering near his holster.

"You are outnumbered sir, I don’t think it will be in your favor should you pull that pistol out," Thomas said with a sigh and continued. "Look, I want to understand why the Philippine army couldn’t take no for an answer and retaliate as if the world revolves around them."

"I just simply don’t believe it," Villamor said with a calm voice. "There was no way they’ll engage you without reasons."

"And I’m telling you the truth—you know what. I don’t care if you believe what I said. The more important thing that we should discuss is about your presence here. You were hoping to capture this refinery, am I right?"

Villamor gulped a mouthful of saliva before answering. "Indeed, this is the largest source of fuel in this apocalyptic world so naturally, everybody would aim for it, if they are thinking logically."

"Too bad, we got here first. Your men did approach us diplomatically but the terms of their condition aren’t just acceptable to us. Which is why we refused and ended up in a firefight with them," Thomas explained. "I hope that you would be different from Mr. Santiago."

Villamor remained silent after that as he pondered about what he just heard. So the men before him were the ones who killed Santiago and his men and what’s baffling is that those men aren’t just ordinary soldiers, they were military trained. So the fact that they were crushed by these people meant that they are also military but the question is from where?

Looking around, he noticed that some of them looked like foreigners. Could it be that they are mercenary? If that’s the case then what are they doing here prior to the zombie apocalypse. And also—the man speaking to him was young to be a commander of this base, and he looked Filipino. Something is not adding up, confusing him.

"I will be different from the first one," Villamor replied. "Let’s discuss what needs to be discussed."

Thomas smiled upon hearing that. "Very well, I’ll prepare a room for us."

He looked at Logan.

Logan didn’t need any words to understand what Thomas wanted him to do. He knew it the moment their eyes met.

"It will be done sir," Logan said as he lowered his head respectfully.