Chapter 146: The Battle of Savannah
The walls of Savannah trembled.
Not from fear, but from the relentless shockwaves of artillery fire.
A hundred mortar shells arced over the city walls and plunged into the horde beyond.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Dark-red blossoms of fire erupted among the sea of walkers.
The shockwaves hurled bodies into the air. Limbs and torsos scattered across the battlefield, only for the gaps to be swallowed almost instantly by the tide behind them.
Like water that could never be cut apart.
Like a river that never stopped flowing.
Standing atop the city wall, Sean lowered his binoculars.
All he could see through the lenses were endless gray-white faces.
The trenches had already been filled.
The three layers of barbed-wire barricades had been flattened into twisted masses of steel.
The chevaux-de-frise were buried beneath heaps of corpses. Some walkers still struggled weakly among the spikes. Others had already been crushed into the mud under countless feet.
The wall itself—constructed from stacked shipping containers—was beginning to disappear beneath the mountain of bodies.
The corpse pile had already reached one-third of the wall's height.
Walkers climbed over one another, using their fallen companions as a staircase.
Only a few meters remained.
Sean grabbed his radio.
"Flamethrowers."
The order was transmitted immediately.
Several defenders in black protective suits stepped forward.
The nozzles of their flamethrowers protruded through firing ports in the wall.
They squeezed the triggers.
Streams of gasoline sprayed outward.
Fire followed.
A massive bloom of crimson flame erupted at the base of the wall.
The inferno spread rapidly through the packed horde.
Walkers stretched out their burning arms as they staggered forward. Some lost their balance and tumbled from the corpse pile, crashing into those below and spreading the flames further.
The air itself seemed to ignite.
Every breath felt like inhaling molten metal.
The operators instinctively stepped back from the heat.
Yet none of them stopped firing.
When one fuel tank ran dry, another was connected immediately.
The fire never ceased.
---
On the eastern section of the wall, Abraham's machine gun continued roaring.
The barrel had already been replaced three times.
Each replacement glowed red-hot after prolonged firing, cooled slightly, and then glowed again.
Spent shell casings piled around his feet.
They rolled down the stairs and were crushed under countless boots.
Bi Yuntian came running up with an ammunition crate.
He dropped it beside Abraham and immediately turned around to fetch another.
Abraham kicked the crate open.
Without hesitation, he loaded a fresh ammunition belt into the machine gun.
The overheated metal burned his fingers.
He didn't even notice.
"Ammo!"
he shouted.
This time, Zhang Chong carried the next crate.
Unlike Bi Yuntian, he didn't leave immediately.
Instead, he crouched behind the wall and cautiously peeked over the edge.
His face instantly turned pale.
Below him surged an ocean of gray-white faces.
An endless sea of death.
He pulled back quickly.
The cigarette tucked behind his ear found its way into his mouth.
He didn't light it.
"Scared?"
Abraham never looked away from the battlefield.
"Terrified."
Zhang Chong removed the cigarette and tucked it back behind his ear.
"But I'm even more afraid of dying."
He gripped his rifle awkwardly.
There were so many targets he didn't even know where to aim.
Abraham said nothing.
The machine gun continued its thunderous roar.
---
Across the wall, defenders had begun relying heavily on grenades.
Pull the pin.
Tap the grenade against the wall.
Throw.
Explosion.
Shrapnel ripped through dozens of walkers.
Then another grenade followed.
And another.
Crates emptied.
Fresh crates arrived.
Then those were emptied as well.
Some soldiers were sprayed with bits of flesh and blood from nearby detonations.
They wiped their faces and kept throwing.
Others coughed violently from smoke inhalation.
A few even coughed up blood.
Still they fought.
Still they threw grenades.
The battle had become pure endurance.
---
Near the mortar batteries, Franklin crouched beside the firing position.
A shell rested in his hands.
His ears rang constantly.
The battlefield had become one endless buzz.
Muzzle flashes illuminated his face like broken lightning.
Through the radio came Sean's voice.
"Fire."
It sounded distant.
Muffled.
As though it were passing through layers of cotton.
Franklin loaded the shell.
Thunk.
The primer struck.
Boom.
The shell launched skyward.
