That realization spread across every battlefield in Pampanga.
Every trench.
Every roadblock.
Every outpost.
Every aircraft cockpit.
No matter how many died.
No matter how much firepower humanity unleashed.
The horde kept advancing.
And now heavier weapons were entering the fight.
High above the darkness.
Far above the reach of the infected.
A different aircraft was arriving.
Call sign Specter One.
An AC-130J Ghostrider.
The massive gunship circled over Central Luzon at twenty thousand feet.
Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere felt calm.
Professional.
Almost routine.
Which was strange considering the apocalypse unfolding beneath them.
Rows of operators sat behind glowing screens.
Targeting systems.
Thermal cameras.
Infrared sensors.
Fire control displays.
The battlefield stretched beneath them.
And the view was horrifying.
One sensor operator zoomed in.
Then zoomed out.
Then zoomed out again.
The horde still filled the display.
Thousands.