Then he repeated the process.
Load.
Fire.
Load.
Fire.
Load.
Fire.
His hands shook.
Not from fear.
From exhaustion.
He had long since lost track of how many rounds he had fired.
Or how much time had passed.
Or how many walkers remained.
The only thing he knew was that he couldn't stop.
Unfortunately, the mortars could.
One of the crews reported over the radio.
"Sean, the barrels need cooling. Minimum ten minutes."
Sean glanced toward the corpse mountain outside the wall.
It had already reached halfway up the containers.
The walkers were only two or three meters below the top.
He responded immediately.
"In ten minutes, I need ten rapid-fire volleys at separate coordinates."
Franklin sighed.
Ten rapid-fire salvos meant another thousand shells.
"Understood."
---
Defenders leaned over the battlements and fired downward.
Bullets rained onto the heads of walkers climbing the corpse pile.
One shot.
One kill.
Like a grotesque game of whack-a-mole.
But there were simply too many.
Soon RPG launchers joined the battle.
Rocket exhaust blasted against the wall.
Missiles streaked downward trailing white smoke.
Massive fireballs erupted among the horde.
Bodies flew.
Temporary gaps appeared.
And vanished seconds later.
The sea of walkers simply flowed around the destruction.
---
Then came a thunderous roar from above.
Not helicopters.
Fighter jets.
An F-15 screamed out of the clouds.
Rocket pods mounted beneath its wings unleashed a barrage.
White smoke trails streaked across the sky.
Seconds later, devastating explosions erupted in the rear ranks of the horde.
Walkers were hurled hundreds of meters through the air.
The jet pulled upward.
Turned.
Then dove again.
Its cannon unleashed a blazing stream of fire.
A scorched trench carved through the battlefield.
After expending its ammunition, the aircraft climbed.
It circled once above Savannah.
Its wings rocked side to side.
Almost like a farewell.
Then it accelerated into the clouds and vanished.
A brief cheer rose from the defenders.
It lasted only seconds before being drowned out by gunfire.
---
Fresh forces stepped onto the wall.
Clone soldiers in black leather coats replaced exhausted defenders.
Their movements were precise.
Cold.
Efficient.
Every shot found a target.
Every bullet claimed a head.
Not a single round was wasted.
Meanwhile, ordinary defenders continued fighting despite injuries.
Some had crushed fingers from magazine changes.
Others had slipped and fallen.
Yet after receiving quick treatment, they limped back to their positions.
No one wanted to leave.
No one could.
---
The corpse pile reached the top of the wall.
Walkers began appearing face-to-face with the defenders.
Flamethrowers erupted again.
The leading walkers became living torches and tumbled backward into the masses below.
Yet the walkers behind simply climbed over the burning bodies.
They never stopped.
Never hesitated.
Never feared death.
Through his binoculars, Sean watched the southern highways.
Walkers still poured from Florida.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
An endless gray-white tide.
No beginning.
No end.
Sean lowered the binoculars.
He picked up the radio.
"Boss, we need more ammunition."
Silence followed.
Then Wu Fan's voice answered.
"It's already on the way."
A brief pause.
"Hold the line."
Sean clipped the radio back onto his belt.
Then he drew his pistol and walked to the front edge of the wall.
A walker climbed over the corpse pile.
Half its face was rotted away.
Black blood dripped from its teeth.
Sean placed the pistol against its forehead.
Bang.
The walker fell.
Another climbed over it.
Bang.
Another fell.
When his magazine emptied, he stepped back and inserted a fresh one.
Then returned to the edge.
---
Far away at Savannah Harbor, Andrea stood beside the seawall.
Only a handful of walkers had managed to approach from this direction.
The defenders stationed behind container barricades eliminated them one by one.
Andrea lowered her binoculars.
Then she looked west.
The night sky glowed crimson from endless explosions.
Artillery.
Gunfire.
Roars.
The sounds never stopped.
She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms.
Then she turned north.
A train was approaching from Atlanta.
Its cars were packed with ammunition.
And reinforcements.
The steel wheels clattered across the tracks.
Outside the windows, the night flickered red from distant fires.
Like a broken neon sign glowing in the darkness.
And the battle for Savannah raged on.